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[9.0/10[ An incredibly tense hour of television. What's so impressive is that Better Call Saul accomplished this despite us knowing that, of course, Jimmy and Gus both survive. It comes down to such fantastic performances from everyone involved. You immediately buy how shaken and terrified Jimmy and Kim are, and how frightened even the normally steady Gus is at the point of Lalo's gun. Vince Gilligan's direction is outstanding, with a Hitchcockian flair for light and shadow that sets the foreboding mood of all these set pieces. And the score does the rest, helping the audience to feel the emotion of these scenes even if we rationally know the fates of several of those at the most risk.

My only mild beef is that Gus' survival feels like a bit of a cheat. It's still not clear to me why he did the gun in the superlab, and the dialogue kind of shrugs at the idea. Even in the dark, it seems like Lalo would have done better against Fring than he did. But details like Fring seeming to make one last desperate ploy to survive, still suffering wounds despite his body armor, and admitting he was over his skiis with this whole thing in the end helps make it passable. On a moment-to-moment basis, the scenes absolutely work, which covers for a lot.

What struck me the most is that closing image -- Howard and Lalo, two very different men, sharing the same fate and the same grave. It's a sign that the barrier between Jimmy's legal life and Saul's criminal life has been firmly shattered. Both lives, both worlds, are bound up in these deaths now, with the psychic weight hanging over Jimmy and Kim for the last five episodes. This never happened, but they, and Mike, will all still have to live with it. I can't wait to see how.

EDIT: If you'd like to read my usual, longer review of the episode, you can find it here -- https://thespool.net/reviews/tv-recap-better-call-saul-season-6-episode-8/

[7.4/10] Watchmen is not a carbon copy, rehash, or recapitulation of, well, Watchmen, which is to say that the most admirable thing about this introduction to the television series is that it is clearly of the world and characters brought to life on the comic book page by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons, clearly indebted to their approach and their style, but is also clearly its own thing. In an age where franchise extensions are ubiquitous and even nominally original films and T.V. shows offer reheated versions of familiar tropes, that in and of itself is refreshing.

That’s not to say that “It’s Summer and We’re Running Out of Ice”, that mouthful of a title for an opening episode, doesn't take pains to remind you what its inspiration and source material is. The catch, and the thing that makes the premiere a little more admirable than other late sequels, is that those references and remembrances have a twist that reminds you of what came before while channeling it into what’s happening now.

So you have the chance to see the iconography of smiley face through a classroom baking demonstration. You have the same circular visual motifs in aerial shots that create the tableau of a clock face. With that, you have an ambient sound track of ticks to make the audience nervous, for clocks and bombs and more, at the same time some characters literally verbalize the onomatopoeia. You have police cruising around in something akin to Nite Owl’s ship. You have a crowd of Rorschach worshippers quoting his most famous speech from the comic. You have, as promised in the final pages of the original graphic novel, the legacy of a Robert Redford presidency. You have little baby squid falling from the sky and concerns that batteries from old Dr. Manhattan-technology cause cancer. If you’re a fan of the original Watchmen, there’s plenty to latch onto here.

But the trick is how those homages are used -- as a bridge to the current setting and the exploration of topics that were, at best, tangential to what the original Moore/Gibbons comic were exploring. “It’s Summer” ends in the same way as the first issue of Watchmen started, with a murder mystery over the untimely death of a member of the old guard, and his blood dripping down on his pin of choice, only now, the victim is a police sergeant, not a masked vigilante, and the blood is dripping down onto his police badge, not the iconic yellow expression that’s come to represent so much.

And therein lies the difference, and what makes Lindelof’s Watchmen admirable. It’s using the same iconography and approach to get at something different, something timely about the tenuous connection between law enforcement and race and justice in the same way that nuclear annihilation was timely in the 1980s. It represents a transformation of Moore and Gibbons approach, something that channels their spirit, without just following a cookie cutter roadmap or reconjuring the same conflict and themes in a shiny new box.

I like that approach. I like the themes that Lindelof and company are chewing on in this opening stanza. I like the character at the center of the narrative. I like the concept of police identities being hidden and every interaction rigorously authorized and recorded as something to wrestle with. I like the notion of the post-squid attack United States having to deal with Rorschach-worshipping, hard right, conspiracy theorizing domestic terrorists as the legacy of *Watchmen*s most famous character.

I am intrigued (if a bit apprehensive) about how the typical dynamics are mixed and inverted, with the conservative white vigilantes going after a police force that, in this opening episode at least, prominently features African Americans. I like the bizarre dichotomy between Nixon and Redford as opposing symbols on that axis. I like an aged, secluded Ozymandias clearly still haunted by the memory of Dr. Manhattan.

I just don’t love the execution of all of that just yet. This is HBO, so everything looks pretty damn good. There’s a slickness to the production, a fluidity to the action scenes, and an attention to detail in the cinematography and production design that let you know this is a high class production. There is style here and competence here, reflected in the quality of the shots, the construction of the world, and the performers enlisted to bring it all to life.

And yet there’s something oddly soulless about it all. For touching on such hot topics, and channeling such a well-felt story, “It’s Summer” struggles to feel like a real human story, rather than one of metaphors and abstractions finding convenient purchase in various characters. Pilots are tough, needing to introduce the major personalities, places, and conflicts of the story, and this one does it all ably, on top of drawing noticeable but not over the top connections to its inspiration. But there’s little here that grabs you with its realness instead of tapping you on the shoulder with its intriguing but strangely detached vibe.

Still, there’s enough here to chew on, and enough promise to keep coming back.# Watchmen the T.V. series gives away the game a bit in its 1921 silent film opening, giving us a cinematic throwback to match “Tales of the Black Freighter” from the comic. It’s a story about who can lay claim to being the arbiter of justice, who can rightfully wear a mask, and who can be treated and as worthy of enforcing the law in a time and place where racial tensions and disparities make that suspect. That’s what Lindelof and company want to get at in this, and their focus on the 1921 Tulsa ravaging of the black community that gets the son of one of the perpetrators hanged almost a century later, one who seems to have far more but overcome his father’s prejudices, it sets a tone for a show ready to touch a nerve, to challenge its audience, to get at the heart of current cultural divisions in this country.

It remains to be seen whether addressing those issues is enough to make up a compelling story, let alone one that carries the mantle of one of the definitive literary works of the twentieth century. Still, “It’s Summer” promises a series that takes its cues from the original Watchmen, but aims to emulate its spirit, not just its beats, which makes it worth seeing through beyond this first, solid but unspectacular outing.

The meanest thing I could say about this movie is ‘Has extreme Don’t Worry Darling energy’.

I have never seen a movie more desperate to justify itself. It’s trapped in this endless neurosis over what it is- a blockbuster Barbie movie in 2023 by an acclaimed art house director that is fun but also deep but also earnest but also self aware but also but also but also. Every point it raises it brings up a counterpoint to before the audience can, every frame is trying to prove it’s not just product but art. It’s never just Barbie. It’s never confident or even comfortable in its skin. You cannot for a second be immersed in Barbie because it’s not a story so much as a visual dissertation without a central thesis, it’s a student film riffing on the big dogs hoping it’s underdog audacity will carry it but given a budget in the millions. It so desperately wants you to like it, to know it’s in on the joke too.

Everythng is an ouroboros here: an endless loop of argument and counterarguement feeding itself. Isn’t it shitty how the Mattel boardroom is full of men? Ah, but isn’t it cool how Mattel’s acknowledged it with this niche? And it’ll mythologize Barbie’s creator but uh don’t worry she did tax evasion we know that, now let her impart into Barbie the experience of all women. Barbie helps women, Barbie hurts women, Barbie is told to be everything so isn’t she just like women, but it is better to be a creator than the idea, and in the end, hasn’t Barbie helped all these women? Oh uh why is this blonde white Barbie the centerpiece of it all and helping not only her diverse Barbie friends but a Hispanic woman and her daughter? Don’t worry we’ll have the daughter call her a white savior! But don’t worry we’ll have the mom say she’s not! It’s fascinating to watch, honestly. It’s a film that wants to prove to you so so bad that it works but it doesn’t and it knows it doesn’t and it knows you knows. It’s Gerta Gerwig wrestling with taking this job for an hour and a half.

The cast is more than game and able. Margot Robbie is doing her damndest to find the heart and soul in this role, and there’s one scene with an old lady near the end of the first act/beginning of the second that actually works, for just a moment, more than any of the big third act soliloquies or montages with emotional ballads. And as someone who’s seen Blade Runner 2049 and Drive, this is the best Ryan Gosling performance I’ve seen. The man commits and delivers a surprisingly compelling and entertaining antagonist. The movie can’t quite reconcile what he’s done with his ending, or tie it into the themes- is Ken letting go of Barbie and the need to define himself for or against her symbolizing the need for men to do the same, and if so, why play it so lightly and sympathetically?- but that’s not his fault. And the supporting cast are entertaining, but you just can’t have big laughs with a movie that feels like it’s constantly checking in the corner of its eye after every joke to see if you’re laughing, grin stuck in place. It’s not as funny or as smart as it wants to be, and the sad thing is, it feels like it knows that too.

There is some great set design, cinematography, dazzling choreography, popping colors, and some fun high points. But I can’t imagine many kids liking it. And we’ve seen how conservatives have taken this movie. And anyone’s who’s progressed beyond the politics of. Well. A feminist blockbuster Barbie movie will find it cloying or condescending or just incredibly basic. It’s aimed at a very specific crowd who will buy what it’s saying, the liberals who see corporate feminism as progress, who agree that it’s just about a little change sometimes, who are ready for something just a little more complex than a SNL sketch. I don’t regret seeing it, because I was deeply engaged the whole time seeing it struggle at war with itself, in pain for its whole existence. It’s not a boring movie by any means. It wants to say everything before the audience can say it first. It’s the endpoint of The Lego Movie and Enchanted- the corporations interrogating and justifying themselves, and the cracks in this formula are too large to ignore. It wants to be so much, and the attempt is as darkly mesmerizing as a fly thinking it can somehow and someway metamorphize into a butterfly and suffocating and struggling in its makeshift cocoon, but this is one Barbie that fundamentally just cannot break out of its box.

[8.4/10] I'd speculated about how Kim would depart Jimmy's world. I feared she might be killed. I thought she'd get fed up with his misdeeds and leave him over that. What I didn't expect was that it would be spurred by a moment of self-recognition born of a terrible tragedy. Kim still loves Jimmy, but she recognizes that they're "poison" together, that they get off on the joint cons, and that when they do, people get hurt. She is one of the vanishingly small number of people in this franchise to recognize that she's on a destructive path and take drastic action to stop it. It's one of the most unexpected, but ultimately satisfying ways to have her exit I can imagine.

And it puts her in good company. Jimmy is as horrified by what happened as Kim is, but he can envision moving on, he can picture maintaining this life despite where it led them, he can see forgetting this some day. Kim can't. It's the same way Gus cannot forget his former partner Max, someone he loves, whose memory lingers with him when he gazes into Don Eladio's pool and holds him back from continuing to flirt with the handsome waiter who chats him up over a glass of a wine. It's the same way Mike cannot forget his son, which leads him to tell Nacho's father the truth about what happened to his child.

Mr. Varga shrugs off Mike's promise that justice will be done, recognizing that what he's talking about is vengeance. He declares that vengeance is a cycle that doesn't stop, and we know from Breaking Bad that he's right. Gus hasn't beaten the Salamancas or Don Eladio. Mike hasn't completed his tour of duty so that he can retire and spend time with his granddaughter. Jimmy can't avoid crossing paths with the cartel again. They're all in this now, and their victories bring them no peace, only pull them deeper into the muck of this, and closer to their ignoble ends.

But Kim breaks away. She cannot forget, but she can act to stop this from happening again. Her final scene with Jimmy (for now at least) is more quietly heartbreaking than explosive and dramatic, but that suits the gravity of this. And in her absence, Jimmy is free to become Saul, as an indeterminate time jump to the man in his huckster faux-finery confirms. The last thing holding Jimmy back is gone. Saul Goodman is here. He can't stop. And despite the woman in his bed, the bedraggled secretary on his phone, and the crowd of people in his waiting room, he is alone.

EDIT: If you'd like to read my usual, longer review, you can find it here -- https://thespool.net/reviews/tv-recap-better-call-saul-season-6-episode-9/

[9.8/10] What an episode! It's hard to imagine an hour of television that could draw out the differences between Jimmy and Kim better than this one.

In the wake of Howard's death and all the sins she committed and enabled, Kim numbs herself in a colorless world of banal conversations and empty experiences. Everything about her day-to-date life is colorless and dull, resigning herself to a sort of limbo as both penance and protection from inflicting anymore wrongs on the world. And even there, she won't make any decisions, offer any opinions, as though she's afraid that making any choice will lead her down another bad road.

Until Gene intervenes, balks at her command to turn himself in, and tells her to do that if she's so affronted by what they did. And holy hell, she does! If there was ever an indicator of moral fortitude in the Gilliverse, it's that. The courage of your convictions it takes to have gotten away with it, lived years away from the worst things you've ever done, and still choose to return to the place where it happened and accept your punishment, legal, moral, or otherwise, is absolutely incredible. Rhea Seehorn kills it, especially as Kim comes crumbling apart on an airport shuttle, amid all the hard truths she set aside for so long coming back in one painful rush. It's a tribute to Seehorn, and to Kim, how pained and righteous Kim seems in willfully choosing to confess and suffer whatever fate comes down, unlike anyone else in Better Call Saul or Breaking Bad.

It makes her the polar opposite of Gene, who finds new depths of terribleness as the noose tightens around him. As he continues the robbery of the cancer-stricken man whose house he broke into in the last episode, he finds new lows. Even when this risky excess has worked out for him, he pushes things even further by stealing more luxury goods as time runs out. He nearly smashes in the guy's skull with an urn for his own dead pet. He bails on Jeff. And when Marion finds him out, he advances on her with such a physical threat, a dark echo of the kindness to senior citizens that once defined his legal career.

The contrast is clear. Kim will turn herself in even when she doesn't have to and has excuses and justifications she could offer. Gene resorts to ever more cruelty, fraud, and craven self-interest to save himself from facing any of the consequences he so richly deserves. Kim is right to tell Jesse Pinkman that Saul used to be good, when she knew him. The two of them will understand better than anyone else in this universe what it's like to attach yourself to someone who sheds everything that made them a decent human being. Jimmy lost the part of himself that was good, or kind, or noble, even amid his cons. But Kim held onto her moral convictions, and it's what makes her not just Jimmy's foil, but the honorable counterpoint to the awful person he became.

EDIT: Here's a link to my usual more in-depth review of the episode if anyone's interested -- https://thespool.net/reviews/better-call-saul-season-6-episode-12-recap/

[8.2/10] What a blast this is. I’m impressed both at how well WandaVision is able to replicate the 1950s sitcom vibe, especially for supernatural-themed comedies like Bewitched mixed with The Dick van Dyke show, while also including a subtle but palpable sense of existential terror beneath the three camera confines of the show.

I really enjoy how this first episode plays on the classic sitcom tropes: a couple not remembering an important date on the calendar, a wacky neighbor, a boss coming over for dinner who needs to be impressed. The show does a nice spin on them, while also feeling true to the sitcoms it’s paying homage to. I’m particularly stunned by the cast, who are able to replicate that acting style, and the editors and other behind the scenes craftsmen, who are able to replicate the rhythm, to such perfection.

What’s neat is that the episode works pretty perfectly separate and apart from its larger MCU connections as a solid old school sitcom pastiche. There’s a lot of nice setup and payoffs of gags, like Wanda repurposing a magazine's “Ways to please your man” article to distract her husband’s boss and his wife, or Vision singing “Yakety Yak” after decrying it earlier. Even the lobster door knocker routine was a fun and comical grace note to an earlier bit. As cornball as it is, there’s something charming about this sort of thing, right down to the “What do we actually do here?” gag about the computer company. And despite the light spoofing at play, this works as a solid meat and potatoes sitcom episode.

But the show goes a step further and has real fun with the fact that its leads are a self-described witch and a magical mechanical man respectively. There’s tons of amusing gags, starting with the intro, about the pair using their powers in trifling 1950s household sorts of ways. At the same time, it does well with the jokes about hiding their true identities. Vision writing off Wanda’s behavior as “European”, Wanda reassuring her neighbor that her husband is human, and Vision taking offense when a coworker tells him he’s a “walking computer” are all entertaining bits that make the most of the weird premise.

And yet, what really elevates this episode is the unnerving hints that there’s something terribly wrong going on here. It’s not hard to guess that after the events of Endgame, there’s still concerns about what happened to vision. The show plays with the melodic rhythms of the sitcom form to suggest something off at the edges here, in a really sharp way.

For instance, there’s an interstitial commercial featuring a Stark toaster, and not only does it feature the only bit of color in the black and white presentation with the beeping light, but the toasting takes just a beat too long for comfort. Likewise, the fact that Wanda and Vision can’t remember their story or how they got married is initially played for laughs, but then it becomes creepy when Mrs. Hart demands answers.

The peak of this comes when Mr. Hart chokes on his broccoli and the artifice freezes for a moment, leaving everyone paralyzed by the departure from how things work in this sort of situation. It’s a great piece of work, of a piece with the likes of Twin Peaks and Don’t Hug Me I’m Scared in its quiet horror.

I’ll refrain from speculating about who’s watching the broadcast we see or who’s in the monitoring room we seem to have an eye on, but the hints at what's really going on, and how that influences the images the audience witnesses, creates a great organic mystery and another layer to the proceedings.

Overall, this is a boffo debut for the series, and I’m excited to watch more!

[7.5/10] I wondered to myself, what was the point of those Breaking Bad flashbacks. Sure, it's cool to see Walt and Jesse and the RV and even the flat bottom flask again. But I was ready to write off the trip back to Saul's first meeting with the meth-dealers in season 2 of Breaking Bad as simple fan service.

It took the scene with Mike for me to get it. The point, at least on my read, is a theme that Better Call Saul has hit time and again -- Saul can't leave well enough alone. He won't listen to Mike that this chemistry teacher is a rank amateur who's going to end up with a dark result. And Gene won't listen to Jeff or his friend who warn that it's a bad idea to darken the doorstep of another poor man stricken with cancer.

We know how things end for Saul in Breaking Bad. The choice to throw in with Walter White rather than be satisfied with his rewarding, if not exactly classy law practice ultimately ruins him, and takes away everything he'd achieved in the years before and after the events of this series. The choice to cast aside any moral hesitation and callously rob a dying man of his finances, to push the bounds of the pragmatic given how long it takes between when they dosed the guy and when Gene tries to complete the deed, will almost certainly lead to a similarly bad end.

Yes, it's neat to flashback and see some of the old faces from Breaking Bad again. It's cool to learn that Huell made it out and see Francesca get one last payday. But the takeaway is simple. Saul lost everything. He has no more fortune or empire. The cops are still after him. His former allies are either dead or have moved on. And even Kim, who asked about him, seems to want nothing to do with him anymore, via a tantalizingly opaque phone call between her and Gene.

So left with no other options, Gene makes the same choice that Slippin' Jimmy did over and over again. He goes back to running scams. He can't leave well enough alone. He does it without any joy, because he's not doing this out of pleasure. He's doing it out of desperation, addition, sadness, and loneliness. He is scraping the last bit of thrill from the bottom of the jar, and if his star-crossed visit to Walter White is any indication, it's likely to be the last step in his sad, pitiable, but always avoidable fall from grace.

EDIT: Here's my usual, more fulsome review for anyone who's interested -- https://thespool.net/reviews/tv/tv-recap-better-call-saul-season-6-episode-11/

[8.0/10] I am amazed that Better Call Saul can still be this tense, and this much fun, when there's nothing that big at stake. Yes, Cinnabon Gene still needs to protect his identity, and things could go terribly wrong if Frank the security guard found out about his involvement in this crime. But by god, at heart, this is just about stealing a minor pile of fancy-ish clothes from a Nebraska department store, and somehow it's still a total thrillride.

I think it speaks to how perfectly the show's creative team knows what they're doing at this late hour. They could make pretty much anything simultaneously exciting and meaningful. There is some inherent juice to the fact that this is the first time we've gotten a full-blown Gene Takovic episode. And it does tie off a few loose ends from the show like the cab driver who identified him as Saul or the security guard whose shoplifting bust he disrupted. But for the most part, this is just a heist for the sake of heist, to show that even so far removed when when we left him in the past and even in Breaking Bad, Jimmy's still got it.

There's a few points of real meaning and resonance though. For one, I believe Jimmy when he talks to Frank (Jerry from Parks and Rec!) about how alone he is. He's using that sad truth to manipulate someone, but I think it's genuinely how he feels, and Jimmy has a history of using real feelings for false purposes. It's underscored by the fact that the title of the episode is just one word, not "____ and ____" like every other title this season. It's a formal way to show that after so long having Kim as a partner, Jimmy is alone.

I'm also struck by the fact that he basically dresses down Jeff and his other accomplice much the same way Mike did to him in "Point and Shoot", right down to him having the other schmucks repeat his line to make sure they understand. Jimmy is still a pro, even if he's been out of the game this long. And despite the fact that he seems to take such joy in the action, he's able to put the loud shirt and louder tie back on the rack at the end of the episode. Jimmy's never been able to stop himself, but after all of this, maybe he's finally got a hold of himself.

There's still three episodes to go, and almost limitless possibilities for where the series could go from here. But it seems like Jimmy has found a tiny bit of peace and security after one last heist, at least for the time being. It's amazing that after all this drama and all this death, something so comparatively low stakes can still be such a thrill.

EDIT: Here's a link to my usual, longer review in case anyone's interested -- https://thespool.net/reviews/tv-recap-better-call-saul-season-6-episode-10/

Ralphie is dead. Can't say I saw that one coming. I also can't say that I saw how he would be humanized. Few characters on The Sopranos are one-dimensional, but few seem as straightforward as Ralphie. He's a shit. That's kind of his character. He's a guy who gets away with all his bad behavior because he's good at his job. We all know the type. But little-by-little, the show peeled layers away from him that made him more vulnerable, less of a monster, and it culminated here right before he dies.

He has quirks in the bedroom. Like so many others on this show, he has mommy issues. He has a son whom he loves enough to be clearly devastated after an accident leaves the son severely injured on Ralphie's watch. He apologizes to Rosalee for how he acted now that he knows what it's like to have something terrible happen to a child. He donates money in Jackie Jr.'s honor. He proposes. He breaks down in tears. Maybe this isn't the monster we thought.

Or maybe it is. Paulie is clearly jealous of the place Ralphie holds in Tony's inner circle as an earner, even if Tony himself isn't terribly fond of the guy. Ralphie is the man who sends Paulie's mom into hysterics when trying to take out his revenge on Paulie himself. He's a man who beats a young stripper to death. He's a man who, maybe, kills any number of innocent, majestic creatures because it makes financial sense.

I don't know if Ralphie or one of his soldiers set the fire that killed Pie-Oh-My. The scene gives hints that point in either direction. Ralphie denies it, convincingly, but we've seen him lie straightfaced before. He has the motive to do it though, and his comments to Tony could confirm that he did the deed. But in the end, it doesn't really matter. What matters is that Tony believes Ralphie did it. Tony felt a connection to a simple, beautiful animal in a way he struggles to do with his fellow man. He's seen Ralphie murder innocent creatures before, and this time, his anger boils over in private, without his colleagues to calm him down or hold him back.

It's one of the most breathtaking, nervewracking sequences of the show. The way these two oxes struggle with one another, the way two seasons' worth of frustrations and tension finally come to a head. And then, just as quickly, it's all over.

Nearly any other show would have ended the episode there. Instead, the second half of the episode is quiet, meditative, almost boring, but in a good way. When Tony calls Chris to come help him get rid of the body, it's not shocking, or dramatic, it's mundane. It's almost as though the "regularness of life" that Chris once spoke of extends even to the covering up of a brutal murder. Tony and Christopher prepare the body, they watch T.V., they obliquely talk about what happened and what it means. They bond, slowly and without fireworks.

This is an episode where the question of "whoever did this" matters less than the fact that it was done. There's undercurrents of blame when Ralphie's son Justin is injured, from Ralphie to the friend who shot the bow and arrow, from Ralphie's ex-wife who blames Ralphie for the lack of supervision, from Ralphie to the ex-wife for buying Justin the bow and arrow. But at the end of the day, Justin's injured and who did it doesn't really matter. When Junior is hit on the head by a boom mic, it has little to do with the Justice Department (negligence, maybe?) but Tony declares he'll sue them and they use it to get Junior's charges dropped or at least his trial postponed. Ralphie may have had his horse killed, or it may have been an accident, but the possibility is enough for him to take out his anger on Ralphie. And as far as the rest of the mobsters know, Tony may have taken out Ralphie (which, as Chris suggests, could send the wrong message) or it could have been any number of other people who Ralphie has pissed off over the years. (Again as Chris notes, Paulie is a likely suspect.)

"Whoever did this" is ambiguous. It prevents you from laying blame. It's a vague sense of a wrong being committed, and a futile pointing of fingers, when real justice, or real comeuppance, is hard to come by, or at least to understand, in the world of The Sopranos. But one thing is true, at the end of all of this, Tony is alone, in the dark, before he steps into a blinding light and the whole thing ends. Who knows what else is in store for him. Tony is complicated, angry, damaged, and often lonely individual, whoever did that to him.

"Will they kill me, do you think?"

Don't go into 'Spencer' expecting an ordinary little biopic about Princess Diana. Nope, this is a straight up psychological art house horror thriller. 'Spencer' brilliantly captures the feeling of dread in an isolated foreign space surround by strangers. The royal family themselves are freaking creepy, always watching, always judging.

I must be honest, I wasn't a big fan of Kristen Stewart's recent work, as it never wowed me, and I wasn't convinced that she's improved since Twilight. But man, she's fantastic in this movie and it's one of her best performances to date. Stewart manages to portray Princess Diana in a new light that we haven't really seen before. In my opinion, her other movies failed to show her versatility as an actor, where I fully believe this movie did her justice. I'm just glad this movie won me over.

On the other hand, Timothy Spall is excellent in this movie, and another stand out performance. If you are aware of Spall as an actor, then this isn't surprising news, but I feel it needs repeating. I found him very eerie and overbearing. He plays a man with an eagle eye; he watches everything and everyone in the royal family at Sandringham House.

The major thing that this movie made me realise is that in Diana's life it's the people that kept her mentally and emotionally grounded. Her two sons, her assistant (Sally Hawkins, who is very good in the small scenes she has), and the chef played by Sean Harris, who is someone you would not think of being important.

Sean Harris is a very underrated actor that I wished people talked about more. Harris is known for playing sinister roles, but here I thought he was really sweet and shows a softer side. He's got an interesting sounding voice as well. Jack Farthing as Prince Charles does a great job playing a slimy over-privileged **** Stella Gonet as the Queen who I found really unsettling, especially her dagger eyes.

There's one scene at the dinner table with the other royal family that is one of the most intense things ever. It was anxiety level stress that made my heart racing. All thanks to Pablo Larraín claustrophobic and unique directing. Complimented by Johnny Greenwood's atmospheric, free flowing and tense score.

While I know that certain elements of the movie are fiction, but then again, the movie begins with a title card "based on a tragic fable" and I feel like the movie is playing into the nightmarish fair tale of an iconic figure in history. Diana's life in royalty was no fairy tale, but a Brothers Grimm tale.

Overall rating: The movie has metaphors to ghost, ghost of the past, ghost of old tradition. People who follow tradition isn't too kind to rarity. Great movie.

[8.8/10] There’s a funny thing about these updated, transmogrified Shakespeare adaptations like 10 Things I Hate About You. If you didn’t know better, you could call the plots convoluted. There is a complicated web of relationships and deceptions, to the point that you practically need a diagram to explain it properly.

In short, Michael helps his friend Cameron woo Bianca by convincing Joey to pay Patrick to date Kat, because Bianca, per her father Mr. Stratford, cannot date until Kat does. With me? Well then, it turns out that Kat dated Joey, and after Bianca picks Cameron over Joey, Joey picks Bianca’s friend Chastity, while Michael pursues Kat’s friend Mandella, as Kat and Patrick’s tempestuous relationship takes root.

It’s a little dizzying, and yet the complex string of friends and enemies and relationships that tow the line between put-ons and genuine affection track nigh-perfectly into the high school setting. Despite the dense qualities of that big ball of string’s worth of plot threads, the complicated social structures and intersecting circles of high school make for the perfect way to realizes The Bard’s comedies in the modern day.

But 10 things is more than just a transmogrified version of The Taming of the Shrew. It also a charming tale that captures the heart and hazards of adolescence at the same time it exaggerates them for comic effect. What’s most impressive about the film is how it has its cake and eats it too on that front. There are goofy beats and subplots that only happen in teen movies, like unexpected party scenes and famous bands showing up to play contemporary (hopefully) chart-topping hits for the soundtrack.

But amid that broader material, there is a real examination of what it is to play up or down to expectation, a theme present in the work that inspired 10 Things, but which is given new life in the guise of the teenagers who are at that point in the fraught process of growing up where they’re deciding who and what they want to be, in love and in life. The gross wager that turns into real love is a hoary trope (see also: fellow 1990s borrower She’s All That) but by rooting the romance at the core of the film in two people who embrace a thorny image and find the hidden depths behind the prickers in one another, the film does justice to its source material and resonates with a target audience trying to figure out which parts of who they are malleable, which parts are non-negotiable, and which parts are fit to be broadcast to the rest of the world (or at least, the relevant social circles)>

It is also just damn charming. The film is full of quotable lines and crackerjack exchanges between characters. The cutting aside is wielded well and often, and side characters like teachers (including the great Allison Janney) and parents (Larry Miller, who nails both comedy and emotion as Mr. Stratford) provide a backdrop of colorful characters for the main story to flourish in. The writing stands out in 10 Things not just for the amusing lines which liven some otherwise familiar teen material, but for the way it allows the film to, in true Shakespeare form, shift tones into more serious material when it needs to.

The same goes for the characters. Kat shoots off the best zingers in the movie, and with her rebellious attitude and literary bent, it would be easy to turn her into a one-dimensional avatar rather than a character. Instead, the film roots her perspective and demeanor in an experience with Joey that gives form to her concerns of Bianca following in her footsteps, and gives just enough context to her mom leaving to make the crisis of conscience and turning point understandable.

By the same token, Bianca could easily be a generic popular girl, and in fairness, at certain points of the film, she is. But she too has a simple but meaningful arc of playing to expectations only to realize that she doesn’t necessarily like what that gets her, and it allows the two sisters to grow in their understanding of one another in strong scenes that deepen their relationship.

The objects of their affection receive a bit of shading as well. The reveal that Patrick, who puts on a gruff exterior and bears the reputation derived from many humorous urban legends about him, is not as wild as he seems is, perhaps, a predictable one. But he gains strength from the way that he and Kat see bits of themselves in one another, Cameron is a bit flatter, learning a trite if endearingly-put lesson about not accepting the notion that he doesn’t deserve what he wants, but there’s enough there to give ballast to the enjoyable-if-disposable teen romp elements.

Even Mr. Stratford, who is arguably the most outsized major character in the film, gets a bit of shading. While he spits out awkward-sounding nineties slang and is comically overprotective and paranoid of his daughters getting pregnant, the film balances that with a subtext to his insecurities about Kat leaving for Sarah Lawrence. There is a Daria-like quality to the film’s ability to poke fun at the parent-child relationship, but also find the sweetness and sincerity in it.

That’s what makes 10 Things more than the sum of its byzantine bets and love triangles. Some twists are convenient, some gestures a little too big to work anywhere but on the silver screen, and some bits of forgiveness come a little too easy. Still, the film keeps its plot, humor, and drama working in sync, where one scene can make you chuckle, the next will let you get to know a character a little better, and the one after will tug at your heartstrings, just a little bit.

The oh-so-nineties soundtrack immediately places in the film at a specific moment in time, but it speaks to the relatable qualities of that quest to figure out both who you are, and who’ll accept you for who you are, that feel like life and death for all seventeen-year-olds. 10 Things is a touchstone for those who grew up with it, both for the quips and clever asides that let the film crackle, and for the notion of young men and women, cutting through pretension and presentation, and finding something true beneath it, in themselves and in the people they love.

One of the more simultaneously heartbreaking and hilarious episodes of the show. Everything involving Adrianna is horrible, and I felt so awful for the character, from the death of her dog, to Chris hitting her, to her telling Tony "please don't hurt him", to her speech at the intervention, to even her goodbye to him at the rehab center. Even Chris, who acted like a complete shitbag for most of the episode, especially to Adrianna, was pitiful in the hospital when he apologized to Tony and wondered how it came to this.

On the other hand, this collection of non-touchy/feely people coming together to try to do an intervention was expectedly hilarious. Of course all Silvio can say is that it was disgusting when Chris was throwing up. Of course Paulie can't understand the non-judgmental principle of the idea. Of course Chris starts shitting on everyone in the room including his mother. Of course it ends with people kicking the crap out of each other. It's sad in its own way as well, but it's also just ridiculous enough to be funny. The same goes for Paulie turning Tony into Napoleon (or, sorry -- not Napolean, like Napolean) in his painting.

But there's a real sense of realization of how bad things have gotten in this episode. "What kind of god would let this happen?" asks a tearful Tony Soprano. Contrast it with Svetlana, who's turned into one of the show's more indellible characters with few appearances. She tells Tony that Americans expect everything to be good and complain when things aren't perfect, whereas the rest of the world expects things to be bad and aren't disappointed. It's an interesting juxtaposition, but there's a clear atmosphere of the good times Tony and his crew and family have enjoyed starting to go down the tubes.

The same is true of his marriage, where Carmella and Furio are coming closer and closer to acting on their feelings for each other. It's an interesting juxtaposition of the two of them eating alone at the end of the episode. I'm not sure what to make of it exactly, but there's a sense that when Furio is making his own pasta, pouring his own wine, living with a little class whereas Tony's content to heat up cold rigatoni and drink milk, that Furio is what Tony used to be, that there's a vitality to him that may have been what attracted Carmella to Tony in the first place. But that sooner or later, that turns into this.

[7.5/10] You’d like to think that Kim knows right from wrong. She tries, or at least tried, to hold Jimmy back from his worst impulses. She has regrets over the lengths he goes to on her behalf and the people he hurts in the process. She genuinely fights for the little guy, giving up a lucrative practice to provide top notch legal services to those who can’t typically afford it. She turns over unhelpful evidence to prosecutors because it’s the right thing to do. She is, in a world of hucksters and crime lords, a good person.

But she didn’t have the best role model growing up. In some ways she’s the opposite of Saul. The young Jimmy McGill watched his scrupulous-to-a-fault father and saw the sucker he never wanted to become. The young Kim Wexler watched her unreliable screw-up of a mother and saw a cautionary tale that set her on the straight and narrow. And yet, whether we want it or not, whether we rebel or not, parts of the people who raise us seep into our future selves and can’t help but influence who we become.

So when “Axe and Grind” opens with a flashback, we see a miniature ruse pulled off by Kim’s mom. Beth Hoyt cuts an incredible vocal and physical likeness of Rhea Seehorn, which adds force to the way the elder Ms. Wexler’s false protestations to get her daughter off the hook pave the way for Kim’s later skullduggery. The chance to instill some morals is lost, the dressing down a facade. It ends with a mother who seems proud of her daughter’s coloring outside of the line, who shoplifts the earrings Kim was caught for swiping as a reward, and who tells her only child that it’s all okay, so long as she gets away with it.

There’s not much in the way of a grand unifying theme to “Axe and Grind.” As a prelude to the mid-season finale, it is more of a tapestry, a chance to check-in with all the major players and move the pieces into place for next week’s “D-Day.” But it represents one more choice for Kim, one opportunity to vindicate the moral best that she’s capable of, or to decide that vengeance masquerading as justice is more important. Given the tragic nature of the show, it’s hard to guess which one she’ll pick.

But along the way, we get a chance to see glimpses of other major characters and storylines moving apace. My favorite is Mike watching his granddaughter and daughter-in-law from afar, refusing Tyus’ insinuation that he should remove the hired protection he has watching their house. It’s a reminder of what Mike is doing this for, the reason he got into business with someone as cold-hearted as Gus Fring, and what he’s unwilling to sacrifice in the name of getting the job done.

There’s a grim efficiency to Mike, a cool competency in scenarios that would rattle the best of us. But it’s counterbalanced by the heart of the man, his connection to his loved ones and loved ones past who were hurt by their association with him, the type of loss he never wants to see happen again.

Speaking of Gus, the head of the Fring organization doesn’t appear in this episode, but Giancarlo Esposito is in the directing chair. It’s a great outing for him and the team, with sharply-composed shots that are not showy, but come with a visual panache that makes less-than-explosive scenes still hold the viewer’s focus. The performers all do strong work, and it speaks to how naturally the show’s castmembers have shifted into directing when the opportunity arises.

Of course, none can top Saul Goodman when it comes to directing, and in this final season, we get one more return for his makeshift film crew! It’s nice to see the trio in action as part of Kim and Jimmy’s scheme with the mediator, and it’s nearly as nice to see another Mr. Show alum, John Ennis, make a cameo. For all the grand moral questions and lethal encounters among drug runners features in Better Call Saul, there’s a supreme joy and comedy to seeing Saul orchestrating his audio-visual masterpieces. There’s an alternate universe where he’s an under-the-radar but industry-lauded force behind the camera, and not the conman-turned-jurist-turned conman we know and love.

But if that were the case, who knows what would become of Francesca, Saul’s assistant, interior decorator, and reluctant accomplice. It’s nice to see her get a little bit of shading, showing genuine excitement to see Kim again and genuine enthusiasm for her chance to redecorate Saul’s office. Only the depths of what she’s committed to soon become apparent, as the her boss’s clientele wreaks havoc on her upholstery and “water features”, while the man himself makes her complicit in his dirty deeds re Sandpiper. We know from Breaking Bad that she continues to hitch her wagon to Saul’s train, but it’s easy to see how her enthusiasm wanes amid such...difficult circumstances.

Still, her unfortunate circumstances are nothing compared to the ones now facing one of Werner Ziegler’s “boys.” Lalo uses the gift from last week to track him down in the middle of the German wilderness, and seems poised to interrogate him in a half-Audition, half-Misery situation.

I’ll confess, the Lalo sections of Better Call Saul often feel like they come from another show. I really enjoy Tony Dalton’s performance, and there’s a shark-like menace to Lalo that makes him a formidable opponent for sharp players like Gus, Mike, and Nacho. But sometimes he seems larger-than-life in a way that's out of step with the show: Spider-Manning his way through a ceiling, sneaking out a suburban window without detection, and besting a hired good holding an ax with little more than a hidden razor blade. I prefer seeing characters in this universe succeed thanks to their wits or their determination, not via incredible physical feats, and Lalo’s had more of the latter of late.

Still, there is some down to earth trouble to deal with in “Axe and Grind”. The episode goes out of its way to make Howard seem sympathetic before Kim and Jimmy unleash their plan to ruin him. We watch the lengths he goes to in order to prepare the perfect, nigh-literal peace offering of a cappuccino for his wife, who callously dumps his artistic coffee creation into a travel mug. Her casual aloofness for how much Howard is trying to accommodate her, to have her care about him, to see that he’s trying, only to be politely but coldly rebuffed at every turn is quietly heartbreaking. It is a reminder that there are layers to each of these characters, struggles each is going through beyond what Saul and Kim are privy to, that make us wonder if Hamlin deserves the full-fledged ruination that waits for him, no matter what mistakes he may have made in the past.

Kim is the author of that ruination (with Jimmy’s buy-in and assistance of course), but she may not be there to see it happen. Clifford Main shows up to watch her argument and offers her possible entry into a significant equal access to justice program that only sterling “up-and-comers” gain admission to. He probes whether she might have something to do with Howard’s protestations of interference from Jimmy and his allies, but she says the right things, speaking highly of Howard and HHM in a way that reassures Clifford nothing’s afoot.

The most wholesome moment in a less-than-wholesome episode comes with Jimmy’s genuine excitement for his wife at hearing the news, and encouragement that Kim be excited to. They kiss. They celebrate. They tell one another that Kim need not be there for the events that will destroy Howard Hamlin. She can have both. Kim can be the crusader for justice who travels to Santa Fe to rub elbows with the biggest names in legal aid, and she can mastermind a scheme to take down a professional rival and white shoe jerk in Albuquerque.

Except she can’t. In one of those coincidences that shouldn’t work, but clicks because it works against our heroes rather than for them, Jimmy goes to buy a celebratory bottle of tequila, the same kind he and Kim scammed Ken Wins out of in season 2. Only he spots the actual mediator for Sandpiper, who’s sporting a full cast, an unforeseen wrinkle that will destroy the plausibility of the staged photos necessary for their plan.

Saul winces in defeat. He calls Kim en route to her big pro bono meeting and tells her it’s time to pull the plug and live to fight another day. Kim has a choice. She can keep driving and decide that this opportunity to do right by the underserved who’d be helped by the resources she could marshal in Cliff’s organization, or she can turn around and try to put out this fire. She can take extreme measures to bring down one man or do some professional pitching to help countless.

In an earlier scene, Kim and Jimmy run into the veterinarian who’s helped Jimmy and Mike find jobs in the past. They need to secure some chemical assistance to help pull off their latest ploy. But in the process, they find out that he’s giving up his life as a black market gatekeeper, devoting himself to his real work full time. Jimmy’s aghast that he would sell his “little black book” (which features a business card for a certain vacuum company), a source of low-risk, high-yield passive income. Kim retorts that it doesn’t matter when you know what you want.

Kim’s given up quite a bit to choose the life that she has. She gave up the associate grind at HHM to find some place she could fly higher. She gave up great progress and recognition at Schweikart & Cokely to pursue her pro bono work full time. She has repeatedly given up the life of traditional traditional success in order to pursue a higher calling, a greater type of justice, than she could achieve greasing the wheels for Mesa Verde or climbing the corporate ladder. She wanted those things, and she sacrificed quite a bit in service of that calling.

But she also knows the kind of skills she can deploy elsewhere when she needs or want to. She saw in her mother how to sell moral indignation as a cover for getting what you desired in the first place scot free. She saw how to break the rules and earn a measure of approbation for not getting caught.

Kim Wexler knows right from wrong. She genuinely wants justice and equity for the people she represents and thousands more who deserve a fighting chance. But at the end of the day, she knows what she wants, and she wants Howard Hamlin’s head more.

Three stories that tell anxieties, obsessions and terrors about the relationship we have with the houses that we live in spite of ourselves.

The anxiety of the social status that our home symbolizes, which affects us only as adults, so we are willing to make a pact with the devil by sacrificing everything that has an emotional value for us and that tells who we are and where we come from replacing it with what has a recognizable value also by others, only by others, a purely materialistic value conceived as luxury for its own sake, a doll's house in which we force ourselves to live, until the loss of our authentic identity cuts off the bond with our closer affections and transforms us into part of the furniture as beings devoid of soul and meaning.
The obsession with success that makes us neglect taking care of ourselves in view of the goal, where the house we live in is a mirror and a metaphor of the mind we live in, both infested with parasites that feed on our life sending it upstream and making us slowly slip into madness because of our not remedying it systematically in time but moving forward by putting superficial patches that hide the discomfort that lurks beneath the surface.
The terror of becoming aware that it is time to turn the page, abandoning the idea of ​​fulfilling the dream that has always haunted us and on which we fossilized and then marched, despite the fact that it is now evident to all those around us its impracticability. Terror that we can only overcome by accepting the surrounding reality that inexorably hampers (indeed, floods) our very hope at the foundations, making us realize that the building we have inhabited so far was not a real home for us but only a crossing of walls, inexorably discovered by a wallpaper that we would like would it to transform them into our house but that the surrounding world continues to detach from the walls, revealing the truth that we repudiate at all costs. Because our real home has always been the family bond that binds us to our friends who are housemates of our obsession, to whom until now we barely paid attention, distracted as we were by our futile intent, but who have remained close to us nevertheless, and with whom we will be able to start the journey into the uncertainty of the future towards a new home that will welcome us all. By realizing this, our obsession will turn into a healed trauma that will accompany us in the fog towards a new balance, giving us awareness of who we are and why we are back on the road.

An anthological film that exploits the setting of a house, probably cursed and inhabited in three different historical periods, the Victorian age, contemporaneity and the near future devastated by the imminent climatic catastrophe. Despite being a small manual on how to tell a horror story, based on the visual anticipation of disquiet and the slow growth of tension until the final climax, the first episode is the weakest of the trio because it is narrated by a character's pov not really involved in the choices that determine the plot but which she is only witnessing to, so that when it ends it seems that there is still something to say about this character or rather that this is a prelude to her personal story. The other two episodes are instead more successful, more centered around their characters, with the central one truly Kafkyan and surreal and the third more thoughtful and onhiric.
Animated in a technically stunning stop-motion, photographed even better with cuts of light that simulate the depth of field of open spaces, and with an attention to detail of the interiors that give credibility to the image enough to make you believe, especially in some moments of the second episode, of not looking at models but real live images, when this film ends you are left with the desire for other stories so well done.

[8.3/10] I kept waiting for it all to go wrong somehow. Things don’t simply “work out” in the world of Better Call Saul. This show is a tragedy, after all. People succeed, but only at a cost. There’s always some unexpected wrinkle, some unforeseen consequence, that makes victory more complicated and bittersweet than anyone on either side of the screen imagined.
Time and again, season 6 presented the plans of Jimmy (Bob Odenkirk) and Kim(Rhea Seehorn) as nearly falling into ruin. If Howard (Patrick Fabian) spots his erstwhile foe in the country club locker room, if a valet walks a step quicker, if Jimmy can’t summon the strength to move a parking sign, the whole scheme falls apart. With each step, they were this close to being discovered. Every time they flirted with disaster. Surely their luck couldn’t last forever.

For its part, “Plan and Execution”, the midseason finale, gives the two of them one last hurdle to leap over. As established in the previous episode, the Sandpiper mediator unexpectedly wears a cast, screwing up their whole plan to stage photos where it looks like he’s taking a bribe from Saul. Now, Kim and Jimmy have to scramble to reassemble their team and restage the pictures, with the ticking clock of the impending mediation to add to the pressure.

By god, it’s fun! If you step back and look at Kim and Jimmy’s trickery, it’s easy to see how they’re destroying someone’s life for thin reasons. However much Howard may deserve some comeuppance for his own misdeeds, this is, at a minimum, disproportionate retribution. But competence in stories is thrilling and competence with flair is captivating. What Jimmy and Kim do isn’t good; but good lord are they good at what they do.

Jimmy persuades his actor to do the job via a stirring speech about the love of performance. His director parlays the “emergency” into more cash in a canny fashion. His make-up artist is dressed up like a Gelfling but no less dedicated to her craft. His boom operator rushes to the scene with the proper equipment in tow. Kim herself fashions a makeshift cast (who would know better?) and races, shoeless, to adjust the blocking for the “scene.” These are pros working their magic in a crunch, and the delight of seeing them work is only matched by the underhandedness of their deeds.

The pièce de résistance comes when the episodes reveals that Howard’s private eye is in on the deal. The ploy of switching the phone number for Howard’s usual detectives is a little convenient. But it adds one more flourish to the scheme: a chance for the P.I. to seed the misleading photos, for Kim and Jimmy to lace them with the drug that will mess with Howard’s head (and, importantly, his eyes), and have their inside man switch them out with some phonies to make Hamlin look like a clown.

It’s the perfect crime. And the last minute change in plans, forcing our would-be heroes to scramble to overcome one more monkey wrench thrown into the proceedings, only shows how brilliant they are at this sort of thing.

So something else has to go wrong, right? Maybe the AV kids realize something’s amiss and decide to call the cops. Maybe poor Irene, the class representative who Jimmy originally recruited, comes into contact with the chemical agent intended for Howard and faints in the middle of the mediation. There have to be complications, unforeseen problems, something to show that for all their skill, all their talent, Kim and Jimmy are flying too close to the sun here.

There aren’t, though. The plan goes off without a hitch. Howard becomes unhinged the second he sees the mediator and makes the connection to the bribe photos. He rants to all involved about how Saul clearly set him up. His pupils are dilated as he cuts the image of someone unwell. He raves like a madman, sounding paranoid, delusional, yelling at strangers about a conspiracy whose only proof is pictures of Jimmy returning some jogger’s frisbee. This is it. This is Jimmy and Kim’s con artist masterpiece.

The mediator walks. The other side lowers their offer, smelling blood in the water. And Clifford Main (Ed Begley Jr.) has no choice but to blink. Maybe he believes Howard. Maybe he can envision a world where his longtime colleague is telling the truth, and the former employee who once bilked his firm out of a signing bonus is devilish enough to orchestrate all of this.

But at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. Because Jimmy and Kim want their money and their revenge. Howard wants to do anything to prevent Saul from winning. But Cliff, the most decent man in this universe, only wants to do what’s best for their clients. That means salvaging what he can from this disaster, avoiding the shaky uncertainties that lie ahead, and taking the offer.

It worked, by god. Kim and Jimmy’s plan worked and worked perfectly. It may have cost Kim her chance to supercharge the pro bono practice that supposedly motivated all of this, but at the end of the day, their plan went off without a hitch. As Kim’s mother might say, they got away with it.

The same can’t be said for Lalo (Tony Dalton). He’s had preternatural success to this point. The cunning drug lord tracked down Margarethe Ziegler. He found one of Werner’s “boys.” He uncovered the location of Gus’ (Giancarlo Esposito) superlab. But to this point, he has no proof. “The Chicken Man” is too good at covering his tracks. Instead, all Lalo can muster is a video intended for Don Eladio, spelling out his theory, and a plan to murder Fring’s guards to secure the evidence he needs to support it. It’s a hard-fought plan, one born of sleeping in cars and lurking in the sewers until the time is right.

Except he slips up. He calls Hector (Mark Margolis), maybe to say goodbye in case things go wrong, maybe just to make his uncle proud before he dives into a dangerous situation. But Mike (Jonathan Banks) has tapped the nursing home’s phones, and now Fring’s men know Lalo’s back. The full court press surveillance worked. Unlike Saul’s scheme, Lalo’s plan ran aground on his opponent’s defenses.

The catch is that Lalo is as clever and resourceful as Jimmy and Kim are. Realizing he’s been foiled, he calls his uncle back and declares it’s time to go back to Plan A -- a thinly veiled threat on Gus’ life. He knows Mike will hear it, that Fring will respond, and that the security apparatus will shift. So much of the conflict between Lalo and Gus is a game of chess. Fring’s operation makes a move, and the Salamancas respond in kind. Lalo’s remaining moves are dwindling, but it’s not a checkmate just yet.

The game is done for Jimmy and Kim, though. They relax at home with a bottle of wine and an old movie. No more marks left to fool. No more schemes left to deploy. Only a bit of clean-up left. Howard shows up to congratulate and confront them, and they dutifully permit it. At this point, he cannot win. They’ve seen to that, and he knows it.

His earlier parable about Chuck’s habit with soft drink cans speaks to a sort of vigilance the elder McGill brother internalized. It’s the kind that presumably helped him fend off prankster younger siblings who’d shake up sodas to get one over on their big brothers, the sort that Howard sorely wishes he’d adopted. Hamlin can’t win anymore. But he can dress Jimmy and Kim down for their misdeeds, speak to the rot in the soul that would allow them to justify such an elaborate and immoral act, and try to make it harder to live with.

Howard isn’t wrong. The audience is inclined to side with Jimmy and Kim here. They are our protagonists. They work together and love one another. They’re damn fun to watch in every scheme and scam. They work meticulously to win the day and plan for every eventuality. As their own victim highlights, they rose from humble circumstances while Hamlin had a leg up from his father. Howard’s done crappy things to both of them. The couple is entitled to some righteous indignation.

What’s more, television shows are more fun when the main characters achieve what they set out to do. There’s a natural tendency to root for perspective characters, to hope they’ll see things through, even if deep down we know it’s wrong.

Nevertheless, Howard speaks the truth. Jimmy could have taken a different path, but he was born to color outside the lines. Kim is a person of incredible talent and potential, who uses those attributes to aid those who need it most and to wreak vengeance upon the people who’ve wronged her. They do get off on this, with their sultry celebration during the announcement of the settlement as the latest example. Hamlin has lost, but he diagnoses them to a tee. He draws into stark relief how they ruined a man’s life -- a man who has his own sins to answer for but is still struggling and sympathetic -- and how they’ll have no trouble sleeping at night.

Or at least they don’t betray one iota of regret. Howard points out that they have to play it that way, to feign ignorance and innocence. But they’re both consummate actors, unbothered by the routine, barely suggesting a whit of remorse for their actions. In their eyes, this is karma. This is reaping what you’ve sewn. This is a game to them.

Until it isn’t.

It’s just a wisp at first. A wick bends. The flame flickers. Something is coming. Writer-director Thomas Schnauz and his team deploy the suspense masterfully. The way the mood suddenly shifts is brilliant. Those subtle hints pile up, until the expressions on Kim and Jimmy’s faces tell the tale. They’re no longer gently asking Howard to leave because they’re done with him. They’re imploring him to go for his own safety. Lalo has arrived.

The twist is fabulous. Lalo’s call to Hector was not a means to smoke out Fring or lighten security at the superlab. He knew it would prompt Mike to circle the wagons and pull security away from tertiary targets like Saul, leaving him and Kim exposed and vulnerable. There’s more than one way to get to Gus and, backed into a corner, Lalo found another one.

It’s a spectacularly terrifying scene: the way he emerges from the shadows, the way he’s unnervingly calm despite his overwhelming menace, the way his “lawyers” desperately beg the man who was, just a minute ago, their worst enemy, to get out now if he wants to save himself.

Only It’s too late. The shock arrives as Lalo grows tired of waiting, of tolerating potential witnesses, and puts a bullet through a well-coiffed stranger’s skull once he’s fully diagnosed the shared pathology of his antagonizers. This is the worst day of Howard Hamlin’s life, and also the last day. Holy hell.

There it is. There is where things go wrong. There is the cost for taking things too far and tiptoeing too close to danger and disaster. Better Call Saul is a show that, commendably, zigs when viewers expect it to zag. It doesn’t traffic in twists for the sake of twists. The surprises are earned and the natural consequences of the characters’ actions, rooted in what will affect them most.

The recompense for so many risky ploys to sully a man’s career and reputation is not that the scheme ultimately falls apart or exposes Kim and Jimmy instead. It’s that it crashes into their earlier grand scheme, the source of their blood money, that quickly becomes that much bloodier. There is great surprise, rich irony, and dark poetry in that.

Six episodes remain of Better Call Saul, half a dozen more outings to firmly and finally resolve how what’s left of the life of Jimmy McGill runs headlong into the life of Saul Goodman. In the moment when the barriers between those two personas tumbles down for good, there lies a firm reminder. The “magic man”, whom viewers know and love from his entertaining skullduggery on Breaking Bad, arrived at that colorful existence from a soul-shaking path -- one that always comes with a trade-off, a complication, and a price

[7.5/10] This show has earned a lot of trust. Sure, if you parse through Walter White’s plans or Jimmy McGill’s schemes, some of them rely on happy accidents or have pieces that don’t fully add up. But for the most part, the Breaking Bad/Better Call Saul-verse plays fair. If something is unclear, or scans as peculiar, or even just seems confusing, you can normally rest assured that if you wait long enough, a satisfying explanation or payoff is on the way.

Which is all to say that I think I understand Lalo’s ultimate goal. He doesn’t just want to kill the chicken man; he wants to discredit him with the cartel so that the murder will be justified in the eyes of their fellow “businessmen”. The Salamanca leader wants proof that Gus Fring was preparing to build his own lab, to be able to do business independently of the cartel, something the audience knows as well as Lalo wouldn’t fly with Don Eladio or his associates. It’s a clever plan, one with an elegance and consideration that makes it worthy of threatening Gus and making Lalo a formidable opponent.

But I have no idea how Lalo arrived at it. How much valuable info did he really get from his brief conversation with Werner back in “Winner”, the season 4 finale? How did he track down Werner’s wife, Margarethe? How does a slide ruler encased in lucite, engraved with “With Love, from Your Boys” bring him closer to finding them?

You can imagine answers to these questions. Maybe the details he heard from Werner were enough for a smart guy like Lalo to piece together what Gus was up to, or at least realize Fring was doing something shady. (Or shady by drug runner standards.) Maybe the info Lalo got from the guy at the TravelWire was enough for him to pinpoint a woman named Margarethe in the general area. Maybe the tag at the bottom of the lucite memento will be enough to get him to the facility that made it and track down their client and get one of Werner’s boys to spill out of a loyalty to their leader and a desire for Lalo to get revenge on the men who ordered and carried out his death. But it all requires a few more logical leaps than you normally get from a tightly-orchestrated show like Better Call Saul.

The same goes for Gus’ actions in “Black and Blue.” I love ninety percent of what we see of him here. This normally unflappable man is utterly paranoid. Actually, paranoid’s the wrong word, since he’s justified in his fears about a shark like Lalo. Nevertheless, it’s unusual, to say the least, to see Gus rattled. He can’t do his work at Pollos Hermanos. He can’t work the cash register without zoning out in a state of low-grade terror. He can’t sleep and finds himself scrubbing bathtubs with a toothbrush as part of his fear-exacerbated OCD.

The episode nicely lays out why. Mike says it -- this is a waiting game. Gus isn’t used to waiting. He likes to take action. He plans everything out to the finest detail. He prepares for the future and executes his plan. But now, somebody else is in charge of the when and why and how, and all he can do is react. That's an unfamiliar position for Gus, and one that unsettles him even in his own home and place of business.

But I don’t know why he descends into the bowels of his superlab and tucks a gun into the tire tread of an excavation vehicle. Once again, you can read between the lines a bit. Presumably he’s onto Lalo’s game. He worries that someone, whether Lalo or a representative of the cartel, will force him into his off-the-books cooking site, and he’ll be forced to defend himself. So he’s providing his future self a Chekov’s gun to be able to use if he’s cornered.

That requires a lot of forethought from Gus though. It requires him to predict exactly how this might go down and have exactly the right remedy for it. Maybe the plan will blow up in his face in it’ll take some crazy intervention from Mike or others to save him, not the gun. Maybe he had the flash of recollection of Lalo learning the info from Werner and just wanted to cover his bases. Maybe he’s in full paranoid mode and is just trying to provide for every conceivable contingency, no matter how unlikely, because he has to do something other than sit around and wait for the attempt on his life to happen. You can justify most of this stuff in some terms, but it doesn’t play as natural, and requires near-clairvoyance from Gus.

The contrivance in all of this doesn’t make everything bad, though. Seeing Fring squirm is a remarkable thing, and it’s a positive that the show takes its time to depict the typically steady boss freaking out a little bit in his own understated way. Lalo’s plan requires filling in a few gaps, but his flirtatious scene with Margarethe plays his debonair manipulation to the hilt. His snooping and willingness to kill another civilian makes his scenes in her house terrifying. (Plus, for a guy who bears a resemblance to Timothy Dalton -- no relation -- his scenes feel appropriately Bond-esque.) And guest actress Andrea Sooch does a tremendous job as Margarethe, evincing the love she had for her husband and the pain she still feels over her loss.

Seeing Werner’s wife recollect and grieve, Lalo fish for information however he can get it, and Gus panic in an uncharacteristic way are all worthwhile, even if the paths to get there require some narrative contortions.

Gus isn’t the only one, panicking though. Kim is likewise afraid of Lalo, unable to sleep at three in the morning, barricading doors, and having a smoke to try to calm down. Seeing the way this weighs on her, while she feels as though she can’t tell Jimmy the truth lest it trigger an even worse response from him, is a compelling note for Rhea Seehorn to play. It could mess him up mentally at a time when he’s doing well, happy with his new success and able to hire back Francesca to manage his big influx of clients. Kim understandably doesn’t want to disrupt that. And we also see the intimacy between she and Jimmy in their home life, the casual chumminess they have apart from their plotting and scheming.

Howard’s onto that scheming, though. For once, we see why Howard is successful at what he does, calming a room full of elderly class members and convincing them that their lawyers aren’t just fighting to get them more money, hence the delays, but fighting for a broader principal about not letting big companies take advantage of people. Who knows if Howard believes it himself, but he sells it better than poor overwhelmed Erin can, and it shows the audience that he may be a prick, but he’s not a schmuck. There’s a reason he’s risen to where he is, even if it’s just packaging pablum with the perfection of a politician.

Clifford confronts him about the suspicious goings on of late, not out of a sense of accusation, but as an offer of help. He really is the most decent man in this entire show. But his offer of assistance only tips Howard off that, once again, Jimmy McGill is out to get him.

That’s where it gets bizarre though. Hamlin, under the cheeky pseudonym “Mr. H.O. Ward,” lures Jimmy into an impromptu boxing match. It feels silly, even by Better Call Saul’s occasionally outsized standards. The show doesn’t dress up two middle-aged guys throwing body shots at one another. It’s awkward and ugly the way it ought to be. But it seems unbelievable that either one of them would go through with a stunt like this.

Only here, “Black and Blue” provides answers. For Howard, it’s an opportunity not just to maybe, just maybe, work out some of the pair’s psychological issues through physical activity, but a chance to sic a private eye on Jimmy. Howard’s no rube, after what he’s been through. He’s fighting fire with fire, hoping to catch his antagonizer in the act and clearing his name with his co-counsel. The fact that his tail might run into Gus’ tail on Jimmy and Kim only leads to even more tantalizing possibilities.

More to the point, we learn why Saul would do it, when he has every reason to just walk away from Howard. Kim explains it -- because Jimmy knows what happens next. He knows that they’re going to ruin Hamlin’s life. And just like Kim starts to feel a twinge of guilt when her former colleague talks about how much she admires Kim, Jimmy feels the same. He wants to let Howard have his jollies while he can, because he knows the hammer will fall soon.

It’s a satisfying answer for an absurd thing. That's the trust I have in Better Call Saul writ large, to be able to cover for contrivances like Lalo’s detective work and Fring’s premonitions in a way that's emotionally and narratively satisfying. This show, and its predecessor, aren’t perfect in every detail, but they’re strong when it counts. More to the point, they’re strong enough at delivering that punch, that turn, that unexpected but cathartic jolt in the story, that makes you trust wherever they’d like to take you, and however they’d like to get there.

I'm just, wow. I don't really know how to say it and probably there are people out there that already write about this episode better than me, but, holy shit right in the gut. The song before Rebecca got her diagnosis was spot on, and I just, sometimes angry with people that say "You don't need labels honey" like, no. I want to know who else have the same labels like me so I can share my story with them so that I can have someone THAT ACTUALLY going through stuff like me. To finally found someone that says "oh wow, yeah, that's just like me dude", it's priceless, that kind of feeling

And also the stuff with Valencia, I was afraid that she's gonna turn back into her S1 self, but after we learned what really happened, man, it broke my heart. The way Rebecca said that she can't promise it to Valencia, and even herself, that was real. I just, Rachel Bloom keep saying this show isn't that meta, but fuck man, that was real. Because you know if this is another show, Rebecca would say that she promise not to kill herself and then they have a group hug, and "happily ever after". But here, it's not like that. It's constant battle, and it's what makes this show fucking awesome

This is an episode about selfishness, or at least self-centeredness. Everyone in the episode is focused on themselves and their people and their situation at the expense of any other. Ralphie asks what's in it for him to support Rosalee. Rather than providing the "honesty and compassion that [she's] known for", Janice breaks up with Ralphie by yelling at him for not taking off his shoes and knocking him down the stairs. The Casino head only welcomes Tony and his crew to his casino in order to get them to try to book Frankie Valli for him. Junior is only worried about his widower helper driving him to his trial.

The same is true of the "who was oppressed the most" contest that everyone is having. The Italians disregard the Native Americans, Hesh is sympathetic to them until his Cuban friend claims his people's suffering under Columbus is akin to the Jews' suffering under Hitler. Everyone is focused on their own problems and grievances at the expense of the slightest bit of empathy for anyone else's.

The lone holdout is Bobby Bacala, who, despite having no hand in his wife's death, is constantly brought to tears by the thought that he wasn't there for his wife when he might have been. It's a hell of a contrast, and highlights how so many people with every reason to be considerate or empathetic only think about themselves, and how Bobby, who has every reason to let himself off the hook, is racked with guilt.

I don't know if Tony's speech at the end is supposed to be the author's avatar. It seems a little more direct in enunciating the point than the show tends to be, but it feels like the writers talking through the character. It's interesting, because in one way, it's a rejection of the cultural oppression pissing matches that consumed so many individuals in the episode--Tony argues that folks like Gary Cooper didn't complain about that sort of thing and that people rise above them-- but it's also another form of self-centeredness because it credits all of their success to their own ingenuity and wherewithal, seemingly ignoring the fact that they stood on the shoulders of giants and by the nature of their business, had many things handed to them that others would not have been able to wrangle. Interesting stuff, to be sure.

7.2/10. Very interesting as an entree into The Original Series. It's funny coming to the series so late, after being so immersed in the other installments of the franchise and various parodies thereof, because I feel like I already know these characters, even as they're given a different tint by dint of seeing them in the garish hues of the Sixties original.

The episode itself feels like an embryonic version of It Follows, with the idea of a steady creepy horror that takes on the appearance of something you love or desire. The actor who plays Crewman Green in particular does a great job at conveying the unnerving nature of the creature. There's some heady stuff, particularly at the end, with the idea that Professor Crater and the creature had some form of symbiosis -- him helping it get the salt it needed to survive, and it helping him avoid the reality of the death of his wife. There's also some interesting moral philosophy at play about the idea of preserving the last of something ("like the buffalo" as the episode beats you over the episode.) And there's even a bit of that old chestnut trope that persistently shows up in zombie movies -- can you kill something that looks like a loved one but you know is dangerous? A lot of this is played out in pretty simple terms, but there's some deceptive complexity under the hood.

The pacing, though, nearly killed me. In some ways, that worked to help communicate the steady but unassuming horror of the creature, but man did it feel like the show was just filling time at various points, like discussing the plan to stun Prof. Crater, then setting up, then stunning him, etc. etc. etc. I was also surprised at how smug and kind of a dick Kirk is here. I know the character as having a certain amount of Bravado, but his friendship with Bones is one of those things that you just pick up through osmosis from years of watching and discussing the franchise, and as jocular as they are together, he's kind of a jerk to the good doctor at times.

There's other fun oddities here and there. The production design is really interesting, if only as an idea of what people in 1966 thought the future would be life. There's a certain Dr. Seuss quality to some of the sets, especially the botany lab. (The silly venus flytrap handpuppet lent to that sense.) Uhura hitting on Spock was an unexpected treat, even the tones of it feel a little dated and sexist now. And little details like the creature not being able to vamp on Spock because of his different physiology were nice too.

Overall, I can't say I was over the moon about my first real foray into the world of TOS, but I liked a lot of what it was doing, and I'm intrigued to see where the series goes from here.

I walked away from this episode not really knowing what to think. There's a lot being thrown into the soup here. Much of it seems to be about generational issues. Tony feels like he couldn't save his surrogate son Jackie Jr. and that makes it all the more important for him to save his real son AJ. Tony learning that AJ has panic attacks as well drives home the theme of inherited problems.

The same theme pops up with respect to Meadow, who feels trapped between the different worlds she inhabits. She lashes out at her mom when she suspects that her dad was behind, or at least complicit in Jackie Jr.'s murder, but she turns around and rebukes Jackie Jr.'s sister, in much the same way as her mother, when the sister tries to blame the hit on the mob rather than on a drug deal gone bad, and even criticizes the sister for talking about the issue with "an outsider".

There's a lot of an "end of the good old days" feeling to this episode. You have the older generation, represented by Junior, singing the songs of old, the present generation, watching him and crying, and the younger generation laughing and throwing things. The fact that the song changes to ones from several different cultures suggests that this is a universal issue. It's interesting when you stand back and take a look from a distance, but up close, the episode was kind of mystifying in the moment.

I did really enjoy the scenes at the military school. (And I loved the juxtaposition of the Major yammering about the importance of discipline while smoking.) And hey, Jackie Jr. was staying with Omar! It was a finale with a number of interesting elements and scenes and themes swirling around with it, but it didn't necessarily all click for me.

[8.8/10] This is one of those Parks and Rec episodes that gets a little goofy, but which grounds that goofiness in character and relationships and solid comedy apart from it that makes it more than just the sum of its wacky gags. The idea of a big painting of Leslie as a topless centaur (replete with Tom as a pudgy cherub) is pretty silly stuff, but couching it in the fact that Leslie feels powerless with the Department’s no dating rule, and that goofy or not, this painting empowers her, gives the story a little more juice.

Of course, the uber-conservative person who wants it burned is a little broad (and she recurs, unless I’m conflating her with someone else) but Leslie’s defense of the painting comes from who she is and why she admired it. Little touches like her adopting the hairstyle from the painting or Chris’s very proper, positive anger, or her being further empowered by a pep talk from Jerry of all people are nice too. And her solution, while a little improbable on short notice, is a well-done subtle jab at the double standard about shirtlessness.
Plus, it gives us some nice Ben/Leslie flirtation moments. Ben looking at the painting is kind of adorable.

That leads us to the B-story, where Ben moves in with April and Andy, and the odd couple business is taken to an extreme. Ben makes for such a great exasperated straight man, and his bewilderment (a.) how April and Andy live, (b.) their complete inability to act like adults, and (c.) how far into the pit of non-adulthood they’ve fallen, is an endless font of comedy here.

But it’s also grounded in character. April worrying that they’ll become to adult-y and boring, and Andy reassuring her to the contrary is sweet but very much who they are. And getting dishes in addition to a marshmallow gun (whose use is a comedic highlight) shows the way that they’re still the goofy kids they were before, but the bowl and spoon (instead of a Frisbee and a singular fork) is a sign of progress.

Overall, it’s a fun episode that takes out there or sitcommy situations and elevates them due to connecting them to the well-sketched characters on the show.

(Plus, Ron’s speech at the art thing is awesome!)

With “The Naked Time” I am four episodes into Star Trek, and thus far every plot has followed a similar formula. The crew gets some kind of unexpected visitor, someone starts acting strange in a way that is initially puzzling but innocuous, and then it’s realized that the safety of the ship and the crew are threatened so Kirk and the rest of the senior staff try to figure out how to save it all. Sure, at high enough level of abstraction, any pair of stories can be made to sound the same, but I feel like there’s been a fair amount of the “someone on the ship starts acting funny, and everyone slowly but surely figures out what’s happening” blueprint that’s been followed in these first four installments.

And yet, this is very likely the best of them. Sure, there’s some silliness and very Sixties elements of this. The Irish officer devolving into Irish stereotypes is kind of odd, and as fun and bonkers as it is to see Sulu gallivanting about the ship brandishing a foil, it’s pretty silly stuff. And the entire way the biological agent makes it onto the ship, with a doomed redshirt taking off his glove on an alien planet, is kind of dumb. (Though there was something legitimately unnerving about his attempt at self-harm.)

To boot, Star Trek still has a problem in its early going of holding the audience’s hand through all of this (notice how much time it spends in the first infection scene to make sure we know who got infected and how). There’s an overexplain-y quality to the show, where even when there’s a mystery, it telegraphs everything that’s happening or expected to happen.

But by the same token, this is the first time the show has really delved into some meaningful pathos or even real tragedy for its main characters. The scene between Spock and Christine was far and away the best of the series so far, with Christine (who I didn’t realize was Majel Barrett!) making a surprisingly compelling plea and account of her affections for Spock. You buy her description of him, and in less than a minute, accept the two of them as a legitimate, root-worthy pairing.

For his part, Leonard Nimoy knocks it out of the park, both in terms of Spock’s shocked, tempted, but still reserved response to Christine’s advance, but also in his tortured private moments of trying to maintain his Vulcan detachment while the infection takes hold. Maybe it’s just the way Spock has been mythologized in the fifty years after the show debuted, but seeing his stoicism fall, seeing him emotional, almost unstable, and talking to no one in particular about the difficulty in caring about people and not being able to express it was absolutely tremendous. (And serves as a nice forerunner to a similar bit with Picard and Spock’s father in TNG). Nimoy doesn’t get to show off his acting chops as much as Spock, or at least doesn’t get to be as showy about it, given the constraints of his character, but when let off his leash like this, the results are outstanding.

William Shatner is…not quite as good of an actor. That’s no big deal necessarily – and his scene-chewing overwrought qualities have been well-documented elsewhere. But I still like his character as written here, and the sense that, as loose and occasionally cavalier as Kirk may seem, at least by reputation, there are parts of himself and impulses that he holds in reserves, and feels as trapped as he does entranced by his duties as captain. It’s an interesting shade of the character that gives some added dimension that I appreciated.

Of course, the episode ends with Bones finding a cure and getting everyone back in shape before things get too too terrible. The ticking clock of the orbited planet collapsing creates some easy but solid stakes for Scotty to get in and take control of the ship back. That said, the whole time dilation thing seems like a pretty weird throw-in that doesn’t seem to accomplish much, but whatever.

Overall, this is an episode that scores higher marks that its similarly-tuned predecessors for showing new sides and depths in its main characters, throwing in some goofy sci-fi fun, and a particularly great performance from Leonard Nimoy. There’s still some cheese that takes some getting used to for me as a viewer in 2016, but it’s a big step in the right direction.

[8.4/10] Some cringey moments, but that’s one of the things the Greg Daniels-Michael Schur coaching tree does really well. I love the theme of this one, where everyone, in their own way, confronts what the end of the world would mean to them, and each character’s personality is reflected in their reaction.

First and foremost are the Zorpies though! It’s not deep (or, at best, it’s fodder for other parts of the show to be deep), but I love the quiet riff on Scientology and other local cults. The details like the founder being an office supply manager or their little wooden flutes or their smugness at paying for things with a check are delightful.

They also create a great setup for some good Ben and Leslie drama. Leslie is at her most exaggerated and dare I say, unpleasant, since Season 1. I don’t mean to say that I don’t enjoy her here, but she’s normally someone so easy to root for who tries so hard to be a good person. Here, she’s being selfish and unfair, and that’s entirely human and understandable, but also compromises her character a bit. It’s a good thing, and gives her reason to acknowledge it and make amends.

Her conversation with Ron, like most of her conversations with Ron, is fine fine material too. They have such a great dynamic. He tells her that no matter how much the epiphany that she’d want to spend the end of the world with Ben means to her; it won’t be ending, and she’ll be back where she started. It’s sobering, and it serves as motivation for Leslie to be an adult and apologize (albeit sneakily). I don’t know. I like extreme Leslie, who’s clearly in the wrong but going after what she wants (or scaring people off from what she can’t have) in her own loony way. It makes her as endearing as all the preternaturally capable things she accomplishes do.

Tom and Jean Ralphio face the end of the world by, true to form, throwing the perfect party. The party is such a great reflection of the trendy pair’s unrestrained ids at play. The over-the-top cartoonish and uber-stylish vibe of everything is a great reflection of their sensibility, straddling the line between ridiculous and just believable enough to seem plausible. Bringing back Lucy to give it a little emotional punch is nice, and Tom and his buddy losing, but trying to make the best of it is very endearing as well.

Even Chris and Ann, who are mostly a sideshow here, have their moments. Chris contemplating the Reasonabilist philosophy, and Ann cutting through it with her homespun wisdom, which naturally leads them to the party, is a pleasant bit. And Ron taking advantage of the Zorp cult to sell his wooden flutes and recorders is plenty funny, especially when they’re hailing Zorp and he’s just counting dollars.

The most affecting story, though, is probably Andy and April’s. The pair trying to do everything on Andy’s bucket list is as adorable as you’d expect, and fits their creative, impulsive, “don’t think, just stupid” philosophy. Maybe it’s just the indie rock soundtrack, but their spur of the moment trip to see the Grand Canyon is touching in just the right way. It’s not cloying, but April admitting that she wants to be annoyed by it and is coming up empty sells the moment (along with Andy wondering where Mt. Rushmore is).

Overall, if the world were ending, I don’t know if I’d be watching Parks and Recreation, but it’s still a nice set of stories about people spending a night thinking about where they’d want to be, and who they’d want to be with, if there were no tomorrow.

[5.9/10] Suffice it to say, not my favorite episode of the show. Tom just acts like too much of a jerk to be redeemed in the last two minutes. I get the vulnerability he’s supposed to be showing after his grand business idea fails, but it still just rubs me the wrong way how he pulls the rug out from under Leslie like that. It’s Tom at his most selfish and annoying, and it’s not the sort of thing you can just sweep under the rug.

It’s not like he crosses any major moral event horizons or anything, and Leslie’s mild drowning of him is amusing enough as a bit of revenge (not to mention her great “butthead” line), but it’s just one of the more unpleasant stories the show has done, and it doesn’t really recover enough goodwill in the end to make up for it, even if Leslie’s confidence that Tom won’t fail again is encouraging and Tom’s video biography of Leslie is sweet.

The rest of the episode is solid enough. My favorite of the other stories is Ron and Ann’s. Ron derives such joy from fixing things, and him sharing that with Ann, who takes to it with her usual enthusiasm, creates a small but heartwarming bond between the two of them. Ann is particularly funny with how into it she gets.

My least favorite story is Chris and Jerry’s. Maybe I’m just supposed to find Chris feeling uncomfortable about seeing his daughter in the throes of passion funnier than I do, but it’s continued to be a dud for me. Rob Lowe’s still doing good work as the endlessly positive Chris, but I just don’t love where they’re going with it.

Somewhere in the middle is the Ben/Andy/April storyline. When Andy and April throw a party and don’t tell Ben, it brings out their different methods of conflict resolution. That’s a decent enough storyline, and each of them having to figure out a method of resolving their beefs that works for everyone, particularly Ben having to overcome his passive aggressive hints at things, is a solid notion. The comedy just doesn’t follow like it needs to an the resolution is a bit underwhelming.

Overall, it’s still P&R so there’s still a decent number of laughs and some good character moments, but the show can do better.

[9.4/10] Such a great episode. The way it manages to split the difference between real interpersonal conflict and wacky comedy, with Leslie and Ann especially, is absolutely genius. Their fight over Leslie pushing Ann a little too hard and Ann blowing off Leslie’s job offer, has both an understandable emotional core rooted in the characters’ different personalities, and also a goofy but true enough tone to it. Their argument in the bathroom has the ring of a real fight between friends to it, even if a lot of the words are nonsense, which makes it feel as genuine as it is funny.

Plus, Snake Juice! Seeing everybody wasted is an utter delight. Ron especially is great, between his seriousness about endorsing the product after trying it, to his adorable little dance in the brilliant montage of everyone’s drunken ramblings. The training for selling the product is hilarious (especially Ron’s pronunciation of kuh-razy). Tom having to sell his stake in the Snakehole Lounge gives the whole storyline somewhere to go, but it’s mostly just good fodder for laughs.

And you know who I liked in this episode who didn’t really click with me on my first watch of this show? John Ralphio. His one-word-too-many rhymes were an amusing gag, his utter willingness to dance with Leslie at her immediate demand was great, and his slightly exasperated “a lot riding on this” when Tom wagers John Ralphio shaving his head if Ron doesn’t like the drink is a perfect line delivery. I even like Nick Kroll as The Douche here, who occasionally grates on me, mostly because he’s the butt of Ann and Leslie’s jokes.

I’m also, as always, a big fan of Andy and April here. Them going whole-hog as Janet Snakehole (which allows Aubrey Plaza to play some different notes than April usually hits) and Burt Macklin is a ton of fun in the skeezy club setting. And there’s even a nice beat for the two of them at the end, with a massively hungover Andy powering through to show April that he’s always there to be silly with her (and eventually throw up).

It also advances the Ben-Leslie story nicely. Hinging part of the fight on Ann castigating Leslie for using the rule as an excuse (even though, you know, the risk of losing a job you love is a pretty big deal) adds some flavor to it. Plus, Ann telling Ben that their whole thing is so prom is pretty fun and Ben’s reaction is sweet. There is, of course, reconciliation between the pair, and it’s a reminder that while Ann is occasionally superfluous in the show when on her own, her relationship with Leslie is one of the bedrocks of the series, and it’s always nice to see the show play off of that.

There was some interesting stuff in this episode. The scene with Tony and Meadow in particular was a good outing for both where there was a lot unsaid. Meadow can get kind of grating in her petulance, but I think she's supposed to be. She has to deal with the usual teenage angst and rebelliousness and at the same time she has to struggle with the fact that her dad commits crimes and kills people for a living, including, she suspects, or at least can't rule out, her ex-boyfriend.She's clearly affected by where she comes from, in a way that she was once able to partition away in her mind. There's an odd tendency from her in this episode to use 5-dollar words, and there's a clear sense that she's starting to want to distance herself from her family, to rise above them, but she struggles with giving up the familiar and comfortable. She's also one of the "no-shows" referenced in the title by her not wanting to go back to college.

Chris is the other of Tony's (surrogate) kids who gets some major time in this episode. His quick rise to the top is giving everyone from Patsy to Silvio some heartburn after they feel passed over. And while the two of them conspire to get Chris in trouble when, by all accounts, he was doing fine even if he was getting a big head, is an interesting poke at the bulges in the new power dynamic. But his drug-addled ways and attempted threesome suggest that he's closer to crumbling and being unreliable than Tony or anyone else knows.

And boy, the Danielle storyline wrapped up fast, huh? I kind of expected that to play out a bit longer before things fell apart, to where I kind of wondered what the point was. Aid being forced to work for the feds certainly seems interesting, and her throwing up was a great visual reminder of how shaken she was by everything, but still, it made me wonder where they were going with everything. I did appreciate the moment where Adrianna seems like she's going to open up about Chris's mob connections, and instead reveals a painful fact about her potential inability to have kids. Same sort of bait and switch, though obviously a much funnier one, when Chris says there's something off about Danielle, and you think he might be wise to her, and then it turns out that he thinks she's a lesbian.

Tony's kind of a no-show as well. He spends a lot of time listening to his wife and daughter argue before he gets involved. (Come to think of it, Ralphie kind of does the same thing when Tony shows up at Janice's house.

Paulie's still in jail. Carmella's still flirting with Furio. Meadow's psychiatrist (predictably) gives her Jane Lane's Mom-type advice. Danielle is married to GOB! And last, but certainly not least: "You were saying she had a nice ass." "I was trying to say something positive because she's your friend!" is the lamest, funniest excuse in the world.

[8.5/10] In some ways the Obama birther nonsense feels like it was a million years ago, and in others, it feels like it was just yesterday. P&R folds that topic, like it does so many current events, into its own little world in a natural way. From complaints about "gotcha" journalism, to calls for long form birth certificates, to the delightfully specific reveal that Leslie was born in Eagleton, the episode does great at commenting on the absurdity of such complaints in a funny, and ultimately inspiring sort of way. The "it's not where you're born, it's where you're from" commentary isn't exactly funny, but using Leslie's clear and utter devotion to the City of Pawnee as a way to take the air out of the whole birther idea works like gangbusters.

It's also superb for the comedy side. Leslie's disgust (and near-vomiting) after having to even say the words Eagleton is great. Chris being shocked when his attractiveness doesn't get him a special exception at the Eagleton records office is a nicely played moment from Rob Lowe, and Andy leaping over the counter is an excellent bit of physical comedy. Even the recurring gag about racoons infesting Pawnee is a nice touch.

The B-story with Tom, Ben, and Joan was a little broader. I do like the idea of Tom having to face the music after flirting with Joan for so long, and Mo Collins is a pro, but it got a bit over the top at points. Still, Ben's sarcastic commentary ("Is she going to powder her vagina?" "That was as long as it was loud") saved any of the more ridiculous parts.

And the C-story with Ann trying to have a 5-minute conversation with Ron and April was well-conceived as well. Putting Ann on an island in those talking heads can be a gamble because she works better when playing off of someone, and this was no exception, but the well-edited sequences of her trying to get some sort meaningful response from the two unenthusiastic acquaintances landed very nicely. The medical malady story as the clincher was great too. And the capper, with Ron and April using wrong names for people, worked superbly as well.

Overall, a very strong episode that brings the laughs and packs a little emotional punch in the process.

We live in a time where seemingly everyone is fixated on past traumas, both real and/or imagined, yet, what they fail to realize is, that focusing on what has past rather than forgiving and forgetting, that is, moving forward, is what ACTUALLY dooms one to repetition. "A righteous man falls down 7 times, yet, he still gets up, but the wicked stumble in bad times".... Proverbs 24:16

Rather than having to correct some wrong, this season appears to have Nadia and Alan looking at different aspects of their lives through the lens of their own psyche's, to see that spending too much time focused on the "what if's" and the "what could be's, rather than rolling with the punches and realizing that sometimes, it simply really "is what it is", and "whatever will be will be".

Nadia, especially, fought hard to change things for the better by undoing a selfish act that changed her families fortunes, yet, once again found herself in a ...."bioaquadooloop", back where she started, until she realized that all the bs she went through was necessary to make her (and by extension those in her sphere) who she is in the present, just as the things her mother did affected who HER mother was, and so on back through time.

The wise man Solomon said: “I returned to see under the sun that the swift do not have the race, nor the mighty ones the battle, nor do the wise also have the food, nor do the understanding ones also have the riches, nor do even those having knowledge have the favor; because time and unforeseen occurrence befall them all.” (Ecclesiastes 9:11) ...

This is the journey of self discovery that Nadia and to a lesser extent Alan had to go through this season. We ALL have moments in time where we feel a "do over" would be welcome, but, we often fail to consider the "butterfly effect" that may have on everyone and everything else.

...As Satchel page famously said...,"Don't look back, cuz there might be something gaining on you"...

And now, a selection from the choir......

[9.2/10] One of the problems I often have with The Original Series is tone. It’s the sort of show that will play some confrontation for high drama, only to immediately jump to something campy. Or, as in “The Changeling,” it’ll present a tense, lethal standoff with a seemingly unbeatable foe, only to have Kirk close the episode by making some lame joke that everybody laughs at right before he presumably has to go notified the families of his dead crewmen. There’s nothing wrong with blending tones in principle, but it can be tricky, and the sort of whiplash it creates has hurt many a Star Trek episode.

But “I, Mudd”, by contrast, knows exactly what tone it wants to have -- absurd delight -- and it makes the most of that animating spirit. While I’m not always on the same wavelength of this show when it comes to comedy, the humorous bent of this episode worked on me like gangbusters. I have seen cleverer Star Trek episodes; I have seen deeper Star Trek episodes; I have seen more affecting Star Trek episodes. But I don't think I've ever seen a Star Trek episode made out of more pure, broadly comic delight than "I, Mudd."

That begins with the title character. I had mixed feelings about Ol’ Harcourt in “Mudd’s Women,” but I loved him here. Roger C. Carmel digs into the role with relish, playing Mudd as an oily, outsized, living cartoon character. The way he preens, boasts, takes theatrical offense to Kirk’s insults, just makes him this broad but ebullient presence throughout the proceedings. There’s little doubt that Star Trek is going for big comedy here, but Mudd is a character who can withstand it, even channel it, to wonderful comic ends. It’s a shame that (I think) we won’t see him again until The Animated Series.

But as much fun as Mudd is in and of himself, his best material comes from his interactions with the rest of the crew, Kirk in particular. When Mudd relays how he escaped from his predicament after Rigel 12, his increasing, flabbergasted annoyance at Kirk calling him out on his self-aggrandizing euphemism is superb. The dynamic between the captain and the huckster is particularly well-written here, and it livens each moment the two men share the screen. Beyond that, his exchange with Spock over “selling fake patents to your mother” nicely blends Mudd’s over-the-top expressivism and the consistently great dry comedy of the Vulcan officer.

In the midst of all these great laughs and the superb character-based comedy, “I, Mudd” manages to include a pretty great little sci-fi story to boot. It’s not an especially novel one for Star Trek. We’ve done ancient robots before; we’ve done not being able to leave a planet before; and we’ve done defeat via logical paradox before. Still, there’s enough wrinkles to this one, Mudd included, to make the adventure down on the planet interesting.

Part of that comes from the androids’ “kill ‘em with kindness approach.” Star Trek goes full Asimov here, with the robots realizing that if their duty is to serve man, then the logical endpoint of that duty is to make sure that their guests can never leave so that the androids can make them as happy as possible. What makes that tack interesting is that in contrast to some of the other threats the crew of The Enterprise has faced, these robots are trying to tempt our heroes rather than cow them.
Uhura is offered indelible beauty and immortality (a prospect they raise against nicely as part of the later feint). Unexpected lothario Chekov (seriously, as much as Kirk’s reputation with alien ladies proceeds him, it’s Chekov who always seems to be macking on someone) is waited on by a pair of beautiful ladies with oblique hints that he can do with them what he will. Bone is amazed at the medical lab the robots have, and Scotty feels the same about their engineering shop. It’s not quite the same as “The Menagerie” or, god help me, “The Apple,” but Trek explores the conflict between paradise and freedom with commitment.

Still, it’s just as committed to making the loony most of the predicament presented. While the interconnected artificial beings (paging The Borg) feels like an excuse for a typical “we have to destroy the controlling hub!” solution, it’s the shape that solution takes that really elevates the episode. While the “short circuit the android with contradictions” is a cliché at this point, the way the crew does it -- by acting weird -- is utterly delightful.

To be frank, it feels like a Futurama solution (which is, I fully admit, putting the horse before the cart). It is easy to imagine the Planet Express crew facing a group of logic-bound androids and deciding the best way to make them explode is to be goofy and crazy, just as the Enterprise crew did here. And the way Kirk and company pull it off is delightful.

The manic joy in the eyes of the gang as Chekov and Uhura dance while Bones and Scotty play imaginary instruments and Kirk conducts is just perfect. Chekov being told to stay still and instead doing a little pirouette is amazing. Spock telling identical androids that he hates one and loves the other because of their similarities, or offering beatnik poetry about logic being a tweeting bird or a wreath of awful-smelling flowers has particular comic force coming from him. And the group’s pantomime of the explosives and other imagination game that prove to be too much for the robots show a comedic verve and commitment to silliness that really paid dividends.

In the midst of all this silliness, “I, Mudd” offers a trite but still well-observed take on humanity -- that as much as these artificial creatures may want to study us, there is an inherent, illogical contradiction baked into the human condition, whether in the form of enjoying captivity while wanting to be free, or loving and hating at once, or being able to be enmeshed in real danger while embracing the irreverence of the imagination, that is too much for any purely logical creature to understand.

Part of that contradiction is being able to take a television show committed to drama and danger, albeit a fairly campy one, and spend an episode that blends that sort of adventure with broadly comic goofball antics. Mudd being surrounded by a trio of copies of his scolding wife (who, in a nod to the casting director and costumers, looks like an appropriately severe woman) is the right ridiculous note to go out on. Star Trek doesn’t always get this silly or this comedically exaggerated, but when it does, it’s an absolute joy.

[7.3/10] The Eagleton part of this episode doesn’t do it for me. I’m all for a slobs vs. snobs story, especially one built on Leslie feeling betrayed by a former friend, but all of the Eagleton stuff is just too cartoony. Everything from public forums with giftbaskets to a pink and purple jail with scones to Leslie’s frenemy Lindsey herself are just too exaggerated to make this conflict feel real and not just a bit of ridiculousness. It turns the “good town vs. bad town” dynamic into something that feels like it’s out of an 80’s cartoon.

Still, I appreciate the tack that it’s founded on Leslie thinking Lindsey was on her side, and that she feels hurt by the broken promise and backs turned on Pawnee itself as much as she’s upset with Lindsey individually. The whiffle ball feel is a nice twist to resolve the fence issue, and Leslie being the bigger person is a nice character beat.

What really sells this one though, is the B-story, where Leslie figures out Ron’s birthday and Ron goes nuts (in true Ron fashion) worrying about what public, showy thing Leslie is going to do to celebrate. I love the way everyone gets a turn with him, from April messing with him at Leslie’s prompting, to Andy inadvertently dropping hints about a kidnapping, to Ann scaring him with stories of bounce houses and hoopla, to Chris straight up kissing him on the mouth. Ron’s increasing paranoia, and his reactions to all of this are outstanding, and it’s great acting from Nick Offerman, who really sells Ron’s disgust and fear at all of this.

The finish, however, is beautiful. Leslie providing steak, scotch, old movies, and solitude is the perfect Ron Swanson birthday party. And the fact that it ties into their relationship and the Eagleton story is great writing. Ron knows Leslie and Leslie knows Ron, and that means that Leslie knows how to give Ron the sort of celebration he’d enjoy, and Ron knows Leslie’s the kind of person who’d make her hometown better. It’s a great testament to what is arguably the show’s core relationship.

The Eagleton stuff gets a bit too out of hand for my tastes, but that still makes this one a keeper.