Arda

unlike some of the other netflix docs on similarly "mysterious" topics, this one is respectful and shows clear care for the victims and their loved ones. the content warning at the start is one worth heeding, though i will say that the photography of the scene is shown only in part and never involves the victims' faces.

(a cultural note: if you aren't familiar with funeral rituals in india, cremation is quite common in sikhism and especially so in hinduism (though not necessarily required) as the physical body only houses the soul and thus upon death the soul leaves it behind. i cannot speak to whether this family was hindu or sikh given that both religions seemed present and absent in different settings, but part of my immediate family was raised hindu. to my knowledge, cremation is done within a day of death whenever possible.

so while the speed with which the autopsies are done, the families are provided the bodies and the funeral rites are done may seem strange to an outsider, it's likely part of normal practice for deaths involving law enforcement. the extent the police department reportedly went in ensuring that the family had the necessary pyres, space and preparations for the cremation rituals is significant. the final episode goes into the consequences of this incident on the funeral rites and grieving process for the surviving family and friends, so please know that the "mystery" being solved in the second episode is far from the end of the story. the filmmaker did an excellent job of shedding light on the many facets and layers to this story without sensationalizing any of it, 100% recommended.)

and as someone with a history of mental illness myself and a family history to go with it, i appreciate the time this documentary takes to talk about the mental health stigma in india. it's a global stigma, no doubt about that, but the fear of losing face or shaming your family or lowering your status in east and south asian cultures in particular has led to so much preventable tragedy for so many people. it's an important lesson: try to talk openly about mental health in your daily life. it makes a real difference, trust me.

A good start for the season but as usual the hype train is overlooking the downfalls of the episode.

The intro to Samwell's section was a poor attempt at being innovative with direction and didn't suit the style of GoT at all.

The Ed Sheeran cameo with cheesey dialogue and full face shot just shows that the producers care more about headlines and celeb fans getting cameos than actually organic scenes.
The acting and dialogue by all in that scene was pretty awful. Which is a shame as the purpose of the scene is for Arya to realise that the Lannister soldiers are just normal men with lives and families. Hard to get into with such poor presentation though.

Game of thrones is a cash cow and will always make money. They can do no wrong and they know that. This is resulting in lazy writing and direction at times. So long as they wow you every so often with a cool line or death then that's all the general audience will latch onto.

I hope I'm proven wrong as the season continues but I'm pretty sure we'll get more of the same and a few 'shock and awe' events for those coveted headlines and viral hashtags.

It's easy to reduce "The Door" down to its big reveal. For all of the mysteries and unanswered questions floating around Game of Thrones, sometimes the most interesting, and most moving discoveries are the ones that fill in the gaps you didn't even realize you wanted to know about in surprising and unexpected ways.

But Hodor's tragic origin story, which is far closer and more connected to the events of the present than we ever might have imagined, is part and parcel with a larger theme that weaves through every story told in "The Door." As Mrs. Bloom pointed out, the episode is chiefly concerned with the idea of being a faithful servant, of whether it's right to question, right to advise, right to disobey, and right to expect sacrifice. Hodor is simply the most extreme example of these ideas, that fealty can come with a cost, and like many power structures in Westeros, the price paid by those on the weaker side of things becomes questionable when brought into the light.

It comes through in Arya's story, where she is slowly but surely realizing that the Faceless Men may not be the noble devotees of the right path that she thought, but instead, that they're assassins for hire, who kill people for the simple fact that they're required to do so. Or so it would seem. It's hard to know whether, like anything with the doublespeak that comes from the House of Black and White, this is just another test for Arya to pass. Yet, it seems like Jaqen H'ghar does not simply want Arya to forget who she was; he wants her to forget what she believes in, in the idea that she make wreak vengeance, but it's vengeance with a purpose, to people who deserve it, not just for bad actresses who want meatier parts.

And at the same time, the play itself shows the Game of Thrones audience what being a good servant gets you. Both Ned Stark and Tyrion Lannister served as hand to the king, and while they pushed their respective kings in directions that the ruler didn't always like, they tried to be good servants, to do what was in their king's best interests, even if it meant making some difficult choices. Where did it lead them? Ned is dead; it's implied that Joffrey plotted to have Tyrion killed during the Battle of Blackwater Bay. And they don't even have a legacy. History is written by the victors, and with the Lannisters in power, their rival Stark is potrayed as a dim-witted, power-hungry swine and Tyrion is depicted as a sniveling lecherous villain. Good servants are not necessarily rewarded.

But sometimes they get away scott free. One of the most striking scenes in "The Door" apart from the fireworks of the finale is when Sansa confronts Littlefinger about his pretensions to being her humble servant, while at the same time knowingly leading her to harm. It's a blunt, appropriately accusatory exchange, where she makes Littlefinger own up to his actions. But Sansa has a good advisor, the noble Brienne, who serves by her side and seeks to genuinely protect the lady she serves, rather than pretends to for her own ends. This is an incredibly harsh version of "goofus and gallant" where Littlefinger knowingly permitted unspeakable acts of horror to be visited upon the woman he pretended to be looking out for, while Brienne helped rescue her from those horrors. In the harsh world of Westeros, a true servant, a true protector, can help drive away the terrors of the false prophets.

Dany has a moment with her own loyal servant. Ser Jorah admits his love to her, that his devotion is not simply the professional devotion worthy of a queen, but that he has a true depth of feeling for her in her heart. There is a sense that Dany remains stoic at this news, that she initially gives no indication of returning his cares or affections. Even as she enjoys a dalliance with Daario, there has always been a sense that Dany is above romance after the death of Khal Drogo, that her mission is to rule, and that any flirtations are mere blowing off steam or means to an end.

But when Jorah reveals his affliction, her true feelings betray her. I don't mean to suggest that Dany returns Jorah's romantic love. There's multiple ways to read their scenes together, but I don't take her to feel the same way about him as he does for her. And yet, she cares deeply for Jorah, and the news that he is doomed to die from the greyscale shows her struggling to maintain her regal composure. One of the signs that Dany is meant to rule, meant to become the leader Westeros needs, is that she uses the power she has over Jorah for good. She orders him to find a cure. She is clearly gobsmacked by his revelation, and wants and needs her friend to be well. He has proven his devotion time and time again, and she uses it for his benefit rather than for hers.

That same idea is present in the other brief but still momentous revelation in the episode -- that the Children of the Forest, the same ones who seek to help Bran defeat the White Walkers, are the ones who created the very monsters that he and Jon and the rest of the rightly-worried people of Westeros are trying to fight against. The Children meant to create the White Walkers as servants, as someone meant to protect them from the men who were cutting down their trees and driving them to extinction, but clearly these snow demons lost their will to obey, whether because they were mistreated or simply chose their own path, and it led to a problem that grew and grew and threatens to consume the world.

That culminates in Hodor's last stand. The sequences leading up to it are some of the most vivid and visually impressive in the show. The eerie stillness as Bran wanders through a horde of Wights before being grabbed by the Night's King is unsettling and scary. The unnerving, stop-motion like movements of the Wights, the servants of the Night King and his horsemen, has a Jason and the Argonauts-like disquieting quality given the herky jerky way they surround the tree, descend through the ceiling, and swarm like spiders around the tunnels beneath.

And then there's poor Hodor. I've often been hesitant about unbounded magic and time travel in stories, because it can often lead to a game-breaking arms race, where the good guys can only use their overpowering spells or change the past when it suits the narrative, not when it would make sense. But this is different. When Bran, who is in in the process of absorbing the Three-Eyed Ravens' last bits of wisdom, wargs into Hodor in the past, in order to save himself in the future, he causes his companion to break into a horrific seizure in the past. Hodor's single-worded simplicity is not the product of some unfortunate accident or genetic inevitability. It is the result of a choice made by the man he serves, that turned him into a living sacrifice, without any say in the matter.

There is a price to Bran's choice, to his inexperience, to how he uses these abilities that give him the power to change the shape of events to come. He is not simply a wizard with the talents to cast the right spell at the right time. He is a conduit of forces he cannot control, and which did not only lead sweet Hodor to his death as he stood letting Meera and Bran escape from the horde of Wights who threatened to end their effort before it began, but it took Hodor's life away in the interim. Maybe Hodor was not destined for greatness as a cheerful stable boy in Winterfell. Maybe he's even a happier and more useful as an erstwhile caretaker, someone who can look after Bran and Rickon and be a force for good.

But Bran has a responsibility to him. Hodor was as good and loyal a servant as there could be, he gave his life--twice--to protect Bran, and he's tirelessly protected and ferried his young ward hither and yon in the interim. But Hodor didn't choose this. Bran turned him into a tool, into a means to an end, into another life sacrificed at the feet of a nobleman, albeit one with the potential to save the whole world. And that, I hope, is a bulwark to Bran's new magic, that he recognizes what he extracts from others when he uses these abilities, and that it mediates his ability to simply shape the past or the future.

Much of Game of Thrones is a deconstruction, and "The Door" shows the darker side of blind devotion. Many people have died in the show. Many people have died thoughtlessly, cruelly, or tragically. But few carried the pathos of Hodor, a piece of collateral damage in war in which he was a bystander. The reason that Hodor was a simple and loyal as he was is that Bran, intentionally or not, violated him, and left him as something lesser than he was or might have been.

That feels necessary when there was Wights at the door and White Walkers at The Wall. Someone has to hold the door. But there's something that feels wrong, or at least tragic about it being this stable boy who never had the chance to decide if that's what he wanted, what he believed in. He had his entire being stolen from him and then had what was left of his life given over to a ravenous fleet of demons. That is a sad, uncomfortable fate for a quiet, happy stable boy, impressed into service to the very nobleman who made him into the diminished creature he became . Sometimes sacrifices must be made. Sometimes people have to give their lives for the greater good. But when those people don't have any autonomy in those choices, when they don't even understand that the choices that are being made for them, the ways in which a master uses a servant seem all the more troubling, all the more questionable, and all the more concerning in a world where those in power extract their price from those without it, be they slaves, assassins, or simple, sweet giants.

"I fought. I lost. Now I rest...You'll be fighting their battles forever." Stories both eschew and crave finality. A good journey has a beginning, a middle, and an end, but when we're truly invested in it, we don't want the ride to stop. We crave the spills, chills, and surprises. So heroes come back from the dead, siblings thought long lost reappear, and like the white walkers headed toward the gate, the story marches on.

Thorne's last words are one of the few little quotations that echo through the episode. Throne dies with his head held high, a man who knew what he was and what he did, and lays out his actions in firm but understandable terms. I never particularly cared for Throne--he always seemed to hate Jon almost irrationally--but in his bravery against the Wildling attack on Castle Black and his honest defense of his principles, he showed himself to be a man who made a choice and accepted his fate. He takes comfort in the certainty of that.

Jon is thrown into the most uncertain waters from the getgo. He arises from the dead, knowing that it shouldn't be, feeling the scars where the knives entered his body and knowing that something unnatural has happened. He has been drafted into this war, at some points making conscious actions because of what he believes in, but at others simply swept along by the current of what was required of him. Thorne tried to do what he thought was right and is hanged for it. Jon did the same and yet gets to return from the land of the dead, left to wonder if it's all worth it, if he can stand fighting these same battles over and over again, if he can suffer the betrayal, the knives piercing his flesh that seem to come in one form or another whatever he tries to do.

When he swings a blade of his own, slicing the rope keeping his betrayers in place on the makeshift gallows, it's a visual echo of deserter from Castle Black that Ned Stark executed in the beginning of the show. That opening scene, about the responsibilities of being a leader and accepting the uglier parts of the job, and of "honor" has come back in several forms over the course of the show. From Rob executing Lord Carstark, to Theon's botched execution during his reign of terror, to Jon himself having to execute a former member of the King's Guard. It's the burden of command.

But this time, Jon has to look into the eyes of a child. He has to cut that rope and see the very sort of innocent he was trying to save, resenting him to his very last breath. This is his reward for all his service and commitment. This is his reward for making the tough decisions. This is his reward for effectively giving his life in order to save thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands, of lives. It's ugly and harsh and compounded by a hatred from people like Ollly who will never understand, no matter how many warm embraces from his brothers he may receive.

It's particularly harsh because, as Varys puts it, children are innocent. The Spider works his magic on a sympathizer for the sons of the harpy, and he's a presence of Machiavellian perfection. The arch manner in which he probes his resistant witness, his iron fist in the velvet glove that gets him the information he wants, is another boon from one of the show's most entertaining characters. But the futility of it all comes through in what he learns as well.

The lands that Dany liberated, the ones that made her the "breaker of chains," have not only returned to slavery, but have been funding the sons of the harpy and setting the whole of Slaver's Bay against her. Preceded, though it may be, by a hilarious seen where Tyrion tries to make conversation with his much more subdued companions, it's a dispiriting revelation. Dany too tried to do the right thing, to live by her principles and make herself worthy of being called a queen, but parts of the old system are as resilient as they are malignant, and it's exhausting to have to constantly fight to keep whatever meager gains you've managed to make.

And Dany herself is once more reduce to something less than she ought to be. She's accomplished a great deal, and yet she is just the latest victim of this cycle. She stands surrounded by women who, as the one who speaks for them all explained, once imagined that their great Khals would rule the world with their distaff counterparts at their sides. Instead, they are each left to play out the string as something lesser and compartmentalized, with Dany potentially being punished for having dared to do anything but submit. Maybe when she speaks to the council that decides her fate, she will convince them to free her, or at least to let her help them lead a horde of Dothraki to Slaver's Bay as an antidote to the Sons of the Harpy. But one could easily forgive her for, like her raven-haired counterpart at the wall, growing tired of this neverending battle, that seems to leave you back where you started no matter what you've tried to do.

They're not the only ones who end up back where they started. In a surprise reveal, we see Osha and Rickon back in Winterfell for the first time since they departed from Bran & Co. While I fear that their reappearance will be another excuse to give Ramsay a new pair of torture toys for a while, there's a similar theme running through the preceding exchange between him and the rebel bannerman who delivers the youngest Stark. He refuses to swear oaths or kneel or pledge fealty. He's seen what oaths are worth: the Boltons turning on the Starks, Ramsay turning on his father, the Carstarks joining Ramsay even though their share blood with Ned's brood. What good is an oath, whether it be a bannerman's to Ramsay or Jon Snow's to the watch, if people break them so easily. Maybe they're just a way to keep people in line, to keep them from looking out for themselves or upsettng the usual order, and those lines can only be crossed so often before people begin to wonder if they were illusory in the first place.

The High Sparrow figures out how to keep Tommen in line, another innocent child tainted by the movements of the larger forces at work, through his mother, who is facing challenges of her own with the small council. The soft machinations of the High Sparrow, seeming to constantly yield and yet simply redirecting forces like anger to his own ends, allow him to use Tommen's connections to his family to help keep him cowed. Arya is kept in line by trying to break those very connections, but trying to teach her to sever her ties with her siblings, with the names on her list, with the relationships that kept her a part of her old life. As I've said before, the montage that shows her developing her skills as an assassin is a bit too Karate Kid for my tastes, but by drinking the bowl full of poison, Arya follows her brother in accepting a dividing line between an old life and a new one and changing her manner and methods accordingly.

But those sorts of connections are the one warm thing for Jon as he returns to the living. The joking embrace of Toramund, the similar ribbing welcome of Edd, make it feel as though there was at least something for Jon to come back to. And then there's the one connection that's absent -- Sam, who is bringing Gilly and Sam Jr. back to where he started, a likely unwelcome homecoming he undertakes for the good of the people he loves and who, as Gilly conveys by calling him the father of her child, love him back. He set off on this journey to help Jon and to protect his loved ones from the rapists and criminals at Castle Black, and though his pleasant moments are punctuated by unhappy (if amusing) bouts of nausea, he knows what he has to do, and is buoyed by the affection of those he feels that familial connection to.

The same familial connection drives a young Ned Stark in the show's flashback to the Tower of Joy seen through Bran's eyes. He intends to rescue his sister, but the methods used fail to live up to the man Bran imagined his father to be. This too, is a broken oath, of sorts. Bran has heard this story a thousand times -- he knows how it's supposed to end. But instead, even honorable Ned, covers up the fact that his bannerman, Mera's father, stabbed the opposing swordsman in the back to win the day. Again, honor is shown to be a fairytale in Westeros, one where the show's only paragon of virtue this side of Brienne will invent lies in service of a more important truth. We don't get to see all the details of that truth just yet, but Bran, and the audience, are learning that there's more to the story.

And there's more to Jon's story as well. After seasons that left Jon concerned with the affairs of The Wall, whether at Castle Black or in the Wildlings' territory, he is headed elsewhere. But he remains stung by the futility of his actions, that he cannot try to serve the greater good, cannot try to live up to his father's honor, cannot even die without being pulled back into what he was trying to move on from.

Only Alliser Thorne could make it sound like a failing to have the temerity to come back from the dead, but he's right. Jon will continue the struggle; he will continue to suffer losses, and he may never have the chance to rest. He has fought these battles, many other people's battles, for so long. Who can blame him for seeing someone like Olly kicking in mid-air and deciding that he's had enough? Once, Jon pledged, like all of the Brothers, that his watch would "not end until my death." Well, he died, and now his watch has ended, and the closest thing to a traditional hero left on Game of Thrones has earned the right to go fight his own battle, to go fail again, or perhaps not even fight at all.

Game of Thrones might be too familiar, too expansive, to have the same force it once did. When a show's been on the air for five years, it's harder for it to surprise you; you know many more of its tricks, and you've seen much of what it's good and bad at. And Game of Thrones is good at a lot of things--humorous asides, daring rescues, and striking character moments--so that even when it's simply chugging along, it's still a very enjoyable show.

But for a season premiere, "The Red Woman" was underwhelming. It wasn't bad, mind you--there were plenty of exciting moments and interesting developments--but little to make you stand up and take notice of a series at the height of its powers moving toward the end game, save for perhaps one scene.

That scene is Brienne saving Sansa, and pledging fealty to her, while Podrick feeds his master's new lord the appropriate reciprocal words and Theon nods in approval. There's several things that make that moment stand out. There are real stakes to Sansa and Theon's attempt to escape from Winterfell, both from the hounds barking in the distance and their clear fatigue and stress from traipsing through the snow. There's genuine character development, in the cold giving the two of them reason to embrace, and Theon's attempt to sacrifice himself in order to save his near-sister. Brienne's daring rescue is a thrill, giving solid moments to Brienne, Podrick, and Theon, and having the action feel anything but gratuitous given what's at stake. The aftermath is triumphant, with Brienne finally fulfilling her oath, the poor, constantly embattled Sansa finally having a true protector, and their seconds each having a hand in the result.

But it also stands out because it's one of the few parts of "The Red Woman" where the story is moving inward rather than continuing to expand or running in place. While I'm sure there's much more to come in each of their stories, this is a major landmark in Brienne's quest to fulfill her promise to Catelyn Stark, to Sansa's endeavor to be safe and in charge of her own destiny, to Podrick's desire to help his master rather than hold her back, and to Theon's quest for redemption. Each of these story threads is tied together in one tremendous scene.

That stands out in comparison to the rest of the episode, which has some moments and scenes that are better than others, but for the most part, feels scattershot. A season premiere for a show like Game of Thrones is difficult, because as the series's plot has telescoped out to encompass so many different stories and characters, there's a sense that at the start of a new chapter, it has to check in with each of them (give or take a warg).

The result is something of a hodgepodge of tones and atmospheres and settings, most of them glancing, many of them pretty good, but few of them truly cohesive in any way. There's not necessarily anything wrong with that. Game of Thrones is a series known for its scope, and by definition that's going to require some jumping around, especially as a reintroduction to all of the ongoing conflicts. It just makes it hard to judge an individual episode like "The Red Woman" as anything other than the sum of its parts.

Three of those parts all stem from the aftermath of last season's adventure in Mereen. The best and most promising of them is Tyrion and Varys's journey through the streets of their new home. I could watch an episode of just the two of them bantering back and forth for an hour and be entertained, but "The Red Woman" uses Tyrion's attempt to get to know the place he intends to govern both to illustrate how he, unlike Varys, is not a man of the people however much he may try and care, and that a civil war is brewing in the contentious land they're trying to keep in order. The worst is Jora and Daario's little horse ride to find their queen, which does little other than repeat character beats we're already familiar with, remind the audience of Jora's cheesy stone infection, and move the rescue plot a few spaces forward.

Somewhere in the middle is Daenerys's encounter with another group of Dothraki. The journey to meet the new Khal is a bit silly and crude, but generally amusing, as Dany's captors appear to be the Dothraki answer to a pair of leads in Kevin Smith movie, and Dany's look of palpable discussion when listening to a conversation they don't think she can understand is perfect. That scene, and the ensuing one where the Khal declares his intentions to lie with her regardless of her wishes will no doubt launch a thousand thinkpieces, but each of them lean into a venerable idea when it comes to the mother of dragons -- the way she is at once attempting to project strength and power, but still quite vulnerable, uncertain, and even frightened at what fate might await her. Emilia Clark does a superb job of showing the many shades of her character as her fortunes wax and wane during her conversation with this new Khal. The promise to transport her to what sounds like the Dothraki homeland is a foreboding one, that threatens to add yet another spot on the map for the show's intro.

The least interesting of the stories in "The Red Woman" centered around the events of Dorne. There's something of a shock to the Sand Snakes' coup at the Dornish palace, but we barely know most of these people, so the impact is blunted. Admittedly, there's intrigue Dorne being ruled by someone who's directly antagonistic to the Lannisters, and to the idea that the people of Dorne resented their leaders and yearn to stand against those who hold sway over King's Landing, but there's more promise in the concept than in the execution thus far. (No pun intended.) Similarly, the hokiest two Sand Snakes taking out the Dornish Prince on the boat only served as a reminder of how pointless he was as a character and how annoying, dare I say Poochie-esque his assassins are.

That said, there was more meat on the bone in Cersei and Jamie's reunion. The excitement in Cersei's voice when she heard of a ship on the horizon and said her daughter's name, and the attendant way her expression slowly but surely fell when she saw the floating shroud heading toward her, and the grave look on her lover's face was devastating. The death of Joffrey brought Cersei to anger, to her most bitter and vindictive, but Marcella's death has a much different effect. She is, instead, simply crestfallen, brought as low as she imagined she could be, slowly but surely losing the most important things in her life. The idea that Marcella perishing is particularly devastating to Cersei because she saw her daughter as pure and good, and it made her feel better about herself and all she's wrought, is one that adds yet more depth to one of the show's most complex characters. Jamie's response that they are neither cursed nor bound by fate, but should respond to this horror by lashing out at those who brought it to their doorstep does more to warrant interest and excitement as to where the conflict with Dorne will lead than all the bloody coups and painful attempts at bon mots that preceded it.

The episode takes time to check in with the rest of those across Westeros and beyond. Arya's still blind and begging on the streets, being tested by Jaqen H'ghar in a bow-fight that seems headed toward a Karate Kid montage. Margaery Tyrell is still in prison, thoroughly cowed and shell shocked after her repeated encounters with her captors. The High Sparrow plays good cop/bad cop with her as she asks how her brother is, with little more than an ominous assurance for her to go on. And even Ramses has a brief moment of humanity, couched though it may be in his usual sadism, as he mourns the loss of the only lover who shared his deranged sensibilities, and feels the blowback from his father for how his extracurricular activities led to the loss of both Sansa and Theon, threatening both the Boltons' hold on Winterfell and Ramses' claim as his father's heir.

But the other major fireworks of "The Red Woman" take place at Castle Black. Ser Davos proves himself both for his kindness, his cunning, and his wits when he collects Jon Snow's dead body, brings in Ghost, and holes up with everyone in a storeroom before sending Edd to rally support among The Wildlings. Davos's dry wit carries the day in these scenes, that still take care to sweep across the desolate environment of The Watch and its guests.

At the same time, Thorne has an impressive moment defending himself in front of his fellow brothers after confessing to the murder of their Lord Commander. As I wrote in my discussion of the Season 5 finale, what makes Thorne's actions and his speech her interesting is that you believe he truly means what he says, that there's a certain noble impulse behind his choice even if it seems foolish or wrongheaded to the audience. Thorne's disdain for Jon Snow has been clear from the beginning, and he admits to the assembled that he had no love lost for the man. But there's something genuine when he says that he never disobeyed an order, that as harsh or self-important as he could be, his assassination, joined in with the other commanders, was about something bigger than him, a tradition and a brotherhood that he saw posed to be destroyed under Jon's care. I don't exactly admire the man, but I admire the show for making him more than the one-dimensional villain he occasionally devolved into in previous episodes.

Finally, there is the titular Red Woman. She sees Jon's dead body and has a moment of questioning. She saw him fighting and Winterfell in her vision, and yet there he lies, white as a stone. She promised Stannis that sacrificing his daughter would lead his side to victory against the Boltons. It becomes much more of a question, smoke monster or not, how much she has or had real power, and how much of her prophecies and persuasions are simply more of her admitted parlor tricks. Then, she undresses and reveals a much older, more withered woman, and the nature of her abilities is at once both more and less a question. It's a revelation, meant to be one of those trademark big moments in Game of Thrones, but for the time being, it just seems strange with little immediately obvious point at this juncture.

Perhaps it simply fits into what appears to be the animating principle for the rest of "The Red Woman" -- giving the audience just enough of a taste to rekindle their interest in the spiderwebbed plots that stretch across Westeros, while pointing us in the direction the balance of the season will follow. The episode feels more like a grand reintroduction, a preview almost, for what's to come than a unified story all it's own, and familiarity with the shape of the series' arcs takes some of the thrill away from events like that closing twist. But it's enough to keep us talking, and wondering, and tuning in next week, so I suppose it'll do just fine.

I think people just doesn't get this movie.

For me, this was the best of the trilogy. Why? Because it is the most clever of them all. The first was just an overhyped "OK" movie, and the second one was pretty bad. They both had a serious tone, yet it always seemed the director was messing with everybody with those ridiculous taglines etc. And here we finally go full circle in this franchise. All seriousness is stripped away and it's just a full out onslaught of cheesyness, jabs at critics, jabs at the franchise itself, jabs at fans, jabs at the actors (the main actors here are the same as in the previous two movies but as other characters) and the result is just downright hilarious. Dieter Laser is very good and very funny here. For some good measure we also have some porn acting (I mean one of the main characters is actually a porn star).

And now add the grossness from the first two films and multiply it by two and shove that into the film. The result is pretty spectacular. The movie is much more gross than the previous ones and yet you find yourself laughing out loud instead of being repulsed most of the time. It's very effective and entertaining and I actually wish the entire franchise would have been like this instead.

The plots banality has also been cranked to eleven in this and is as over the top as the rest of the movie. It fits really well.

Bottom line is that this movie never takes itself (or anything really) seriously, and that's what makes this a rather excellent closer to an otherwise mediocre franchise.

[7.8/10] I don’t know when The Kingdom became my favorite part of The Walking Dead, but I do know why. It’s a place of hope, and occasionally even fun. So much of this show is about the grim grind of the new status quo, with little bits of hope and heart peaking through. The Kingdom is one of the few locales where the reverse is true. It is, true to its leader, a place striving for optimism and light, where at times you can see wisps of the darkness creeping in.

That’s what “Bounty” gives its audience when we follow Ezekiel, Carol, Jerry, and their allies on a theoretically simple quest to retrieve a movie theater projector bulb. It is, on the surface, one of the lighter adventures in TWD to date. There is a kickin’ soul soundtrack, replete with Jerry’s fun-as-hell lip-sync and Carol’s sideye. There is a rousing speech from The King himself. And there is the sort of, “I guess I’ll go along with your zany” plan vibe between Ezekiel and Carol that makes this portion of the plot feel a little like a zombified take on Home Improvement.

Except that there’s much more depth here than that. The otherwise light escapade doesn't just give way to an inevitable undead-related complication. The show connects it to a deeper insecurity within Ezekiel. He gives a stirring statement of purpose for the mission, talking about art’s deeper impact. He talks up the way that whimsy and joy are the glue of a community, the things that make children believe what they have is worth preserving and fighting for. He offers one of the best defenses of art’s role in society that I’ve heard.

And yet, it’s masking his own worries. We know that Ezekiel’s mantra is fake it till you make it. But here, we see him hiding his own worries that times are tough for The Kingdom, despite his smile, and that they might have to pack it up and move on. He sees the fair as a backstop against that, the prospect of films and the charter that Michonne once wrote as a chance to make things right again. If he does, “The Bounty” implies that maybe this fragile little lightbulb can help him hang onto what he has, rather than feel like he’s failed again.

That’s where Carol comes in. The post-time jump Carol is different and brighter than the character we knew before, but still practical. She joins the mission because she wants to keep her husband safe, not because she thinks it’s a good idea. She’s reluctant but supportive for most of the way. But then she realizes what it means to her husband and why, and suddenly she becomes the catalyst for seeing things through.

In an episode where she talks about empty nesting, where Ezekiel himself worries about Henry, where we get glimpses of the start and the blossoming of Jerry’s family, “Bounty” is an episode about doing things for the sake of others, particularly for children. Ezekiel wants to inspire the next generation of The Kingdom, to make them love this place like he does, in the hopes that he, and they, can preserve it.

If only the rest of the episode were that good. Instead, “Bounty” also picks things up at The Hilltop, where we get the second half of the stand-off with Alpha. That part too plays with the same themes. Alpha is theoretically making bargains for the sake of her daughter. Connie risks her own life and safety to risk a baby she doesn't even know. Daryl wants to protect Lydia given the understanding from his own abusive childhood. But he eventually gives in for the sake of his two countrymen and the people who love them. Even Henry puts himself at risk to save Lydia, and Enid goes after him in the hopes of being able to save Alden. It’s an episode full of people braving those risks, taking those chances, on behalf of someone they care about.

If only they could do it without Alpha. Look, I don’t want to judge a character too harshly whom we’ve only seen for two full episodes and one stinger, but maaaaaan am I not on board with The Whisperers or their leader. Samantha Morton’s mustache-twirling delivery is pretty awful, at the level of a Power Rangers villain, and I don’t know whether to attribute it to the script, the performance, or the painful southern accent that Morton is attempting.

Then you add in the fact that she’s craven enough to leave a baby to die at her orders. It just seems cartoonishly, over-the-top evil. Unless you’re MASH, I don’t trust you to pull off a mother having to silence her baby in a life-and-death situation, and it comes off tone deaf on a show with a pulpy bent like this one.

Nevermind the fact that, like last week’s episode, the entire standoff leads to another one of those tortured “what do you do when bad things have to happen” moral quandaries. As I’ve said before, shows start repeating themselves by season 9. But we’ve just done so many iterations of the “how do you live with it?” conundrum on The Walking Dead that the dilemma just has no impact anymore.

That said, the episode is buoyed by any number of superb visual sequences with excellent cinematography and sound design. The aforementioned song cue stakeout is bookended by a lovely slow motion zombie fight in the movie theater. It uses that unique soundtrack to put a different spin on the usual hack and slash. The same goes for Connie’s infant rescue and undead escape, which uses point of view shots, stellar sound design, and tight close-ups in the cornfield to evoke Connie’s perception of the world and claustrophobic space to spice up the usual run and hide routine. And the final shots of Ezekiel and Carol, bathed in the light of the rescued projector, standing over the charter that could be a step to something greater, is one of the show’s most evocative.

It’s powerful imagery because in an episode that is self-consciously about living with the bad in the world, it offers that aspirational vision that’s missing so often. We’ve heard time and time again, and been shown over and over, why you shouldn’t let this brutal state of nature change you. But we’re not told or shown enough about people actually finding those reasons and way to go on.

Carol and Ezekiel found each other. They found a balance between the practical and the idealistic. They found a way to match the brash and bombastic with the quiet but deadly. And most of all, they found the support that let’s them plan for when things go wrong, but hope that things might get better. It’s a mixture The Walking Dead so rarely gets right, but which is so invigorating and cheering when it does.

[8.2/10] The Walking Dead is constantly asking where your tolerance level should be. In a world where there are man-eating monsters around every corner, and no laws to keep people in line, the show is centered on the notion of how much a survivor should let themselves change with the times and how much they should hold onto the morals and values of who they were, and what society was, before civilization fell.

“The Key” offers three little morality plays, three little parables, to put that idea into relief. Two are mirror images of one another -- Maggie deciding whether to deal with or rob a stranger who’s promising them the titular key to the next phase of whatever this is, and Simon deciding whether to try to save Negan or remake the Saviors in his own image.

And each, in its way, is asking the same question: this war between the Saviors and the Alexandrians can’t last forever, so what should we do to stop it and who will we be afterward? Maggie gets to choose, once again, whether to become hard or to become hopeful, trying to decide whether the best thing for her starving people is to take what seems to be a hopelessly naive woman at her word, or to take her supplies from her before somebody bigger and badder does.

That woman is Georgie, another Walking Dead figurehead who seems a little larger than life. She rolls up in a van, asking for records and food in exchange for what she claims is something worth even more -- her knowledge. It sounds insane. Enid says as much and Maggie seems inclined to agree. That van is full of food, and after some debate, Maggie resolves to take it, to feed her people, both because she has no idea whether she can trust someone offering such vague promises and because she has every reason to think Georgie’s brand of high-minded barter will get her and her compatriots killed somewhere down the line anyway.

Simon is thinking about how to best serve his people (and, you know, himself) at the same time. “The Key” brings Dwight back into the fold of the Saviors, and gives Simon the chance to make his appeal to another top lieutenant who might aid his coup. Simon’s suggestion is oblique and florid, as Savior dialogue tends to be, but his suggestion, and his point is surprisingly reasonable.

He’s tired of Negan’s tactics. He’s tired of Negan trying to “save” people, of trying to scare them into submission. There’s an almost meta quality to it -- Simon realizing that the Saviors and “Rick, the Widow, and the King” have been doing this dance for some time now, and that Negan’s enemies “don’t scare.” The status quo can’t hold, either for a television show like The Walking Dead or for an impatient second-in-command who thinks the current strategy isn’t work and is ready to let a new wave of leadership take over.

Fortunately for Simon, fate (or rather T.V. writers) leans in his favor, as Rick mounts a surprise attack on the Savior convoy that’s headed to the Hilltop, aiming to take his revenge on Negan. It’s one of the show’s better sequences, directed by series stalwart Greg Nicotero. There’s shades of the grindhouse, as Rick runs down Negan in a claustrophobic cityscape, the element of surprise on his side and the hot blood of grief in his veins.

That’s the third little vignette in “The Key”, as Rick and Negan go toe-to-toe, with Rick in a position of power for once. He manages to flip Negan’s car, foolishly waste his bullets scaring him into some abandoned building, and starts stalking the guy. He is reckless, rather than calculating. Furious rather than deliberate. He blows through ammo, tosses his axe, and almost toys with his prey rather than finishing the job.

It’s almost psychological warfare. There’s some problems with these sequences -- chief among them being that the show has to find a pretty contrived way for Negan to get out of this scrape -- but there’s a tension here that’s absent from a lot of Walking Dead confrontations. Maybe I’m a sucker, but for a little while, I thought this show would have the stones to go through with it, to take out its Big Bad with four episodes left in the season, to let the fall out fill the time from here to there.

But even if The Walking Dead isn’t that brave, it shows us a different side of Rick, or at least a side we haven’t seen in a while. There’s times when Rick has lost it, has been willing to protect his people no matter what. But we so rarely see him so vengeful, so out of control not because he’s damaged, but because he’s in mourning and ready to exercise his grief by taking out the symbol for all his misery, for everything he hates about this world.

The problem, then, is that in doing so, Rick becomes Negan. Rick carries Lucille. He whistles. He taunts his opponent. Part of it is obviously just to mock Negan, to give him a taste of his own medicine and try to make him feel what Rick had to go through at Negan’s hands. But part of it is a sign that while Carl hoped his death, or more importantly, what he did in life, would be enough to inspire both Negan and his dad to set aside their differences in the hopes of building a better word, it may have, instead, been the thing that sent Rick over the edge.

Sure, it’s hollowly cool to watch zombies catch on fire and wander their way through a dark, crowded basement. It’s exciting to watch Rick and Negan tussle their way through that tumult, coming at one another from different angles, swinging bats and taking damage. At some points it become too much, too honed for the presentation, but there is an intimacy to this fight, a sense of two personalities finally approaching one another on something approaching an even playing field, that heightens this confrontation.

But more than that, it’s a sign of Rick and Negan having flipped. It’s Negan who can’t be saved by his people, who wants to make some kind of deal, who thinks there’s a way to work this out. And it’s Rick who’s had enough, who thinks it’s his way or the highway, and who believes the only way to make things right is to cut off the head of the Saviors. He is done being a farmer; he’s ready to be a butcher.

And Simon quite agrees. He plays the part of the diligent commander, holding his troops in position, claiming that he’s being deliberate in his tactics so as not to spoil the plan. But in reality, he’s checking to see whether Negan is gone, whether he can position himself as the next leader of this group, and take them into the next phase of this world they’re building for themselves.

It’s a world where they stop trying to save people and start killing anyone who stands in their way. It’s a world where Negan’s means of “saving” people have become too hard, and slaughter is too easy. At the end of the day, Simon burns Negan’s car, gives a rousing speech to his men and women, and asserts himself as the answer. It’s Simon who has the key, and the key is taking out the people who would challenge them, swiftly and heartlessly. Whatever comes next, Simon wants it to be on his terms, and his terms are bloody as all hell.

For a minute, it seems like Maggie is intent on making the same choice, on doing whatever needs to be done, condemning whomever needs to be condemned to whatever fate they need to be condemned to, in order to see that her people survive. But Michonne implores her otherwise. She tells Enid that Carl didn’t want them to stop fighting for that better world, but wanted to keep their altruism, their trust, their kindness, alive.

So in the end, Maggie relents, and her trust is paid off. Georgie takes one crate of records from Maggie in exchange for a crate of food to help sustain the Hilltop, and the titular key. It’s photocopied binder that serves as a compendium of modern and medieval techniques to help bring civilization one step closer to being what it was. It’s a simple gesture, one of kindness and compassion and also hope -- that when this whole thing is over, this seemingly endless war, there will be something to build, and people worth building around, at the end.

That’s where “The Key” ends things (beyond another semi-corny tease for the next episode). It’s a slower episode at first, one that lets the pauses hang in the conversations between Maggie and Rosita, between Simon and Dwight, between Rick and Daryl. It lets those silences linger, to have the viewer fill in the spaces as each wonders what the fabled “tomorrow” will look like. It brings the camera close to the viscera as the Saviors bathe their implements in the infected blood of fallen-but-ambulatory.

And it asks whether the infection that the dead have succumbed to goes beyond the physical, whether it’s afflicted how these people think and feel in the wreckage of society. Simon sees what comes next as a land to be conquered, an open battlefield where anyone who doesn't have the good sense to stay out of their way deserves to be cut down. Negan sees his way of life, his fragile stability falling apart. And Rick doesn't see anything but the red in his eyes as he tries to fell a man he hates with every fiber of being having lost his mercy, lost his tolerance, lost his belief in the good of this world when he saw the light go out of his son’s eyes.

But Michonne, and eventually Maggie, see something more. They see a world where those individual choices -- to trust someone rather than mug them, even when you badly need what they have -- can amount to something much bigger. When this war ends, the time will come to decide who to be, to see how much of this blood the survivors can scrub off of their souls, and as angry, as hurt, as wronged as all of these people are, only some of them want to hang on and stay clean enough to rid themselves of the Saviors, not become them.

There are three fables in “The Key”: two stories of people getting worse, and one story of people getting better. The laws of television say there’s a greater fight to come, but before that happens, The Walking Dead takes a moment to imagine what the world after it will look like, and for once, in this harsh, unforgiving setting, there’s promise that it might look like something more, something better.

6.4/10. I enjoyed the season premiere of The Walking Dead better than most. I understand the complaints that it was too bleak, too cruel, and too hopeless, but to my mind, it made sense to establish Negan as a threat and as a character. There have been so many ineffectual bad guys on this show, so many antagonists who seemed like mere speed bumps along the way toward Rick & Co. getting the big win. It makes sense to me that TWD needed to make a big introduction to convince the audience that Negan and The Saviors were something different and something serious.

I also didn’t mind the hopelessness of it. Sure, it’s difficult to see the good guys broken, to see characters we know and love brutalized, to see the bad guys seem to take great joy in the process. But shows like The Walking Dead need stakes. In order for the heroes’ inevitable triumph to feel earned and meaningful, you need to make the villain not only someone whose loss doesn’t seem preordained, but who’s worth beating. The suffering at this point of the arc will, with any luck, pay off down the line when the good guys strike their blow against Negan and his goons.

The problem is that the premiere, “The Day Will Come When You Won’t Be,” already felt like a lot. It was a lot of blood and guts, a lot of horrible acts, and a lot of Negan preening and chewing scenery. It works as an opening salvo for the character and as the culmination of the build to Negan that had been bubbling up since the midpoint of Season 6, but it’s a lot to take in. The audience can only stand so much of that level of cruelty and velvet-lined venom before it starts to overwhelm.

Which means that an episode that basically acted as a sequel to the premiere, that gave us buckets and buckets of Negan’s routine, that skimped on the violence but doubled down on the lack of hope idea, comes off as rubbing the viewer’s noses in all of this. Making “Service” a super-sized episode to boot, one that packs in an extra twenty minutes or so worth of the same sneering bad guy stuff, the same hammered home message about Alexandria’s weak position, worsens the problem.

It’s especially rough for the character of Negan himself. I’ve enjoyed Jeffrey Dean Morgan’s performance as the season’s new big bad. It’s a difficult character to find the balance of. By definition, he has to be outsized, someone so grandiose and convinced of his own smoothness, but also someone who feels like a predator and not just a clown. Morgan pulls that off. He has Negan’s shit-eating grin down pat. He lays into his lines with a joy and a casual cruelty that lets you know he thinks of himself as the cock of the walk and the coolest guy in the room.

But again, too much of that begins to wear. The Walking Dead has had outsized characters before -- The Governor probably comes closest to Negan’s theatrical bent -- but so far Negan has really only played that one note. He gives you the sort of gleeful menace, the man who toys with his prey and thinks himself a just and noble ruler. That works well enough in small doses, but pile it on like TWD does in “Service” and you start to see the seams. It begins to feel as though the show is spinning its wheels, repeating itself as Negan simply reestablishes the things previously established memorably in previous episodes.

It also doesn’t help that “Service” has absolutely plodding pacing. Not every Walking Dead episode needs to be eventful of full of fast-paced action, but despite some effort at conflict on the margins, most of this episode is just a big walk around Alexandria for The Saviors. Seeing the effect that Negan has on the rest of the camp, the way the last bits of resistance are meant to be stamped out, is a valid and arguably necessary tack to take in the aftermath of the events of the season premiere, but there’s not enough there, or at least not enough of what we’ve seen, to fill an episode all on its own, let alone one with an extended runtime.

Those conflicts feel fairly tepid. The missing guns provides fodder for Rick to give one of his trademark speeches, albeit one about knuckling under rather than fighting back. This episode is full of reminders, constant conversations, and loud declarations, that “this is our lives now,” that things are different and can’t go back to the way they were. So when Rick finds Spencer’s guns and turns them over to Negan in exchange for Olivia’s life, it’s anticlimactic, feeling like there was never really much of a risk, but that the whole issue was drummed up, forced conflict to give a reason for that speech and to accentuate the mostly forgotten wedge between Rick and Spencer.

“Service” plants the seeds for that growing rift, with Spencer still resentful of Rick after the death of his parents, and laying the Saviors’ new order at his feet. It’s an issue that’s bound to come up at an inconvenient time, quite possibly with Spencer trying to make his own deal with Negan and ending up meeting a grisly end for the trouble after Negan decides to stick with Rick for his greater earning potential. But in the brief time we’ve known him, Spencer’s never been a particularly interesting character, which makes it hard to be too invested in that storyline or its implications.

The same can largely be said for Rosita, though she’s gotten a bit more characterization and adventure over the past couple of seasons. She is part of a different strain running through this episode, of people who are poised and ready to resist The Saviors, even if they don’t quite have the tools or the plan to do so just yet. Her task to retrieve Daryl’s bike (and attempt to find a gun from one of Dwight’s deceased running buddies) mostly serves as yet another opportunity for people to debate whether The Saviors can be stopped or whether the denizens of Alexandria should simply accept that this is how things are now. We’re given plenty of plausible justifications -- that The Saviors have greater numbers, more weapons, and a ruthlessness that makes them a threat to everyone and everything -- but the endless back and forth over it (probably meant to answer the “why don’t they just mount a resistance now?” question from the audience) isn’t particularly compelling.

It also bleeds into an uncomfortable air of rape among The Saviors. We see it in the disgusting way that Negan talks about Maggie (who, in one of the cannier narrative choices, has been whisked away elsewhere before Rick tells Negan she passed away). We see it in Dwight’s uncomfortable treatment of Rosita, and we see it in the particularly unsettling way that one of Negan’s henchmen tries to get Enid to repeat the word please.

I’m of two minds about this. On the one hand, as uncomfortable as these moments are, we’re talking about the bad guys here. We’re not supposed to like them, and so deplorable behavior is more excusable. What’s more, rape is about power, and the overtones to Negan’s behavior underscores the way in which he is, despite his violent and sexual appetites, clearly interested in the power of his acts, the way it allows him to act unfettered and unchallenged, than any inherent pleasure he gets from them. On the other hand, in the henchmen especially, it feels like a cheap way to make them seem more villainous, a shorthand in lieu of something better earned or more thematic. It all depends on where the show takes this particular thread in the rest of the season.

The same goes for the episode’s closing scenes. Michonne is exactly the type who, as her experience with The Governor portends, will not sit idly by while someone like this prances around and tries to keep her people under his thumb. But Rick’s speech, while not enough to convince her, at least ties the “we have to do what Negan says” sledgehammer of a point into something emotional and steeped in the history of the series.

The parallels are loose, but when Rick confesses that he knows Judith belongs to Shane, there’s power in it because it’s one of those few plot threads from the beginning of the show that haven’t been tied off yet. And the thematic resonance of it, that sometimes we have to accept hard truths, things that tear us up, in order to do what we need to do to protect the people we care about, is solid. Negan’s actions make Rick’s knuckles tighten up on Lucille when Negan’s back is turned, but his desire to keep the Alexandrians safe loosens his grip, allows him to make all these compromises and admission in the hopes that they’ll stay alive and healthy even under such harsh conditions.

That’s a fine way to dramatize the yoke under which Rick and Michonne and their band of survivors are living, the choices they must make every day. It’s just too much of Negan’s scenery-chewing, self-aggrandizing flotsam to where that resolution feels like too little too late.

It’s important to establish your villains. It’s important to make them notable characters in their own right, and to show them besting the heroes, posing a genuine threat, so that the eventual victory doesn’t feel hollow. But when you spend so much time with this bastard, so much time reinforcing how terrible he is and how little hope there is, those remaining moments when you try to show that there may be a light at the end of the tunnel, a reason behind the capitulation, it feels like a mere tiny bit of salve after forty minutes with your hand in the fire. Strong villains are good, but make them monolithic and give entire, overly long episodes over to their villainy, and the audience will be as apt to give up as Rick is.

[9.5/10] There was a hue and cry at the premiere of Season 7. Two characters we knew and cared about died, and people were undeniably upset. Some of that reaction stemmed from the mere brutality of it – the protruding eyeball and last gasps and earth stained with bloody mush. But much of it stemmed from the senselessness of the deaths – the sense in which these individuals had perished not as the culmination of their stories, but as fodder for puffing up the series’s new biggest of bads, sacrifices made on the altar of “this guy means business.”

And yet, “The First Day of Your Life” is a corrective to that. It frames the deaths of Abraham and Glenn as poetry, as symbolic of who they were and what they believed in. If the finale of The Walking Dead’s seventh season should be lauded for anything, it’s recontextualizing those deaths, making them part of a noble struggle, the nobility of which emanates from the two kind, honorable men who gave their lives in it.

It presents Sasha’s sacrifice as of a piece with the mindset Abraham reiterated before his fateful trip through the forest. Even apart from the season-ending fireworks, this was the strongest part of “First Day.” Every once in a while the show gets arty, and the quick, disorienting cuts between Sasha in what was revealed to be a coffin, her face-to-face with Negan ahead of his confrontation with Alexandria, a moment watching the sunrise with Maggie, and most importantly, her last conversation with Abraham, help represent the jumbled thoughts running through her mind as she makes a brave, incredible choice in that spirit. The form serves the function – teasing the audience a bit as we puzzle over what’s happening, but allowing the pieces to fall into place gradually until it’s clear not only where this is going, but why.

Why is the more important question. It’s a thrilling moment when Negan cracks open the coffin and a zombified Sasha lurches out and attacks him, but on its own, that could be what The Walking Dead’s critics accuse the show us – empty twists and emptier violence. Instead, it’s steeped in notions of sacrifice, of the knowledge that the capable people in this broken world know that every day they may face their ends. Every day they go beyond the protective walls of their own camps, they open themselves up to hurt, to harm, to death.

But Abraham voices the theme that the show has been baking into every episode, particularly those in the build-up to the climax – that they do it to fight for the future. Death is inevitable, in safe comfortable societies as well as in dangerous, lawless ones. All we can do is try to make our lives, and our deaths, meaningful, that if we perish, we do so in service of helping someone else, in making sure that the promise of a brighter tomorrow survives even if we don’t. That is what bubbles in Sasha’s mind as she takes her last trip, her last moments in this world.

That sacrifice kicks off the real action of the episode, the one it seems like we’ve been building to for a whole season. It is mostly satisfying, if pulpy and full of the typical conveniences of all the characters we care about (save for Sasha, obviously) making it out alive. There is the fog of war, the unexpected twists and turns amid the battle, and individual scraps that make up the larger whole.

“First Day” does well to inject enough uncertainty into the proceedings to make the conflict more than the show playing out the string. The inevitable result of all the posturing from the back half of Season 7 was the groups coming together to fight Negan. But the episode does two things that make this fight something other than a foregone conclusion.

The first is the betrayal of the “Garbage People.” It wasn’t entirely unexpected, given the pregnant tone when Michonne’s Junkyardigan counterpart suspiciously said she’d head to the next vantage point, but it immediately made our heroes feel at a disadvantage. This threw a giant monkey wrench into their plans, and contributed to the sense that no matter how Rick & Co. scrapped and scraped, Negan was always going to be one step ahead.

The second is that “First Day” spends more than just a moment making it seem like all is lost. Sure, even when cornered, the good guys fight back, but Michonne is in a brutal fist-fight; after one brief, seemingly successful fist-fight, Rick and Carl see their people lying in the streets or rounded up by The Saviors. Negan has time for one more big speech, one more opportunity to rub in the fact that while he plays the clown, he is as serious as a heart attack. It is heart-wrenching, and veers toward the sort of bleak hopelessness that the show is often tarred with.

And then, a freaking tiger attacks, and even overthinking critics like myself are not immune to the heartening qualities of the cavalry arriving. Maggie and The Hilltoppers on the one hand, Carol, Morgan and The Kingdom on the other, bursting in to save the day when it seems like things are at their darkest. It is not the mortal blow to Negan that one might have hoped for, but it is the culmination of the reciprocal idea The Walking Dead has explored this season – the notion that people can come together, can sacrifice, and achieve a greater good.

Season 7 of The Walking Dead has, in the real world, been a tough one for the show. Fans erupted in disapprobation after the premiere. Critics have been less than kind to a series that many (not unreasonably) they had never warmed to in the first place. And most importantly of all when it comes to whether and how the show continues, its ratings have continued to fall.

The irony is that for a show that has been incredibly inconsistent from the start, for one slammed for its lack of diversity, for one accused of bleakness and nihilism, its most derided season is also likely to be it’s best. This year saw the show at its most consistent in terms of quality and focused in its goals and characters. It saw episode after episode founded on the struggles of women and POC, and anchored the heart of the show around touching, meaningful, interracial relationships. It offered the most hopeful perspective yet, with characters repeatedly affirming that they will fight for the future, that they are the ones who live, that kindness and altruism are possible even in such harsh environs.

And it centers that last idea on dearly departed Glenn, a soon-to-be father who may be gone, but whose child will, with any luck, live to see a brighter future. “First Day” lets the thread start to dwindle, let’s the audience believe that perhaps we will see a repeat of the events of the premiere with our heroes on their knees and Negan swinging his barbed wire bat.

Instead, friends and allies dive into the fray when they don’t have to. People will risk their safety, risk their health, risk their own life for the sake of others. That started with Glenn, with his simple act of helping Rick when he had no reason to other than kindness. It is an affirmation that the show’s mission statement is not an endless series of grinding deaths – that it is the ideas put forward into the world that survive us, the moments of self-sacrifice that live on long after we are feeding the daffodils. It is the spirit of living for others, and dying for them too, that persists in a world where self-interest becomes all the easier and more mortal a proposition.

It is, in short, a testament to what Abraham and Glenn lived for, and not just what they died for. It is a spirit that lived on in Sasha, that finds strength in Maggie, that animates Rick and Michonne and Carl and the rest of the found family that congregates in Alexandria at the end of the episode. It is a cliché to say that these two people, that brave, bold individuals like Sasha, are gone but not forgotten. But it speaks a truth that softens the sting of those horrifying blows in Negan’s circle, and which tugs on the heartstrings as Maggie holds Glenn’s watch in the final image of the season. When the world falls, when the dark-hearted claim dominion, when the path of least resistance is to want and take and harm for your own good, there are still people who will do no harm, who will still bring light unto the world, a light that shines and inspires and heartens, no matter if or how they themselves were extinguished.

8.7/10. In between Seasons 6 and 7 of The Walking Dead, I finally found the time to watch Deadwood, the acclaimed, short-lived HBO series that helped usher in the era of prestige television that The Walking Dead has tried desperately to be a part of. And while Deadwood is a consistent critical favorite, and The Walking Dead has received a mixed response from reviewers at best, the most recent seasons of TWD have been focused on the same question that consumed Deadwood for its three season run -- what does it take to make a society?

That’s oversimplifying both shows, but to my mind, Deadwood was first and foremost about what it means to build a civilization, the myths we perpetuate, the wheels we grease, and the dirt and blood we try to scrub off the floor or otherwise paper over in the process. And from the onset of the Alexandria arc, The Walking Dead has been interested in the same idea. Whether it’s Deanna’s vision for Alexandria as the start of something sustainable, or the Gregory running the Hilltop as his own little fiefdom, or Negan extracting his pounds of flesh via The Saviors, this show has been interested in what kind of “government” what type of system, will prevail. All of these people, like Deadwood’s Al Swearingen, are trying to fashion a society out of something approaching a state of nature, and this arc seems as poised as any to be about the ways those differing perspectives clash and conflict.

“The Well” introduces one more perspective, one more camp that’s humming a different tune, to the equation. It’s called “The Kingdom” and it is governed, appropriately, by a man who calls himself “King Ezekiel,” who speaks in an affected Medieval Times accent, keeps a pet tiger, and is prone to spout grandiose verbiage about his land and its people. It’s King Ezekiel and his subjects, for lack of a better term, who take in Morgan and Carol after the events of the Season 6 finale.

And Carol is, understandably, bewildered, amused, and more than a little annoyed by this pageantry, but tries not to let on. One of my favorite treats in the recent seasons of this show is when we get to see Carol act. Her transformation from diffident housewife to badass warrior to self-questioning soldier is the series’s greatest achievement thus far, but the most enjoyable offshoot of that journey has been the times when Carol is obfuscating her true cold-blooded capabilities. Those moments add weight to the times when she drops the act, but also show her craftiness, her skill, her wolf in sheep’s clothing bonafides as she plays the part of the sweet, overwhelmed lady who just can’t believe her good fortune.

Despite her public protestations to the contrary, Carol wants no part of The Kingdom, regardless of Morgan’s attempts to persuade her otherwise. After all, King Ezekiel seems to want to pretend that this place is a paradise, and Carol believes that no such place can exist given the state of things. The subtext is that she once thought Alexandria would be that place, that you could live a life free of having to kill people, that things could start to become normal again, and had the harsh reality of the falsity of that promise brought down on her with a force that made this otherwise steely and sturdy individual begin to buckle. Being with people means that their lives are your responsibility, that if you have the capability, you have an obligation to defend them, maybe even kill for them, and creating a place that pretends this isn’t true, that looks like some oasis of stability in this sea of murder and death, is nothing more than a vulgar lie in Carol’s eyes.

After all, in the episode’s chilling opening sequence, we see that Carol is still haunted by the people she’s had to kill. As Morgan and the fighters from the Kingdom defend her from an oncoming zombie horde, she hallucinates (or simply imagines, depending on your purview) that the undead are regular human beings, being brutally slaughtered before her. The loss of human life casts a shadow on everything Carol sees. She has been so much a party to death and destruction, to innocents and indiscriminate enemies being felled by her hand, that even these snarling monsters are a reminder of lost humanity, of something that all but guarantees that a world where such violence, such moral compromises, need not be engaged in, is a fantasy, something that Carol once let herself believe in and then found herself tasting the bitterness of after that dream fell apart.

Even Morgan is starting to experience some self-doubt and facing the limits of his own personal philosophy. I’ve appreciated Morgan’s pacifism, especially as contrasted with Carol’s more pragmatic view of killing, despite its lack of practicality in a world with zombies and roving gangs of less than savory folks, because it’s meant to be a path to healing for him. After the tragedies he’s faced, that everyone’s faced, it’s nice, and I would argue necessary, to have someone finding their way back to some semblance of peace in all of this.

But in the Season 6 finale, Morgan violated his code against taking another human life in order to save Carol. And while, at the time, I thought it was an example of Morgan showing that his philosophy is not so doctrinaire, that he understands there’s a time and a place for such grisly acts, but they are a last resort, the impact of his having to kill someone to save someone else, something Carol has been grappling with for the last season, is clearly weighing on him.

I would hate to see Morgan give up his faith in the way of life he’s adopted so quickly, but the questioning is fruitful territory. Whereas he once was interested enough in proselytizing to try to influence Carol, to give her a way out, here, he is reluctant to pass on the lessons he learned from Eastman to Ben, the member of The Kingdom whom King Ezekiel asks him to instruct in combat. Morgan saw Aikido as a way to cope, a way to find purpose in his life after the death of his wife and son, and he thought he’d found peace in the process. Now, even in these seemingly safe, beautiful, plentiful surroundings, he seems to be wondering if, as Carol seemed to tell him for so long, he’s been deluding himself.

Carol, however, is not one to be deluded. So while The Kingdom is presented as a paradise -- replete with a lovely, even heavenly choral rendition of a Bob Dylan classic to drive the point home as the edenic qualities of the camp are shown off in a lovingly-shot montage -- she doesn’t have to know that Ezekiel is feeding his people pigs who are fattened up by eating the dead or tything to The Saviors to know that it’s not the unspoiled land of plenty it seems.

That’s the rub of the episode, however, and the thing that makes Carol stay and that makes The Kingdom more than just another stop on the Walking Dead’s tour of civilizations. When confronting Carol as she tries to leave, King Ezekiel drops the act, and reveals that he’s not some madman with delusions of grandeur; he’s a self-aware regular guy trying to give people someone to follow, someone to believe in.

That’s where the themes of Deadwood start to seep in. Carol’s grand beef with the universe, with the state of the world as it is now, is the idea that any notion of safety or security or peace is a myth, something that tantalizes us into thinking we’re okay but is then shattered and only serves to remind us how tainted and damaged we must be in the new order. Ezekiel, on the other hand, offers a different view of that myth.

He acknowledges that his royal attitude is a bit ridiculous, confesses his community theater roots and explains the source of his tiger as stemming from his days as a zookeeper, not some myth of having wrestled it and tamed it himself in the forest. But he argues that these stories, these grand ideas built on nothing, give people hope, help them to build a community on those fantasies, one that will hopefully, one day, be able to sustain itself without the need for such theatricality.

But every camp, every civilization, tells a story about itself, offers some founding principles or creation myth that helps give it direction and purpose. That’s what Ezekiel, with eyes wide open, wants to give the people who follow him, in the hopes that they can use it to live freely, to start something that might be able to outlast them. He offers the same thing to Carol--a lie agreed upon--and hopes that it may be something to help her find a path to peace and growth and perhaps even stability as well.

So the final images of the episode are of Morgan and Carol setting Carol up in an old house, something that allows her to be away and alone, but close enough to where she can be a part of The Kingdom when she wants, and The King can visit her just as easily.

It’s a ray of sunshine for Morgan, a respite from the idea that Carol is content to pursue her solitary death wish. It’s a hopeful beat for Carol, herself finding a middle ground between the ghosts of the dead that seem to follow her wherever she goes and the notion of cutting herself off from civilization, from anyone and everyone. And while King Ezekiel standing on her doorstep offering an apple is a bit on the nose, it’s symbolic of the theme that paradise may be out of reach, but perhaps the people in the ashes of the world can still gain something from that myth.

For however much fans and critics alike were turned off by the bleak brutality of The Walking Dead’s season premiere, “The Well” offers an antidote, a chance for its most developed characters to replenish the parts of themselves that have been drained by the horrors they are confronted with. As for the denizens of Deadwood, the episode posits that there can be something wonderful, something strong, something bright and communal and healing, that can emerge from so much muck and hardship.

"People are the real threat now". - Rick

The Walking Dead as a show itself as been like a mix relationship for me, because we will have one great episode and then a terrible and boring one that I had to ask why? Season 4 was the season of Filler, I'm not kidding you nothing happened in that season beside the Governor attacking Ricks group, the writing was all so messy in season 4 and I was very shade about season 5 and what can the writers do to win me over again, well let me tell you something about Season 5 of The Walking Dead and that is it's ten times better than Season 4.

I felt that season 5 had a lot of things moving and there wasn't much of filler episodes in this season which I'm so happy about because filler episodes are the most forgettable ones, it's a true fact. I also thought the writing has improved a lot with the dialogue that doesn't feel boringly thought out by the writers that only want to go home for the day.

The character arks are another thing that's improved in this season because you can see the group slowly melting away into full crazy by this world that they living in and how it's eating their minds away. But in the other seasons you never got that, you know what we got, pointless talk to talk between the characters talking about something that really isn't all that important and then the episode ends. Some people call that character development well I call it lazy writing and how is it character development when two characters stare at each other telling each other that they hungry and how their feeling, really.

I got to give credit to Andrew Lincoln as Rick Grimes as he gives a great performance as the furiously cold Rick. Andrew is the only reason I watch The Walking Dead because these something about Rick as a character that always keeps me watching. The rest of the cast did great as well.

I'm looking forward to Season 6 to see what's next and what else the show brings even if it is part awesomeness or upsetting.

Initially, M. Night Shyamalan was a force to be reckoned with. This may all be ancient history, of course. Most folks no longer care enough about the man to fact check his history, but he really was perceived to be the next big thing. In fact, out of all of the films in his roster, the only movie that people loved so much they demanded a sequel to was Unbreakable, and now they finally have a real sequel. Sure, Split was a part of that as well, but in my books, it’s not a true sequel unless you continue the story following the original characters – and that’s what Glass finally does – but has M. Night let too much time pass?

As amazing as it is to see all of these characters finally occupy the same space together, I think Shyamalan lost his spark as far as his ability to tell a story goes. When a new M. Night Shyamalan film came out, people knew his films would be similar in tone, concept, cinematography, and visuals. Think about how many of his films feel dreamy, like a dark foreboding mystery that makes you cry out what is happening!? The way he solidified that idea was with great characters, symbolic imagery and elements (like water) and visuals (like light and color), soft-spoken dialogue, and a unique use of camerawork. It all came together to feel unlike anything else out there. Typically, his early work also ended with a massive twist-ending that changed the very way you watched the film, making an additional viewing that much more special in the long run.

The more films he made, the more of the aforementioned list he did away with. Whether or not he lost the things that made him special was on purpose or not is unknown, but the fact remains true: it’s not a well-oiled machine anymore. What remains in Glass are really great characters, and only one shot of great lighting and colors, but that’s where it stops feeling like M. Night Shyamalan. It’s not foreboding, it’s not soft-spoken, the camerawork isn’t really impressive, there’s not much focus on symbolic imagery, elements, or visuals. Actually, it’s kind of messy because I’m not sure Shyamalan knew how to write a movie with all of these characters and instead threw something together that wasn’t very solid. But we have lots to discuss. Let’s do it.

PEOPLE – 85% (17/20)
Acting – 3/4 | Characters – 4/4 | Casting – 4/4 | Importance – 3/4 | Chemistry – 3/4

Starting off with the People Category, you’ll notice that M. Night mostly did a great job here. There’s nothing wrong with the casting, characters, or honestly, acting. Pretty much every great thing in this category was borrowed from Split and Unbreakable but I digress. McAvoy is the pure definition of “range of acting” – so his performance impresses the most, and that is probably why it focuses a lot on his character, I just wish it focused more on the characters we haven’t seen in 19 years. I’d say there was definitely some great chemistry, just not everywhere it was needed, and because it is a bit of a sloppy story, I can’t say the characters hold much independent importance, but everyone does play a vital role into the general direction of the plot.

WRITING – 40% (4/10)
Dialogue – 1/2 | Balance – 0/2 | Story Depth – 0/2 | Originality – 1/2 | Interesting – 2/2

We jump straight from one great category to one bad…but what exactly is so bad about the writing in Glass? In general, everything. The first thing I realized while watching the film is there is no main character. There is no real protagonist or antagonist. You can discern the protagonist is Bruce Willis and the two antagonists are Samuel L. Jackson and James McAvoy from common knowledge, but the way the characters are focused on in the movie doesn’t quite feel that way – not from a movie vantage point…and honestly, I don’t think that was the intention. I don’t think M. Night knew how to write all the characters and their roles from a normal cinematic approach. Another problem was it was messy. You absolutely HAVE to watch the other movies to have any real idea on who these people are – it’s like the next scene in a movie, not an entirely different film – which means, as I’ll get into later, the introduction is weak. It has a hard time juggling between the characters and their relevance to the story. Because of that, you have no real story depth because it’s too busy trying to find footing elsewhere. Heck, even the dialogue was weak. Technically, it’s average, but you expect big memorable speeches from Samuel Jackson, and it never quite reaches that level. All-in-all, I’d say the writing was very weak.

BTS – 80% (8/10)
Visuals – 2/2 | Cinematography – 1/2 | Editing – 2/2 | Advertising – 2/2 | Music & Sound – 1/2

The approach taken behind-the-scenes was mostly done pretty well. I wouldn’t necessarily say as well as it used to be back in the early 2000’s, but still pretty good, generally speaking. The visuals are mostly normal, but there is one really cool shot where they use lighting and color in an impressive way, and I can’t ignore it, so that gets full points. Editing is also really good when they transition between modern shots filmed for this film mixed seamlessly with shots taken for the original film – so editing gets full points, but that’s it. As much as I loved the music in Unbreakable, I don’t think I can say the same for this film. It’s just fine for what it is, and the camerawork is as typical as it gets, which is very unlike M. Night Shyamalan.

NARRATIVE ARC – 80% (8/10)
Introduction – 1/2 | Inciting Incident – 2/2 | Obstacles – 1/2 | Climax – 2/2 | Resolution – 2/2

For the most part, the narrative structure in this film is fine. It has an issue fully introducing you to the characters, as it heavily relies on previous films to do that, but once they get that over with, everything is mostly fine. There’s not much of a central plot underneath it all, which doesn’t really help much, but there is an event early on that changes things, that is the inciting incident. There is a big culminating event towards the end that is easily seen as the climax, and it does calm down and return to a new sense of norm for a resolution.

ENTERTAINMENT – 60% (6/10)
Rewatchability – 1/2 | Fun Experience – 2/2 | Impulse to Buy or Own – 1/2 | Impulse to Talk about or Recommend – 1/2 | Riveting – 1/2

As mentioned beforehand, this was an anticipated film with a group of characters you’ve been dying to see for nearly two decades, of course it’s entertaining. It’s entertaining without really trying to be for the most part. I would definitely rewatch this movie, but I’d probably only do that as a series rewatch, if a friend popped it in, or if I caught it live on TV. Half points. I did have a good time watching the film in general, so that gets full points. I do have an impulse to own it, so I’d add it as a wish list item, but I probably wouldn’t buy it myself. I also think there’s plenty to discuss about the film, but I don’t really feel like recommending it. Finally, I think there is enough in the movie that’s important enough to make you feel like you can’t pause it, but that’s not always the case, so that gets half points.

SPECIALTY – 75% (30/40)
Unbreakable Franchise – 5/10 | Sequel – 10/10 | M. Night Shyamalan – 5/10 | Halfway Decent – 10/10

Finally, what do you expect to see from this film? Especially if you’re a fan of Unbreakable or M. Night Shyamalan? What is it that you actually want to see happen? That answer is different for everyone, but I think there are a few things that anybody would ask. Does it feel like it fits in well with Unbreakable? Yes and no. I think the characters fit in wonderfully, but it strangely feels more like a sequel to Split than Unbreakable, at least in tone and overall feel – so this gets half points. As a sequel, did people want to see it and did it add anything new? Yes and yes. Like I said before, in all of Shyamalan’s filmography, people wanted this film to be made – and does it add anything new? Absolutely – the inclusion of James McAvoy makes more sense than I originally thought – as Samuel L. Jackson is no physical match for Bruce Willis. Full points. As an M. Night Shyamalan film, I think it’s fine, but it doesn’t really feel like him, half points. Halfway Decent – did they make the movie they intended to make from the get go? I had to think on that for a while, but I think for the most part, it did, so that gets full points.

TOTAL SCORE – 73%

To start off this review, I would like to point out that prior to watching this series, the only experience i have in Anime is from the likes of Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z, Dragon Ball GT, and finally, Samurai Champloo. I am a new comer to anime, at the righteous age of 25. With that being said, i feel my life would have changed drastically if i had watched Naruto and the rest as a kid.

I will be doing a review of every season i watch of Naruto. Sort of to keep my head around all the plots within the series, as there is so much, and so many characters! So far in the series, my favorite season has been Season 2, and as of writing this, i am on Season 3. Season 1 really felt like the introduction season to Naruto, or so for the ones who never read the Manga or never seen Shippuden. It starts us off with Naruto in a form of 'High School' known as the Ninja Academy of the Hidden Leaf Village. Naruto is an orphan with a great secret! He has living inside of him, a mythical creature known as the Nine Tailed Fox (Seriously the coolest animal since the Liger).

He is taught by a teacher, or otherwise known as a Chunin (chūnin / Choo-Neen) which literally means a 'Middle' Ninja or otherwise known to us as a 'Journeyman' Ninja, one who is qualified to lead other ninja on missions. He is ultimately the one who pairs up Naruto, Saskue and Sakura and helps them form Team 7. After they graduate from from the Ninja Academy, which leads them to a new form of Ninja, known as a Genin which means Low Ninja, or the lowest ninja. After the Ninja Academy they get a new teacher named or known as, Kakashi (one of my favorites). He is a Shinobi, a rank higher than Genin. they are the military powerhouses and usually come from a Hidden Village (Same as the Hidden Leaf Village) of specialized ninja. This is where the strongest developments happen for the characters, and one of the best enemies come to play, only known as Zabuza Momochi the Demon of the Hidden Mist. I won't spoil what happens in the fight, as i am trying to keep this spoiler free.

They only meet Zabuza because they take their first mission with Kakashi, a D rank mission, for a bridge builder, which also starts the Arc of "The Land of the Waves". This is an interesting plot, because there are so many twists you wouldn't expect, along with finding out what Naruto is capable of, and how strong Saskue is... and ultimately how helpless Sakura is, without them. This also happens to be the place where the biggest character plot, and change happens for Saskue and Kakashi, and how alike they are. Leaving you only to wonder, what happens to Sakura while this is happening? Oh nothing.. just being the helpless damsel in distress. There is one big plot that occurs between Naruto and a woman-like man named Haku which ultimately effects him deeply, and is a long over-drawn segment.

They are now back to the Hidden Leaf Village, and just in time for the Chunin exams. This is where Team 7 meets its other applicants or teams. These will be their opponents through the Exams to become a middle ninja. The first portions start with a written exam, which shows how much everyone knows, and how little a few characters care about it. Though, you learn how bad ass their new teacher is, named Ibiki Morino who is a Tokubetsu Jonin (Tokubetsu Jōnin / Special High Ninja). This is where you meet the "Rookie 9" or also known as Ino Yamanaka, Shikamaru Nara, and Choji Akimichi of Asuma's Team 10 and Shino Aburame, Hinata Hyuga, and Kiba Inuzuka of Kurenai's Team 8. All having their own specialty's and strengths. A special note is Kabuto Yakushi.

Some time during meeting the Rookie 9, you also get to meet a special ninja known as rock Lee, a ninja who knows no Jitsu, but is fluent, and extremely fluent in Taijutsu - which literally means Body Skill, or body contact, or IN YOUR FACE pummeling. He is the only... you know what, i won't ruin it for you if you have not seen it. He is so special, i had to write a whole paragraph dedicated to him and his sensei Guy. Two of my favorite characters of Season 1, and they only get better as the show goes on. You really see a massive development of Rock Lee and Saskue during their constant encounters which really makes you despise Saskue, but love Lee.

Finally, after they all pass the Chunin written exams, and the special Question #10, they are told they have one more exam, and that if they fail, they are out. They mention it is weird to have such a high number of ninja left going for Chunin. Which is odd, and is constantly mentioned as they go through the test in the dangerous "Forest of Death" where they must gather two scrolls. They all have one, and each team needs to defeat one team for theirs. Not every team wins, and not everyone makes it out... alive. During this sequence you learn a lot of plot development, and foreshadowing for a very good second season.

Overall, Season 1 was good, but not as good as Season 2. You see massive developments of characters, huge holes of plot that will be filled in, don't you worry, one huge enemy (Zabuza) defeated, countless others killed (yes, killed). If Naruto can keep its momentum for me, it will almost surpass Dragon Ball Z in terms of constant action. When Lee does his thing, he even reminds me of a Goku. Which is literally amazing! I am loving this anime, and wised i watched it earlier in my life.

An emotional portrayal rather than an historically faithful account of Mary's relationship with Elizabeth of England. Although claiming that this film was based on John Guy's book MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS: THE TRUE LIFE OF MARY STUART (a remarkable, groundbreaking historical work, which, driven by curiosity by the movie, I've just finished reading) there is very little evidence the screenwriter finished reading it. Both the book and film present Mary as the beautiful, courtly, intellectual and political equal of Elizabeth I, but, that must have been when the screenwriter stopped reading the book for he departs from the historical record and lapses into a fantasy, portraying Elizabeth as weak and distant from her own political processes, gives us with no credible explanation for why Elizabeth made the decisions she did, which begs the question no historian would pose, "If Mary was a true and worthy queen whereas Elizabeth was weak and an emotional mess, how did Mary end up on the executioner's block and Elizabeth manage to successfully hold her throne for 44 years?" The screenwriter muddles up any political, religious or ideological (or even personal) logic for the climate of the day which inevitably set the course for Mary's life path. There is no clarity given as to whether one was either Protestant or Roman would be such an insurmountable issue, partly because John Knox was so poorly written (despite having hidden the very talented and capable David Tennant behind all the hair). Disappointing story telling. Saoirse Ronan and Margot Robbie give emotionally deep performances, as expected. This was a waste of good actors. I rate this film a 4 (poor) out of 10. I know I may be expressing a minority opinion, because, by and large, the people I spoke to as we exited the theatre, seemed to have liked the movie, but more troubling, they accepted this as an historically accurate portrayal while confessing to each other that they never knew of Mary, Queen of Scotts. [Historical? BioPic]. By the way, a seminole point of John Guy's book is that Mary and Elizabeth NEVER MET!

I am disappointed with this movie. I had such high expectations. There were many gaps in portraying the story. I am very familiar with the British history so I was able to fill in the gaps. But I was with my teenage daughter and she got lost in the story. First of all, there was no explanation as to why the religion mattered. Second, many stories were rushed, no detail provided while some other stories/parts dragged. And as I watched the scene when Elizabeth and Mary met for the first time I realized that this whole movie is about women empowerment. The way the story was told, the focus was on the strength and power of the women (mostly Mary). I don't like how Elizabeth was portrayed as a weak and insecure woman. Actually, the truth was quite the opposite - she was strong and smart woman. She knew what she wanted. She never married because she knew that she would lose power the moment she tied the knot. This is what ultimately brought Mary's demise.

If the focus of the movie was telling the story rather than making a point, the result would have been much better movie. Right now the movie lacks a seamless story telling. What a waste of good actors. And btw, I think they overdid it with Elizabeth's make up.

Hmm...a little late don't you think.

I mean, this should have came out like four years ago when Slender Man was popular, but not now. The popularity has kinda died out.

'Slender Man' is a water down horror movie with more yawns than thrills. It's painfully dull. So boring in fact, I actually fell asleep 12 minutes into it. Of course I had to re-watch it which was horrible.

There's nothing redeemable or anything good about 'Slender Man'. The script is terrible with endless amount of horror movie clichés you thought died out for good. The cliché of how teenagers talk in these type of horror movies. Not forgetting the questionable decisions that leads to their demise.

All the performances were pretty bad and not convincing during the more "scary" elements - Just made the scenes more funny to be honest. Joey King is on a winning streak recently by starring in terrible movies, and she's really bad in the movie.

The atmosphere or tension is none existent to build up any suspense, just loud jump scares through out. Most of the quiet scenes felt like filler than anything else. When it tries to be creepy, it's embarrassing.

Overall rating: Sony, YOU HACKS!

Holy fuck this movie is awful, I don't get how anyone can praise it. The only parts that were good were the fight scenes and some of the training scenes. They did a pretty decent job putting you into the ring with the boxers but that's literally it. The story is complete nonsense, the acting was was below awful, and it was rife with random meaningless bullshit. Two scenes particularly stick in my mind in a way that is so awful that it becomes hilarious. One is a scene where Creed and his shoehorned love interest are about to have sex on a couch with Rocky in the other room and the girl says something about it being weird that Rocky was in the other room and Creed blurts out "He Old!" as justification to continue and then they just fuck. It's hilarious but what the hell were the writers thinking? Then near the end he's running down the street to train, a random kid on a dirt bike asks if he's Apollo Creed's son, he says yeah, the kid says cool, and then the kid just fucking wheelies down the street. What the hell is that supposed to mean? At the very end you get another random ass scene with these dirt bike kids doing wheelies down the street while he trains. This movie is just complete nonsense.

Although it was a little slow to begin with, I was not disappointed at all by this film. As soon as I heard there was a new one, I kept an open mind and told myself that: "If it makes me laugh as much as the first and second, then I will be happy", and thankfully, it certainly did! If I was going to pick between the three, I'd still slightly prefer the second one, but I don't really think we should be comparing them. Why not enjoy them all? I certainly have.

As with all of Rowan Atkinson's comic creations, Johnny English is a hilarious character who can simply be funny in an empty room. So many people discuss his physical ability, which is of course outstanding, but even his ability to phrase words for comical effect can brighten anybody's day. There are so many subtle gags in this film, it's unbelievable.

I loved the return of Bough as his sidekick. He plays an excellent part in both the first one and this new one. His character is equally as brilliant as Johnny English himself.

A wonderful film, filled with brilliant comedy, and there were moments when I didn't think I'd be able to stop laughing. It was fantastic!

Well this is surprising.

The story is about a CIA analyst who just so happens to be responsible for the success of some of the most dangerous missions. But when her partner suddenly disappears and another top agent is compromised, she finds herself going from behind the desk to into the field - deep undercover to infiltrate the inner circle of an arms dealer and prevent a global catastrophe.

Spoof movies on spy films isn't anything new, I mean we've seen some good and some bad ones that are not written very well and the jokes are just flat. "Spy" was a movie that I didn't really care about until the film got it's early reviews from critics and it got positive reviews. So I've just seen the movie last night and I thought the film was very funny comedy, and it's ten times better than Tammy that we got last year.

Melissa McCarthy can be a hit or miss with me, because I know she can do a great performance in comedy movies, I mean she got nominated for Oscar in Bridesmaids so that's saying something. In this movie I thought she was going to be a clumsy over weight women who always slip up and makes things worse, you know the cliches in those comedy's, but I was extremely surprised that this didn't happen in this movie as Meliassa McCarthy character has a comedic ark to her, but she also played a different character and not the ones that she normally pick. Melissa McCarthy did a good comedic performance in this movie and she did better in this movie than in Tammy.

The director of the Paul Feig who previous did Bridesmaids, The Heat and he's doing the upcoming Ghostbusters movie. He directed the movie pretty good and although out the film I keep thinking of The Heat that he did and I'm saying that in a positive way, as it shows he can mix action with comedy very well. Great work Paul Feig.

The rest of the cast in the movie like: Jude Law, Rose Byrne and Jason Statham all did great in the movie, as both of them got their own funny lines and at least they wasn't wasted like in some other movies seem to do with a big cast like this, but luckily it worked out fine.

The writing was good, the one liners in the movie has to be funniest one liners I've heard since the movie Whiplash and some of jokes really worked.

Now for the problems: Some of the jokes in the movie are sometimes predictable and just fell flat to me. I know this may sound like a small little nick pick to most people, but the movie has a Jame Bond like opening just like Bond films always open, but of cause this movie does it's own take on it and it really wasn't all that good, as I said before it's a small little nick pick but it could have been a lot better, I'm just saying.

Overall Spy is a decent comedy and it's way better than some spoof movies on spy films. The acting was good, some of the jokes worked, Paul Feig directed the movie with style by mixing the action and comedy perfectly, and the movie is enjoyable.