[9.5/10] They got me. They really did. I believed that Saul would do it, that he would find a way to lie, cheat, and steal out of suffering any real consequences for all the pain and losses he is responsible for. I believed that he would trade in Kim's freedom and chance to make a clean break after baring her soul in exchange for a damn pint of ice cream. I have long clocked Better Call Saul as a tragedy, about a man who could have been good, and yet, through both circumstance and choice, lists inexorably toward becoming a terrible, arguably evil person. I thought this would be the final thud of his descent, selling out the one person on this Earth who loved him to feather his own nest.
Maybe Walt was right when he said that Jimmy was "always like this." Maybe Chuck was right that there something inherently corrupt and untrustworthy in the heart of his little brother. This post-Breaking Bad epilogue has been an object lesson in the depths to which Gene Takovic will stoop in order to feed his addiction and get what he wants. There would be no greater affirmation of the completeness of his craven selfishness and cruelty than throwing Kim under the bus to save himself.
Only, in the end, that's the feint, that's the trick, that's the con, on the feds and the audience. When Saul hears that Kim took his words to heart and turned herself in, facing the punishments that come with it, he can't sit idly by and profit from his own lies and bullshit. He doesn't want to sell her out; he wants to fall on the sword in front of her, make sure she knows that he knows what he did wrong.Despite his earlier protestations that his only regret was not making more money or avoiding knee damage, he wants to confess in a court of law that he regrets the choices that led him here and the pain he caused, and most of all he regrets that they led to losing her.
In that final act of showmanship and grace, he lives up to the advice Chuck gives him in the flashback scene here, that if he doesn't like the road that his bad choices have led him, there's no shame in taking a different path. Much as Walt did, at the end of the line, Saul admits his genuine motives, he accepts responsibility for his choices after years of blame and evasion. Most of all, he takes his name back, a conscious return to being the person that Kim once knew, in form and substance. It is late, very late, when it happens, but after so much, Jimmy uses his incredible skills to accept his consequences, rather than sidestep them, and he finds the better path that Kim always believed he could walk, one that she motivates him to tread.
It is a wonderful finale to this all-time great show. I had long believed that this series was a tragedy. It had to be, given where Jimmy started and where the audience knew Saul ended. But as it was always so good at doing, Better Call Saul surprised me, with a measured bit of earned redemption for its protagonist, and moving suggestion that with someone we care for and who cares of us, even the worst of us can become someone and something better. In its final episode, the series offered one more transformation -- from a tale of tragedy, to a story of hope.
(On a personal note, I just want to say thank you to everyone who read and commented on my reviews here over the years. There is truly no show that's been as rewarding for me to write about than Better Call Saul, and so much of that owes to the community of people who offered me the time and consideration to share my thoughts, offered their kind words, and helped me look at the series in new ways with their thoughtful comments. I don't know what the future holds, but I am so grateful to have been so fortunate as to share this time and these words with you.)
EDIT: One last time, here is my usual, extended review of the finale in case anyone's interested -- https://thespool.net/reviews/better-call-saul-series-finale-recap-saul-gone/
[9.5/10] This is what I have been asking for, not just from Discovery, not just from Star Trek, but from science fiction writ large. Here is an episode of television that is thought-provoking, epic, action-packed, personal, character-driven, tension-filled, socially relevant, imaginative, connected to continuity, and filled with craft and creativity. It’s not that “The Sound of Thunder” doesn't have flaws, but they pale in comparison to the ambition and scope of what the episode manages to achieve in a little over fifty minutes.
The episode features the Discovery driven to Saru’s home planet by the red flashes that have been drawing the ship across the galaxy. Having recently been disabused of the notion that his next people’s next evolutionary phase results in death for members of his species, Saru is pulled between his responsibilities as a Starfleet officer, his righteous anger on behalf of his countrymen at the hands of their oppressors, and his complicated relationship with the family he abandoned in search of a different life.
I frankly don’t know where to begin to sing this one’s praises, but I’ll start with Saru himself. Doug Jones delivers his best performance of the series, and maybe the best performance in anyone. While draped in prosthetics, Jones manages to convey Saru’s sense of having started a new, freer life, his utter indignation and revulsion at what his people have and are put through, his devotion and guilt to his sister, and his determination and courage to stand up to his captain, his enemy, and his old way of life. Jones is the feature point of this episode, and he earns every second of it.
But I also just love the confluence of themes and ideas and tension points in the episode. “Should we interfere in this society that seems organized around something we find repugnant, but which is not our right to disrupt?” is a well-worn Star Trek premise, but it’s well done here. You understand the push and pull between Pike and Saru, the former clearly not enamored with Ba’ul but also understanding that there is a diplomatic process and greater needs at play, and the latter appalled (and emboldened by his transformation) that his captain would negotiate with these monsters.
At the same time, this is a family story. Some of the material is a little rushed, or depends on you having seen the Short Trek episode featuring Saru’s past, but there’s the root of something strong in the bittersweetness of Siranna’s reunion. The joy of seeing one another is tempered by the angst that Saru’s absence caused his family, and the frustration Saru had with his old life and the lie it was founded upon. The relationship with Siranna is sketched quickly, but also has an impact from how the characters react and respond to one another.
And of course, this being Star Trek, there is a twist that complicates the situation. The deus ex machina space anomaly from a few episodes ago reveals that the Kelpians were once the predators, and the Ba’ul once the prey, until technology allowed the almost extinct Ba’ul to turn the tide and prevent their counter-species from reaching their predatory phase. The “great balance” is not just oppressor propaganda to them; it’s a method of self-preservation from there perspective, which gives the baddies in this one some depth beyond their snarling, hostile ways.
The episode also gives them some fantastic design work. Much of the episode, like much of the show, takes place in gunmetal hallways with various flashing lights and the occasional lens flair. But much of “The Sound of Thunder” can wow you from both a cinematography and production design standpoint. As in Saru’s episode of the Short Treks, the scenes on Kaminar are sumptuous and full of bucolic, alien beauty in the landscape and setting.
But the real fireworks come from the Ba’ul. For one thing, their ships are striking (mostly figuratively but occasionally literally). The geometric column design is unusual for Star Trek, and helps give them an other-y quality in outer space that makes them seem like more of a threat based on design and spacing alone. Still, the real coup de grace is the Ba’ul themselves, a set of inky black, oozing and disturbing creatures who seem of a piece with both Armus from The Next Generation and characters played by Doug Jones himself in Pan’s Labyrinth. The episode makes you wait for their appearance, but pays it off with one hell of a creepy introduction.
Of course, beyond the visual design, the episode steps up the evil by having them try to eliminate the Kelpians rather than deal with them in their evolved fearless form. But even that ties in to the red angel, and notions the episode toys with of whether this mystical-seeming figure is saving people from crisis or is actually the cause of the crisis, with hints that advanced technology and time travel are involved. That mix between mystery box storytelling, heady sci-fi mysticism, and politically-relevant subtext makes this development strong.
The episode does leave me with one and a half complaints. The one complete fly in the ointment is the underfed parallel between Saru and Dr. Culber in their “I don’t feel like myself/I feel like who I was meant to be” thematic mirroring. There’s a stage-y quality to the performances in the Culber/Stamets portion of the show that make it hard for me to connect with the emotions of the scene, and the subplot is a bit too brief to be meaningful anyway.
The half complaint is that Pike, Burnham, and the rest of the crew to inflict an evolutionary change on a whole planet of people with barely 30 seconds thought. It feels like the kind of thing that Picard and company would debate for a whole episode -- the upturning of an entire society, without warning or consent, with predictably dangerous results from a hostile species in charge -- but the Discovery’s crew has an attitude of “sure, why not?” It initially made me bristle a bit (and, if nothing else, feels a little convenient).
But then I realized that this move was basically Captain Kirk’s calling card. Every third episode of The Original Series, Kirk would encounter some society ordered in a way he didn’t particularly like, and so he would call upon the Enterprise to basically blow up whatever machine or god or robot-machine-god was keeping the old structures in place. There’s a certain trademark Starfleet hubris in that, upending a whole society on moral principle without necessarily thinking about what happens next, and it feels true to form even if it’s an action I might disagree with (or at least disagree with it being taken in this way). As long as the show addresses it, and the consequences of that choice, in the future, then I’m on board.
Beyond the heady science fiction and social commentary subtext, it’s just a well-structured episode. While things move a little quickly here and there, Saru’s actions are well-motivated, and there’s tension in the standoffs between the Discovery and the Ba’ul, in Saru’s rescue mission, and in the planet-threatening attack with a crewman captured that makes all of these situation that much more delicate. All the while, there is the mirroring of Saru’s new life and his old one: his surrogate sister meeting his real sister, the values of Starfleet conflicting with the values of his home planet, his loyalty to his crewmen being tested against his loyalty to the people. It’s the kind of thematic tug-of-war, rife with exciting incident, that makes for good and satisfying television.
That’s frankly what Discovery has been missing for me along the way. It’s had high points and low points, bits that feel like classic Trek and something different and new from classic Trek. But I’m not sure any episode of the show thus far has felt both so true to the spirit of the franchise while also feeling like such a modern and riveting interpretation of it. This is Discovery’s finest hour, and let’s hope it’s a sign of more to come, for Saru and for us.
He's back ! Vader enters the picture and immediately the heat is literally turned up. One shot, one breath of him has more weight as ten minutes from the Third Sister.
I had not imagined that him and Obi-Wan would meet that early. And now we have the question of continuity. There has to be another meeting because that one could not have been what Vader was describing in Ep IV (with Obi-Wan being the Master and he the apprentice). Yes, those things matter to me. But as one-sided as the duel here was it had me on the edge of my seat. The lightsabers in the dark, the musical score, Vaders voice - that was an amazing sequence.
How on earth did Reva get past Leia ? There is one tunnel leading to where the pilot was waiting and she had to pass Leia to get there first. Yet she was there waiting, the pilot already dead.
All in all by far the best episode. Obi-Wan talking about Padme and his memories of his own family was another great scene.
Now I'm hyped.
I've never saw a episode so humanized. You can feel the pain from the villain and the heroes. And the long take (car scene) was the best of MCU until now - I didn't remember any long take, just saying.
If last week's penultimate episode was the show's dramatic peak, this finale is an elegiac send-off, with Mariko's loss really felt by all (and which Jarvis beautifully conveys that throughout). Sanada and (especially) Asano are really in top form throughout, especially during that cliff's climatic conversation. Great series.
That was seriously some of the best star wars i have seen TO DATE. PERIOD. BAR NONE. This show is fantastic!
how bright was the lightsabers my god. My oled tv and those lightsabes *chefs kiss
[9.4/10] Really enjoyed this one. On the one hand, you have a just balls-to-the-walls Rick adventure. Him turning himself into a pickle, and having to climb to the top of the food chain by brain-licking his way to cockroach-based mobility, assembling a rat-based super-torso, and then make it out of the sewer is the kind of sci-fi weirdness I love from this show.
But then, Roiland & Harmon turn it up a notch, with Rick then finding his way inside some combination of Die Hard and Rambo, having to escape a secret and illegal compound run by a generic evil boss aided by a generic badass named “The Jaguar.” It’s the well-observed trope mashup and creativity that this show does well, mixed the inherent silliness that our hero is an ambulatory pickle. To top it off, it had the right details, like the enemy goons having superstitions about a pickle monster, and the Rube Goldberg traps Rick sets to defend itself.
The best part, though, is it’s not just empty violence or insanity for insanity stake. It’s a testament to how far Rick will go to avoid doing something he doesn’t want to do, particularly something he thinks is beneath him, and especially something he thinks might force him to confront the ways in which he’s created problems for his family.
Getting Susan Sarandon to play the counselor is a complete coup, and the writing is perfect, as Dr. Wong quickly teases out exactly what’s wrong with The Smiths’ family dynamic, Beth deflecting the real issue, and the kids being cautious but wanting to identify the problem. It’s the show coming clean about its psychological perspective on its characters, which could be a little too direct, but feels right with the tone of the episode.
After all, Beth idolizes her father and so justifies everything he does despite the fact that, as Dr. Wong points out, he doesn’t reward emotion or vulnerability and emotion and in fact punishes it, making Beth worried to call him to the carpet for anything lest he run away again. And Dr. Wong’s also right about Rick, the way he’s caught between his brilliant mind as a blessing and a curse and incapable of doing the work to be good or get better because it’s just that -- work, which bores him.
But what’s great and also terrible is how that accurate diagnosis doesn’t change anything. Morty and Summer both meekly suggest that the school-mandated session was helpful and they want to do it again, and Rick and Beth completely ignore them, the same way they ignore all their problems and opportunities to make things better, when their status quo is unpleasant but comfortable and more importantly familiar. It’s another episode that shows how well this show knows its characters and their hangups, while inserting fecophilia gags to lighten the tone, and a gonzo set of action sequences that actually manages to dovetail with the deeper, darker message of the episode.
It’s all part of the amazing balancing act that Rick and Morty pulls off on a weekly (or at least biannual) basis, and this installment stands out for its frankness about the problems facing two of its main characters, its creativity in dramatizing them, and the sadness of the rut they allow themselves to be stuck in, dragging poor Morty and Summer down with them. But hey, the Jaguar saves the day in the tag from the Con-Chair-To, so there’s hope yet!
For the love if shit, people. Without the first 3 episodes we wouldn't have this episode. Without the first 3 episodes this one wouldn't be as impactful. It's storytelling and all part of a larger whole. Stop saying, "finally we're getting somewhere," or "this is what the show should have been from the start." Its a journey. Just sit back and enjoy the ride. Holy shit.
[4.6/10] If I could make one rule for Westworld and only one rule, it would be this -- no more twists. This series is addicted to pulling the rug out from under its audience, trying to pull a fast one to make viewers say “whoa”, or otherwise recontextualize everything they’ve seen so far, that it’s completely damaging to its attempts to tell stories, establish character, and convey meaning. When everything the audience sees is just a setup for a subversion, none of it matters, and the viewer is left with nothing to do but wait for the punchline.
So let’s just hit a sampling of the twists that show up in “Crisis Theory”, the finale of the show’s third season: All of the modern hosts were originally based off of Dolores. Serac is a puppet being controlled by Rehoboam. Dolores and Caleb didn’t meet by chance, but because Dolores selected him after his brain was scanned in a Delos soldier training exercise. The real(?) William is dead and is being replaced by a host duplicate. Hale has commandeered Dolores’s tools and people and is planning her own robo-revolution.
But the biggest one is this -- Dolores isn’t trying to destroy humanity; she’s just trying to give it free will, the sort of free will she had to fight and claw for. She picked Caleb not because of his capacity for violence, but because of his ability to choose and his willingness to show mercy, even when he didn’t have to.
That is trite, but at least it’s positive. It’s a weird left turn after so long fumfering about everyone’s cruelty. Caleb is not part of some devious extinction plot. Maeve will fight for a cause greater than just reunion with her daughter. Instead, they both choose to undo the shackles on humanity with the belief that what results can be beautiful and that beauty should be preserved.
The problems with this message are two-fold. First and foremost, “Crisis Theory” dramatizes it with an endless series of absolutely mind-numbing, on-the-nose monologues. For all the faux-profundity the show aspires to, the language it uses scans like half-formed action movie dialogue in the dull ten minutes before the special effects budget kicks in, only stretched out over forty-five minutes. There is no point too small, no observation too mundane, no moral too obvious, that Westworld can’t turn it into some ponderous B.S. speech that gilds the lily to the point of exhaustion.
The second is that this message about creative destruction feels contradictory and hopelessly naive. The message is that Rehoboam is a palliative that delayed the fall of civilization, but that like Westworld itself, civilization needs to burn in order for something better, less oppressive, and less asphyxiating, to emerge from the ashes. I wouldn’t exactly call that idea dangerous, but it smacks of someone who took their first semester poli sci class and declares “this is all too complicated, what we really need is to just start a revolution!” It’s facile and cliché, two words that, unfortunately, apply to most of Westworld’s brand of philosophy.
It also goes against what the show itself, and its quasi-omniscient A.I., suggest as the consequence of this move. There’s something fair, if conventional, about the show examining the safe but suffocating order versus chaotic but authentic freedom dichotomy and landing on the latter. But this very episode predicts widespread death and destruction, possibly to the point of extinction. At best, you can chalk this up to Dolores connecting with Rehoboam and understanding that this is, at the very least, not a certainty, or believing that spilled blood is the cost of liberty, but the episode just glosses over a pretty big caveat to this whole outrageous freedom idea.
Beyond the twists, beyond the dime store existentialism the show’s been toying with from the beginning, that sort of tack shows once again the grim truth about Westworld -- that’s a vacuous show that thinks it’s smart. The great innovation of season 3 is that, in its best stretches, this series stopped pretending that it had Important Things to Say:tm: or that its plotlines made real sense, and just became entertaining, high class pulp.
If I made the rules, Westworld would lean into that and lean into it hard. Setting loose a bunch of talented actors, to look impossibly stylish, match wits and weapons with one another, and cross and double-cross each other with impeccable direction, locations, production design, is well within this series’s grasp to do. When the show stops aiming for a profundity it can’t hit anymore; it is still a fun, slick production worth enjoying for its shallow charms. If that was the show we got on a week-to-week basis, it might not turn into a favorite, but it would least have its appeal as quasi-cinematic sci-fi brain candy to fall back on each episode.
But I don’t make the rules, and maybe it’s too late for them anyway. Maybe Westworld is just irrevocably broken. You can only throw twist after twist at the audience for so long that even good, meat and potatoes storytelling becomes meaningless. You can only let your characters drift so far away from themselves, recontextualize them and recongifgure again and again, before the audience loses all attachment to them. You can only throw so many empty platitudes out there to rot and fester before you reveal your show as trite and intellectually bankrupt.
In season 3, Westworld left the park and ventured into the real world. That was the last barrier for it to cross, the last lingering shred of intriguing possibility from its original premise, and in just eight episodes, the series has already exhausted it. Where is there for the show to go from here? What desperate attempt to top themselves could the creators pull out of their increasingly barren hats? Who’s left standing in the cast with a point and a purpose that hasn’t been muddled and revived and made into an utter hash of a character?
The answer is nowhere, none, and no one. In just twenty-eight episode, Westworld has outlived its premise, outstripped its abilities, and outlasted its usefulness as a television show. Nothing in this series stays dead for long, and a renewal has already been secured, But if artistic achievement were the standard for success rather than bankrolls and buzz, the series would be sent to the Valley Beyond and never allowed to sully its own misspent potential again.
[8.0/10] Easily the best episode of the series so far. I really enjoyed the glimpse we get of Will and Deanna -- happy enough that it feels like a nice grace note to their story in TNG, but with enough loss involved to make it something other than a wish-fulfillment happy ending for them.
But what I like even better is that this stop is more than just fanservice with some familiar faces. The show uses Picard's connection to his old officers, and Soji's budding bond with their daughter, to make the Riker family a bridge between Picard and Soji. Reminding Picard that he needs to be patient and kind to earn someone's trust and that fighting the good fight is what keeps him feeling alive, while Troi and Kestra show Soji that she has value regardless of whether she's "real" and that he can be trusted, is a really great way to use these cameos.
The Jurati/Raffi/Rios stuff back on La Sirena is a lot less successful. If nothing else, I appreciate the plot mechanics of Narek being able to track them using the pill Jurati takes in the flashback. But I'm still super confused as to the shape of Jurati's motivation here. I get that she's afraid of a Synth uprising thanks to the mindmeld, but why and how does that lead her to kill Maddox and what's her objective? It also feels a little dumb that Raffi and Rios don't really catch on. Still, there's intrigue in the idea that she's willing to go into a coma to try to detach herself from her Zhat Vash handlers now that she's having second thoughts.
The weirdest part of the episode is the Elnor/Hugh/Narissa stuff. The fight was pretty cool (even if I'm still tired of Narissa's hammy Bond villain routine), and the show piqued my interest with the quick rapport between Hugh and Elnor. But then why the hell did the show (seemingly) kill off Hugh five minutes later? It's another disappointing and abrupt end for a legacy character. (Justice for Hugh and Icheb!)
Still, the Picard/Soji/Riker family stuff is so good that it makes up for the other parts of the episode. Picard's scenes with each members of the family are great. His and Riker's dynamic in particular is so warm and familiar in the best way. And holy hell, Marina Sirtis gives her best performance in all of Star Trek here! The layers to her conversations with Picard and Soji are so good!
Overall, this one has its problems away from Nepenthe, but when it's at the Riker homestead, things are really good and nicely manage to make a feel-good TNG cameo into something more meaningful and relevant to this show's characters and the story at hand.
"Directed by Jonathan Frakes". Guest stars aren't always in front of the camera :)
Also, Charlize Theron <3
Up next, Natalie Portman? Besides the episode itself, guest stars are becoming something to look forward in "The Orville".
This show has turned up to be quite a pleasant surprise, it's undeniably very "Star Trek" at heart. It feels odd to admit that, as a Star Trek fan, I'm actually enjoying this more than "Star Trek: Discovery".
Ahhhhhh i’m so happy they are not shying away from the tough conversations on what it means to be Captain America in this decade. I love symbolism in storytelling and there’s no stronger symbol than that shield, and the way they have used it as a vehicle and representative of the different American identities (good and (really) bad) has been incredible.
Steve Rogers, John Walker, Sam Wilson and Isaiah Bradley all represent sides of the US that co-exist, and John Walker being the effective Captain America for most of this show isn’t accidental - he’s the side of America that’s most present and salient right now (in the world off the screen), but ending the show with Sam Wilson carrying that shield - and going through all the issues that that might bring up - is as powerful a message as any - one of hope and of what the US should aspire to be. Steve Rogers is no longer enough, Steve Rogers is the American Dream - Isaiah Bradley the American Reality - and Sam Wilson is both. This show, and all of Captain America’s storyline, is about so much more than just men in spandex and they’ve done a fantastic job taking it even further here. Glad Marvel is still delivering after so many years, makes me proud to be a fan!
Naomi was super annoying in this episode...it’s like writer of her lines thought he/she was gods gift to the universe & wanted to preach through Naomi’s lines/scenes.
I got so nostalgic while watching this episode, reminiscing about Data and Tasha...
Already one of my favourite episodes from The Orville, this one was a beautiful take on the classic theme of love between a human and a machine. Where does the programming end and love starts? Truly an episode that will linger in our minds quite some time after watching it, there's a lot to think about.
On the downside of things, I was sad that we lost the chance of having Tom Selleck as a regular aboard The Orville.
They are, indeed, the weirdest ship in the fleet.
I've been enjoying this show quite a bit. The mix of sci-fi and Seth's kind of humor is pretty good imho.
In this episode though, I was severely annoyed by Dr. Finn stabbing Drogen - the guy hadn't done anything to hurt or threaten her, and she just stabs him, instead of knocking him out. Then he came at her with the knife and she shot him; that's more "fair", I suppose. Then later, she tells Ty to set the phaser (?) on stun, because "They may not value life, but we do." And she's the friggin' doctor!
Oh no, we lost 11% of our energy reserves! Janeway's gotta give up coffee to save power, but using the holodeck is totally fine? (And apparently even more fine when that figure doubles.)
Convenient that Chakotay happens to have his medicine bundle even though his ship was destroyed in Caretaker, isn't it? I don't remember the Maquis crew members exactly getting a chance to salvage their belongings before that Kazon ship took their shuttle in the flank…
Based on the deck layout in Star Trek: Voyager: Elite Force, Neelix turns left out of the mess hall right into a dead-end when he's heading off to argue with Janeway. Turning left got him out of the shot faster, I guess.
Someone in effects should have checked the script. Those nucleonic beams were very much not parallel to the ship's central axis.
OK, nitpicks aside, I'm of two minds on this episode.
On the one hand, it does a lot of great work establishing elements of the series that I really do love (if only for nostalgic reasons, in some cases). We get a hint of the Doctor becoming more independent ("A hologram that programs himself…"). We get jokes about Neelix's cooking. Tom is already establishing himself as a holodeck wizard of sorts (even if he does write his female characters like a chauvinist).
But we also get some of the bullshit. The whole premise is just a bit hokey, and the Neelix/Kes relationship is all the more awkward when you start the series already knowing that she's two years old and will be dead by age ten. (That kiss? So uncomfortable.)
Still, Voyager was my first Trek show. I can't help but like it despite myself.
[8.7/10] It's a stellar season premiere. I really enjoyed three themes in particular that flitted throughout the episode.
The first is the notion of homecoming. Arya beckons all the Freys to return to their family home in order to slaughter them. Jon returns the family homes to the survivng members of the northern families who betrayed him, and last but certainly not least, Dany returns to the place where she was born. There is a sacredness in return, in where a person is from, that GoT recognizes and plays around with.
The second is the notion of guilt, something that comes through in Arya's conversation with the run-of-the-mill soldiers she meets in the Riverlands. One of them speaks of hoping his wife had a baby girl, because girls take care of their fathers while boys go off to die in another man's war. There's a look on Arya's face, one that seems to reveal a lament that she'll never get to take care of her father, and that her victims may just as easily be lowborn who no more wanted to fight and die than Arya wanted to see her family killed.
There's a parallel with The Hound's portion of the episode there too, where he sees the corpses of the farmer and child he mugged back in Season 4, and can't help but feel guilt at the actions that if not caused, then at least contributed to their demise. This is a different Sandor Clegane, one who buries the people he did wrong, who believes in things, and even if he doesn't know the right words, gives them a eulogy that serves as an apology.
The third is the idea of perspective. Most of the players in the episode are concerned with who will sit on the Iron Throne. Jon is wrapped up in fighting the Night King. And Arya's on her rooaring rampage of revenge. But when Sam is caught up in the same struggle, the Archmaester (Jim Broadbent!) cautions perspective, that this too shall pass, and that there are certain things worth preserving, certain projects worth pursuing, apart from the worldly concerns that consume most men.
It's a rich episode, full of colorful scenes and potent themes. Exciting to have GoT back!
[7.5/10] Ahsoka feels right. The vistas of Lothal feel of a piece with their animated rendition. The characters seem like themselves despite shifts in the performer and the medium. Their relationships feel genuine even though much has changed in the five years since we’ve seen them together.
Maybe that shouldn’t be a big surprise with Dave Filoni, impresario of the animated corner of Star Wars, both writing and directing “Master and Apprentice”, the series premiere. He is the title character’s co-creator and caretaker. He is the creator of Star Wars: Rebels, the show that Ahsoka is most clearly indebted to. And he is, for many, the keeper of the flame when it comes to the Galaxy Far Far Away.
But it was my biggest fear for this show. More than the plot, more than the lore, more than the latest chapter in the life of my favorite character in all of Star Wars, my concern was that translating all these characters, and their little corner of the universe, to live action and a different cast and a different era of the franchise would make everything feel wrong. Instead, we’re right at home. The rest is gravy.
And the gravy is good. Because these are not the colorful, if intense, adventures of the Ghost crew fans saw before. This is, or should be, a period of triumph for the onetime Rebels. They won! The Empire is torn asunder! Lothal is led with grace and a touch of wry sarcasm by Governor Azadi, with none other than Clancy Brown reprising the role! Huyang the lightsaber-crafting droid is still around and has most of his original parts!
Nonetheless, our heroes are hung up on old battles and older wounds. Ahsoka Tano is on a quest to track down Grand Admiral Thrawn, who hunted the Spectres in Rebels. Sabine Wren can’t bask in the afterglow of victory as a hero when she’s still mourning Ezra Bridger. And the two warriors have some lingering bad blood with one another after an attempt to become master and apprentice, true to the title, went wrong somewhere along the way.
With that, the first installment of Ahsoka is a surprisingly moody and meditative affair, one that works well for Star Wars. Sure, there's still a couple of crackerjack lightsaber fights to keep the casual fans engaged. But much of this one is focused on familiar characters reflecting on what’s been lost, what’s been broken, and what’s hard to fix. The end of Rebels was triumphant, but came with costs. To linger on those costs, and the new damage that's accumulated in their wake, is a bold choice from Filoni and company.
So is the decision to focus on Sabine here. Don’t get me wrong, Ahsoka has the chance to shine in the first installment of the show that bears her name. Her steady reclamation of a map to Thrawn, badass hack-and-slash on some interfering bounty droids, and freighted reunions with Hera and her former protege all vindicate why fans have latched onto the character. For her part, Rosario Dawson has settled into the role, bringing a certain solemnity that befits a more wizened and confident master, but also that subtle twinkle that Ashley Eckstei brings to the role.
And yet, the first outing for Ahsoka spends more time with Sabine’s perspective. It establishes her as a badass who’d rather rock her speeder with anti-authoritarian style than be honored for her heroics. It shows her grieving a lost comrade whose sacrifice still haunts her. It teases out an emotional distance and rebelliousness between her and her former mentor. And it closes with her using her artist’s eye to solve the puzzle du jour, and defend herself against a fearsome new enemy.
This is her hour, and while Sabine is older, more introverted, all the more wounded than the Mandalorian tagger fans met almost a decade ago, this opening salvo for the series is better for it.
My only qualms are with the threat du jour. Yet another Jedi not only survived the initial Jedi Purge, but has made it to the post-Return of the Jedi era without arousing the suspicions of Palpatine, Vader, Yoda, or Obi-Wan. Ray Stevenson brings a steady and quietly menacing air to Baylan Skoll, the former Jedi turned apparent mercenary, but there's enough rogue force-wielders running around already, thank you very much.
His apprentice holds her own against New Republic forces and Ahsoka’s own former apprentice, but is shrouded in mystery. She goes unidentified, which, in Star Wars land, means she’s secretly someone important (a version of Mara Jade from the “Legends” continuity?) or related to someone important (the child of, oh, let’s say Ventress). And I’m tired of such mystery boxes.
Throw in the fact that Morgan Elsbet, Ahsoka’s source and prisoner, turns out to be a Nightsister, and you have worrying signs that the series’ antagonists will be rehashing old material rather than moving the ball forward. The obvious “We just killed a major character! No for real you guys!” fakeout cliffhanger ending doesn’t inspire much confidence on that front either.
Nonetheless, what kept me invested in Rebels, and frankly all of Star Wars, despite plenty of questionable narrative choices, is the characters. The prospect of Ahsoka trying to train a non force-sensitive Mandalorian in the ways of the Jedi, or at least her brand of them, is a bold and fascinating choice.
But even more fascinating is two people who once believed in one another, having fallen apart, drifting back together over the chance to save someone they both care about. “Master and Apprentice” embraces, rather than shying away from, the sort of lived-in relationships that made the prior series so impactful in the past, and the broken bonds that make these reunions feel fragile, painful, and more than a little bitter in the present.
I am here for Hera the general trying to patch things up between old friends. I am here for Sabine holding onto her rebellious streak but carrying scars from what went wrong, in the Battle of Lothal and in her attempts to learn the ways of the Jedi. And I am here for Ahsoka, once the apprentice without a master, now the master without an apprentice, here to snuff out the embers of the last war and reclaim what was lost within it.
They all feel right. The rest can figure itself out.
This show is still as dumb as a bag of bricks. Absolutely shocking.
If you didnt cry for Data, even if you saw what he was doing coming, then screw you bruh! The gang is back together for one final round, and if you don't get why that's awesome, get the fuck outa here!
Ok, so they mentioned Sisko very briefly in this alternate/mirror/parallel universe, so I'm hoping (but barely because I'm really a cynic) that either he, or Bashir, or Dax ffs will be "The Watcher" when they travel back to 2024.
Look, I'm just desperate for trek universes to converge, and if they're going to touch an already established fixed point (and 2024 IS a cannon fixed point), they had BETTER give Cpt. Sisko/Brooks his rightful due. We've seen/heard all the other primary Federation Captains in recent Trek shows and some of the tertiary ones, even Dukat and Martok have had honorary mention now! Come onnnn man! This is the time and place (pun intended) to put right the wrongs done to our beloved DS9 Captain.
[8.1/10] Ahhh, it’s so great to be back in Avatar Land! Katara is still around! And she’s in the White Lotus Society! And she and Aang had three kids! And her son is the new Avatar’s airbending teacher! And he’s voiced by J.K. Simmons! And he has three kids of his own who seem to have Aang’s occasionally pestersome exuberance! And Toph has a daughter who’s tough as nails! And there’s whole squads of metal-benders now! And the four kingdoms have been unified into one united republic! To paraphrase Bart Simpson, “Overload! Excitement overload!”
But that’s just the stuff that ties into Avatar: The Last Airbender. What I really appreciate about The Legend of Korra’s first episode, is that it gives enough details and connections to its predecessor series to excite AtLA fans like me, but it’s still seems different and new and exciting and doing its own thing.
For one thing, Korra is not Aang. She is headstrong in a way that Aang isn’t really. Aang could be reckless and eager, but was rarely as bold and impulsive as Korra seems in the show’s opening installment. (I loved her “I’m the Avatar. Deal with it!” introduction.) Living in a more integrated society, she’s already mastered three of the four elements (earth, fire, and water). She’s very much of this time, not a relic of a century ago, but also very new to the ecosystem of Republic City.
That’s the great thing about the series premiere -- it’s familiar while still being novel. Korra’s quest isn’t as clear as Aang’s was in the early going. There’s no evil Firelord, no hunded years war, no step-by-step set of elements to master in time. There’s just one more element to learn, a complex city and society, and a young avatar who admits that she doesn’t really have a plan.
That’s wonderful! There’s such a sense of possibility to the series right out of the gate. I love the promise that Republic City holds. The world of Avatar has jumped several decades in the future, to where the vibe of the new metropolis is something approaching 1920s or 1930s New York. There are radios and cars and omnipresent dirigibles in the sky that mark this as something different than the feudal-type era depicted in AtLA.
There’s also just enough hints of bigger troubles in the city to whet one’s appetite for more. For one thing, I really like the notion that there’s a group out there that opposes all benders and views the use of their powers as a form of oppression. It’s a natural move for a franchise that’s always used its supernatural premise as a metaphor for societal issues. LoK introduces Republic City as a sort of utopia at first, with tall buildings and a buzz of activity, but quickly hints that not all’s well in the capital of the new republic forged by Aang and the rest of Team Avatar.
That comes through (and dovetails nicely with the anti-bender activists) when Korra breaks up a protection racket by a “Triad” gang of three guys who use their powers to harass a shopkeep. Korra, being the naturally protective and good avatar-in-training that she is, comes to their rescue, and the fact that these mobs exist, and that the cops arrest first and (under the auspices of Toph’s daughter) ask questions later, and that Tenzin says as much suggests that there are problems in Republic City despite its shiny exterior.
But what an exterior! It’s nice to see the world of Avatar depicted in beautiful HD. The elemental effects are just gorgeous, and there’s a fluidity to the way that Korra and others unleash their powers that even AtLA couldn’t always match. The animation seems to have stepped up a notch. At the same time, the design work is stellar. The bustling city at the center of the episode is remarkable and full of life, and everything from the statue of Aang in a nearby harbor to the glow of the underground quarters of the water tribe mark a distinctive, beautiful look for the whole place.
Of course, this being set in Avatar land, our hero has to answer the call to adventure. While the show belabors the passing of the torch idea with Katara a bit (who’s voiced by Eva Marie Saint of North by Northwest fame, it’s still feels true to the spirit of the franchise to have our hero set out despite being told not to. Katara’s polar bear dog (or is it some other hybrid) is a nicely cute animal sidekick in the proud tradition of Appa. And her misadventures in Republic City as a fish out of water make for a nice introduction to the new world.
There’s so much to unpack here, but really, that’s what makes “Welcome to Republic City” so exciting. There is just enough gestures toward the prior series to warm the hearts of those who watched Aang and company defeat Ozai. But it doesn’t feel like a rehash either, with the time jump and the change in circumstance inviting the devoted viewer to piece together what’s happened in the intervening seventy years and marvel at what’s to come.
I don’t know what I expected from the premiere of Legend of Korra exactly. Sequel series are tricky things. You have to feel of a piece with what came before without feeling derivative. “Welcome to Republic City” masters that balance beautifully. Korra feels fully formed and distinctive right out of the gate. The world of the New Republic seems ripe of exploration and new details just as the Four Kingdoms once did. And there is a new type of challenge, a new threat, new friends and foes to explore and discover.
We’ll see where Korra goes from here, whom she fights and whom she takes on as allies and where her journey to becoming the avatar and helping to realize Aang’s dream takes her. But for now, it’s more than enough to dive back into Avatar land, gawk at the new sights and developments that have unspooled in the last seven decades, and wait with enthusiasm for what’s yet to come.
Swerve swerve swerve. I can't say I'm surprised, it's what Westworld is known for however this felt less organic then before and more like we were intentionally lead down the wrong path just to have the big revelation in the end that we were wrong. Problem is none of it was surprising or inspiring, it didn't make you go "oh what???" like in season 1 when we found out William was the man in black, it just made you go oh whatever...
Maeve switched sides, saw that coming. Dolores wanted to save humanity now? Please... There's a man in black robot? Already knew that, don't care what comes from it. Don't believe Dolores is really dead, don't care if she isn't, don't believe William is either, don't care if he isn't. William didn't end up saving anything, Hale is a bitch again. The only real emotional part of the episode was seeing Bernard visit Arnold's family and that still wasn't even that spectacular. Bernard has the key... to what exactly? Everyone got their catch phrase in. This episode just showed the show's gone on too long and the story is all over the place. To think it's going to keep going feels more like a chore then something to be excited for. With any mercy they end this thing with a 3 or 4 episode arch in season 4 and be done with it.
Alas Westworld, this pain is all I have left of you.
[5.8/10] Look, trying to diagnose just one problem as “the key” to what’s wrong with Westworld is like pulling one bullet out of Scarface and declaring him cured. But the one that bugs me the most in “Decoherence” is this -- the show pretends that it is very smart and profound, when it is deeply, deeply trite and dumb.
Maybe I’m just too old and jaded for this mumbo jumbo. If you watched The Matrix in theaters, or sat agape in front of the T.V. watching Star Trek: The Next Generation, or even rode the highs and lows of Battlestar Galactica before, this show’s overextended points about identity and choice are simply old hat. For a new generation, wowed by the production design and quality acting, this may feel like a breath of fresh air and something truly insightful. But for old hands like yours truly, it can’t help but feel tired and done.
Don’t get me wrong, there’s something cool conceptually about William having conversations with different versions of himself and debating whether or not he’s the author of his own story or just a character in one that’s been dictated to him. (It’s also a nice excuse to bring Jimmi Simpson back to play Young William again.) Having different reflections of his former self speak up to either excuse past behavior by blaming it on his upbringing, the park, or balancing it out with his good deeds, makes for a visually striking device if nothing else.
The problem is that this is Westworld so the dialogue, and its attendant overwritten colloquies about whether or not we have free will and self-taunts about the darkness that lies in the hearts of men, elicits more eye-rolls than solemn nods in response. To be honest, I think I’m just over William as a character. The battle for his soul mostly ceased to be interesting after season 1. Killing his own daughter should provide more places to take the character, but death is so cheap on this show that it doesn't mean much. Ed Harris still makes the most of the material, but this whole “are you a villain in this story or a passenger in your own life” dichotomy is tired and cliched.
What I find more surprising is that I’m also struggling to care about Maeve this season. She was always one of the show’s more compelling characters, given her more complex motivations and the snark and charm of her personality. The problem for her in season 3 is that so much of her material is clearly wheel-spinning until the inevitable confrontation between her and Dolores. I appreciate that “Decoherence” tries to use this downtime while her body reprints to explore her character a little, but it doesn't really tell us anything we don’t already know.
We do see that Maeve has her superpowers back. That’s more of a plot point than a character development, since presumably her ability to dictate the behavior of the Hosts will come into play somehow when Dolores sends her army in, or Bernard and Stubbs (and maybe William?) try to interfere, or she has to take over big red Kool Aid Man-style wall-busters to win the day. But while it’s likely important that the show set that up, we’ve already done the Warworld routine and seeing her thump goons or bring back the “real” Hector so that he can be offed for “real” ten minutes later does nothing.
There is something to her having a chat with Dolores (or an earlier version of her) who seems more detached and sanguine about what has to be done than usual, in order to set up that confrontation down the road. The whole “we’re not so different, you and I” tenor of the exchange is also a cliché. But it at least introduces some moral complications to the whole thing, where both Dolores and Maeve think they’re fighting for their people, their loved ones, just in different ways. There’s not much new to that, but it’s a solid enough wrinkle and a clever enough way to put them face to face before they’re actually face to face.
That just leaves Hale, who wasn’t interesting to me before she was just another Host, and who isn’t much more interesting to me now. The character should be more compelling conceptually. For one thing, the fact that she’s a double agent, theoretically working for Serac against Dolores while actually working for Dolores against Serac. For another, there’s genuine intrigue, and something that does feel a little unique, about Hale’s life bleeding into Dolores’s programming, to where Host-Hale genuinely care for real-Hale’s family, to the point that it reveals her as not the real Hale to Serac.
But despite that, she feels like a pointless character, who exists only to be the product of various schemes and counter-schemes, ploys and counter-ploys, and otherwise walk around gray hallways shooting and crushing things. If this show aspired to be any old dumb action movie, that would perfeclty fine. But it wants to convince us that it’s saying something meaningful amid all this indulgent destruction and twisty nonsense, and at the very least, Hale is a pretty meager vessel to support that sort of storytelling.
So instead we just get surprises. William has decided that his debate about reality or causality or mentality is pointless, and he’s found his purpose, and is now on Team Bernard. Maeve is now not just working for Serac and trying to take out Dolores because she wants to reunite with her daughter, but because she wants revenge on Dolores for orchestrating the death of Hector. And Robo-Hale has lost the one thing she had a genuine emotional connection to -- real Hale’s family -- leaving her as another potential wildcard/vengeance-seeker amid all of this craziness.
There’s nothing wrong with those developments. They’re solid, basic, character beats. A villain becomes a useful ally. A hero gets new motivation. A tweener finds their cause more complicated. But Westworld in general and “Decoherence” in particular seems to think these events are freighted with irrepressible meaning, when they’re stock plot points and character twists wrapped in the same dime store philosophical ramblings the show’s had on offer for a while now.
I don’t mind Westworld trying to be smart or contemplative amid its pulpy thrills; I just wish it succeeded.
[8.4/10] We live in the finite. Everyone reading this has a limited amount of time on this plane of existence. Maybe you believe there’s an eternal paradise waiting on the other end. Maybe you believe in reincarnation. Maybe you believe that we’re simply waves whose essence is returned to the fabric of the universe. Whatever you believe, almost all of us can agree that whatever we have here, our fragile world and fragile bodies, are not built to last.
That is both terrifying and maddening: terrifying because, like Janet, none of us truly knows what’s on the other side, and maddening because there is so much to do and see and experience even in this finite world, and given how few bearimies we have on this mortal coil, most of us will only have the chance to sample a tiny fraction of it.
So The Good Place gives us a fantasy. It’s not a traditional one, of endless bliss or perpetual pleasure or unbridled success. Instead, it imagines an afterlife where there’s time enough to become unquestionably fulfilled, to accomplish all that we could ever want, to step into the bounds of the next life or the next phase of existence or even oblivion at peace. The finale to Michael Schur’s last show, Parks and Recreation, felt like a dose of wish fulfillment, but with this ending, The Good Place blows it out of the water.
Each of our heroes receives the ultimate send-off. By definition, nearly all of them have found ultimate satisfaction, a sense of peacefulness in their existence that makes them okay to leave it, having connected with their loved ones, improved themselves, and accomplished all that they wanted to. If “One Last Ride” seemed to give the denizens of Pawnee everything they’d ever wanted, “Whenever You’re Ready” makes that approach to a series finale nigh-literal for the residents of The Good Place.
And yet, there’s a sense of melancholy to it all, if only because every person who emerges from paradise at peace and ready to leave, has to say goodbye to people who love them. Most folks take it in stride, with little more than an “oh dip” or an “aw shoot”, but there’s still something sad about people who leave loved ones behind, and whom the audience has come to know and love, bidding what is, for all intents and purposes, a final farewell.
But The Good Place finds ways to make that transcendent joy for each of our heroes feel real. Jason...completes a perfect game of Madden (controlling Blake Bortles, no less). He gets loving send-offs from his father and best friend. He enjoys one last routine with his dance crew. He inadvertently lives the life of a monk while trying to find the necklace he made for Janet. It is the combination of the idiotic, the sweet, and the unexpectedly profound, which has characterized Jason.
Tahani learns every skill she dreamed of mastering (including learning wood-working from Ron Swanson and/or Nick Offerman!). She connects with her sister and develops a loving relationship with her parents. And when it’s time to go, she realizes she has more worlds left to conquer and becomes an architect, a fitting destination for someone who was always so good at designing and creating events for the people she cares about. Hers is one of the few stories that continues, and it fits her.
Chidi doesn't have the same sort of list of boxes checked that leads him to the realization that he has nothing more to do. Sure, he’s read all of the difficult books out there and seemingly refined the new afterlife system (with help from the council) to where it’s running smoothly, almost on automatic. But his realization is more from a state of being happy with where everything is, with what he’s experienced.
He has dinner with his best friend and Eleanor’s best friends and has so many times. He’s spent endless blissful days with the love of his (after)life staring at the sunset. His mom kissed Eleanor and left lipstick on her cheek, which Eleanor’s mom wiped off. I love that. I love that it’s something more ineffable for Chidi, a sense of the world in balance from all the bonds he’s forged rather than a list of things he’s done. And I love that he felt that readiness to move on for a long time, but didn’t for Eleanor’s sake.
Look, we’re at the end of the series, and I’m still not 100% on board with Eleanor/Chidi, which is a flaw. But I want to like it. I like the idea of it. And I especially like the idea of someone being at peace, but sacrificing the need to take the next step for the sake of someone they love. The saddest part of this episode is Eleanor doing everything she can to show Chidi that there’s more to do, only to accept that the moral rule in this situation says that her equal and opposite love means letting him go. Chidi’s departure is hard, but his gifts to Eleanor are warm, and almost justify this half-formed love story that’s driven so much of the show.
Unfortunately, no matter how much peace he finds, Michael cannot walk through the door that leads to whatever comes next. So instead, he gets the thing he always wanted -- to become human, or as Eleanor puts it, a real boy. Ted Danson plays the giddiness of this to the hilt, his excitement at doing simple human things, the symbolism of him learning to play a guitar on earth, on taking pleasure in all the mundane annoyances and simple fun and things we meat-sacks take for granted. Each day of humanity is a new discovery for Michael, and there’s something invigorating about that, something heightened by his own delight at not knowing what happens next in the most human of ways.
The one character who gets the least indication of a next step is Janet. We learn that she is Dr. Manhattan, experiencing all of time at once. We see her accept Jason’s passing, hug our departing protagonists, and take steps to make herself just a touch more human to make her time with Jason a little more right. But hers is a story of persistence, of continued growth, in a way that we don’t really have for anyone else.
Along the way, the show checks in with scads of minor characters to wrap things up. We see the other test subjects having made it into The Good Place (or still being tested). We see Doug Forcett deciding to party hard now that he’s in Heaven. We see Shawn secretly enjoy the new status quo, and Vicky go deep into her new role, and The Judge...get into podcasts! As much as this show tries to get the big things right for all of its major characters, it also takes time to wrap up the little things and try not to leave any loose threads from four seasons of drop-ins across the various planes of existence.
That just leaves Eleanor. She takes the longest of any of the soul squad to be ready. She tries, becoming okay with Chidi’s absence. She overcomes her fear of being alone. But most importantly, she does what she’s come to do best -- help people better herself. There’s self-recognition in the way her final great act, the thing that makes her okay with leaving this plane and entering another, is seeing herself in Mindy St. Clair and trying to save her. The story of The Good Place is one of both self-improvement and the drive to help others do the same. Saving Mindy, caring about her, allows Eleanor to do both in one fell swoop.
So she too walks through the door, beautifully rendered as the bend between two trees in a bucolic setting. Her essence scatters through the universe, with one little brilliant speck of her wave, crashing back into Michael’s hands, reminding him of his dear friend, and inspiring him to pass on that love and sincerity back into the world. It is, as trite as it sounds, both an end and a beginning, something circular that returns the good deeds our protagonists have done, the good people they have become, into some type of cycle that helps make the rest of this place a little better.
Moments end. Lives end. T.V. shows end. The Good Place has its cake and eats it too, returning to and twisting key moments like Michael welcoming Eleanor to the afterlife, while cutting an irrevocable path from here through the crash of the wave. It embraces the way that the finite gives our existence a certain type of meaning, whether we have a million bearimies to experience the joys and wonders of the universe, or less than a hundred years to see and do and feel whatever we can. And it sends Team Cockroach home happy, wherever and whatever their new “home” may be.
In that, The Good Place is a marvel, not just because it told a story of ever-changing afterlife shenanigans, not just because it tried to tackle the crux of moral philosophy through an off-the-wall network sitcom, but because it ended a successful show, after only four seasons, by sending each of them into another phase of existence and made it meaningful. There’s a million things to do with our limited time on this planet, but watching The Good Place was an uplifting, amusing, challenging, and above all worthwhile use of those dwindling minutes, even if we’ll never have as many as Eleanor or Chidi, Michael or Tahani, Janet or Jason, or any of the other souls lucky enough to be able to choose how much eternity is enough.
I'm really not liking this show, and that's saying something as I absolutely LOVE Hugh Laurie, and cannot get enough of anything even remotely space/sci-fi related.
With everything else in this show that should help carry it, even the premise which isn't new but still offers interesting possibilities, the absolute worst part is the abysmal "writing". Can we even call it that ?
It's basically Avenue 5: a space improv' ... and I don't know anyone who likes improv'
In this particular episode they re-use the same tepid coffins orbiting the ship joke twice, and in next weeks previews it looks like they're gonna keep on beating that dead horse.
And where are the likeable characters ? Everyone is just annoying, so who am I supposed to root for if we end up hating every one on board ?
I'm just so frustrated and disappointed that they somehow managed to botch what could have been a really amazing show.
EDIT: Might have been looking at this all wrong, please check the other comments below.
am i alone about loving the ending? ( that kind of works like season or show finale ) .
[7.0/10] There’s a lot of filler in this one. I don’t know why, in the lead-up to the finale, we need to have Kaz getting in a scuba suit fight with some stormtroopers, or to see a ball droid vs. ball droid street fight. I guess it’s supposed to be fun, but the show’s animation is so stiff and stuttery that it’s hard to get into it. At least we get a lot of fun Neeku banter. (His bits about blowfish and being called “buddy” were positively Pinky-esque.)
The one part of this episode I found really interesting is Tam being coaxed and turned by Agent Tierny. While she’s obviously playing Tam, she’s using true things, like that Yeager kept things from her and put her in danger, that give Tam a right to be mad. The actress who voices Tam still feels a bit wooden to me, but there’s at least good character writing for how she’d be sympathetic to the First Order and disillusioned about her mentor.
The rest of this is mostly place-setting. Buggles helping Kaz get to Torra, and Neeku and the refugees discovering that the Colossus can fly feels much more like setup than anything necessary for this episode. The same goes for Yeager and Captain Doza getting tossed in the same cell.
That just leaves the direct tie in to The Force Awakens with Kaz witnessing Hux’s speech on Starkiller base, just before it blows up the Hosnian system (something captured with an external camera for some reason?) It should be a devastating moment for Kaz, but we’ve only seen his dad once, and the actor who voices the character doesn't have the abilities as a performer to make a moment like that land.
Overall, this is a fairly underwhelming lead into the finale, with more filler and setups than anything worthwhile outside of Tam’s experience, but maybe it’ll be worth it with the payoff in the next episode.
Patrick Stewart spins around the wrong way after Brent Spiner "hits" him in Engineering… No wonder that particular fight call seemed extra cheesy.
Both times Graves transfers his consciousness, the implied mechanics leave major plot holes. Who turned Data back on? How did Data get on the floor? Who unplugged him?!
While I wouldn't necessarily call this a great story—it has a lot of elements that were common in science fiction up to that time, and the plot holes are awfully big—it is a great watch. Brent Spiner doing just about anything makes for a great watch.
I'm a bit disappointed to read that a scene where Data was to riff on Picard's bald head, after his attempt at a Riker-like beard failed, was cut from the script. That would have been hilarious. But maybe it would have included another instance of Deanna making some excuse to avoid laughing in front of Data, who is an android and would not feel insulted by it, so… maybe it was better left out. (That bit was very out of character, I thought. Troi shouldn't feel the need to hide her reaction from Data. He'd find it useful feedback, if anything.)
Besides Spiner's usual obvious fun-having, there are some nice little writing touches to think about.
IMDB pointed out (because I haven't read Dickens in forever) that the disease Graves had is probably a reference to a character of the same name in A Tale of Two Cities, which is pretty great.
Graves' name itself, while not really a literary reference per se, is still funny. A man trying to cheat death is named after the thing in which he does not want to end up (a grave). Har har?
(I also realized early on this this episode why Dr. Pulaski must be so dour… She's played by Diana Muldaur, who practically has "dour" in her name… but that's a cheap shot, I guess.)
"The Star Trek Without the Star Trek Within". Yes, silly title, it made as much sense as the episode itself (but, to be honest, Discovery does often feel like Star Trek without the Star Trek within). Well, at least they're gearing up for what it seems to be a fun (though most likely ludicrous) season finale.
