LeftHandedGuitarist

[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.

[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!

[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.

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!

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.

[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.

[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.)

[9.0/10] Best Twin Peaks episode ever? Because I think this might be the best Twin Peaks episode ever.

What makes it so great, you ask? Or so much better than other Twin Peaks episodes.

Well, first off, it was almost all Cooper. The episode starts off with The Bad Dale luring his (officially confirmed) son to a set of coordinates he’s been given twice, and turns Richard Horne into his guinea pig. It’s just the latest abuse of a parent against a child in Twin Peaks, and the callousness with which Mr. C lures his offspring to the top of that rock, only to respond dispassionately when he’s zapped to bits (a trap laid by Phillip Jeffries?) speaks to the depth of the uncaring evil that lurks within Dark Dale.

And wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles, there was a bloody point to the whole Jerry Horne getting lost in the woods bit of (seeming) nonsense! Or at least a payoff to it! He’s there to witness his own grand-nephew’s demise at the hands of a man who at least looks an awful like Agent Cooper. While he chastises the binoculars for what he saw with them in a sort of strange, not particularly funny manner, the fact that there was a point to his presence in this narrative at all is kind of amazing.

That’s another facet of what made this episode great -- payoff. After so many teases, so much stumbling around and going down detours, Twin Peaks actually gets down to brass tax and advances the major parts of the story. After fifteen long episodes of waiting, the real Dale Cooper is back in business, and it’s an absolute thrill. I could do without the old Twin Peaks score being piped in for his dramatic return (call me a heretic, I’ve never cared for Angelo Badalamenti’s work on the show) seeing The Good Dale back in action again is great.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved the escapades of Dougie, but seeing the good-hearted and competent man take charge of the situation, see the hearts of gold in bosses, kids, and gangasters alike, and confidently race his way to a Casino rendezvous to get to Twin Peaks is a hell of a catharsis after all the trekking it took to get him there. MacLachlan hasn’t lost a step, instantly summoning the old special agent (I nearly fistpumped when he said “I am the FBI”) and bringing him to life once more.

But another element that makes this episode great is not just that Cooper returns, it’s that he returns with the combination of joy and sadness that would naturally follow from this bizarre situation. Twin Peaks has rarely been heartwarming for me -- with its attempts at that vein of sentiment tending to fall flat. But Cooper telling Janey and Sonny Jim that his heart is full from the time he spent with them, and his deal with Mike to make another copy to give the two of them their Dougie back, are the acts of the kind-hearted, decent man that Coop always was.

Still, there’s pathos in that moment, because unwittingly or not, The Good Dale has turned the lives of the Joneses around. He’s solved their problems, financial or otherwise. Fulfilled Janey’s needs as a husband and Sonny Jim’s as a father. Intuitively or not, the Joneses realize they’re losing him, that they’re going back to the overweight, gambling, prostitute-visiting man they lived with before. (Though who knows, maybe Mike can make a better man this time.) The last hug among them, the last kiss between “Dougie” and Janey has meaning because what we as the audience have gained with Cooper’s return is someone else’s loss.

That said, the other reaction-based facet of “Part Sixteen” that sets this installment apart (and, if I’m being a bit snarky, sets it apart from much of Twin Peaks) is that it’s really damn funny. I just loved the scene featuring the standoff between Tim Roth, Jennifer Jason Leigh, and the machine gun-wielding neighbor annoyed that they’re blocking his driveway. There’s such an incredible rhythm and absurdity to the scene, with the FBI staking out the Jones’s house, the Mitchums coming to deliver food, and the neighbor casually interfering in this confluence of gangsters and law enforcement.

And, once more, through no action of his own, a threat to Dougie Jones’s life goes away. There’s is something so delightfully insane about that, the way that problems keep solving themselves, suggesting some form of providence or at least a universe filled with gods with a wry sense of humor. It’s appropriate that that unmarked van reunited two stars of The Hateful Eight because there’s a Tarantino-esque mix of bulletfire, coincidence, and dry remarks that made this a stand out scene among stand out scenes. Hell, even the dialogue was great, with one of the Mitchum’s remarking “people are very stressed these days” and some great reactions from Jim Belushi of all people, both to that line and the explanation for where Cooper comes from.

It’s not all smiles and catharsis though. We get a tense, well-done scene from Dianne, revealing what happened between her and The Bad Dale that fateful night. Only an actor the caliber of Laura Dern could pull off having to command and convey the meaning of a monologue like that and not have it seem overwrought or maudlin. The reveal that not only did Mr. C sexually assault Dianne, but that she too is “manufacture” like Dougie was is a startling one, and Dern owns it the whole way through, wrestling with the realization of what she is and what was done to her. The fact that she give Mike a defiant “fuck you” on her way out is the icing on the cake.

And last but not least, we even get a payoff (or at least the hint of one) for why the goings on with Audrey have been so bizarre over the last few episodes. Whether she’s in a coma or another realm or something else entirely, it seems like she’s not in a real place, instead trapped somewhere that makes her realizes why she’s been feeling unlike herself, why nothing feels right. It gives the show a chance to have Audrey reprise her famous dance, and the strangeness of what seems like the usual episode-ending musical number turning into swinging, swaying tribute to her sultry sashay of old works wonderfully.

That musical fake out even works well, as Eddie Vedder (using an odd stage name) warbles out a topical tune about having lost who you were and being unable to get it back. Cooper has lost twenty-five years of his life, Audrey may have lost the same, and the Joneses are losing something too. But maybe, just maybe, something good is around the corner, whether at the local sheriff’s station or elsewhere. If Twin Peaks can deliver something this great, anything’s possible.

[2.8/10] Woof. After having such a rough time with the first season of the show, I blanched a bit at the suggestion that the second season was a step down. “How much further could it go off the rails?” I wondered. How could it conceivably recede from the already paltry levels it had already hit. Well, there’s my answer -- ninety minutes of television that is 90% shlock.

But, as I always try to do when talking about something I don’t particularly care for, let’s start out talking about what’s good about this one. Full disclosure, the opening scene with the senile old room service guy doddering around while Cooper lays bleeding on the floor initially annoyed the hell out of me. The scene drags and drags and is almost excruciating in its duration. But I take that to be the point, and somewhere around the second time the guy returned just to give a thumbs up, it elicited a chuckle for the sheer rake gag-esque audacity of the scene, so that’s something.

We also get the who, if not necessarily the why, of the central mystery of the show. Cooper lays out the details of what he’s pieced together, and the episode reveals, or at least seems to reveal, that Bob, the guy from Cooper’s dream and Mrs. Palmer’s vision, beat up Ronette and seemingly killed Laura. Some of the scene veers into cheese, as nearly everything here does, but the quick, spliced together clips of that grisly final scene are legitimately chilling, and add a level of fright and severity that the show has had trouble establishing outside of myna bird mimics thus far.

There’s also some nice material involving Ed and Nadine. I’ll admit, I’ve come around on this portion of Twin Peaks, which I initially found bothersome. Ed offers a sad and exaggerated but believable tale. He and Norma were longtime sweethearts; he thought Norma ran off with Hank (where presumably there’s more to the story), and Nadine was there for him in a time of need. Ed was impulsive and distraught and married her, but she was so happy and so gracious and so devoted to him (never even blaming him for accidentally shooting out her eye) that he didn’t have the heart to leave her. It’s a little melodramatic, but it’s a good performance from Ed, and the look of wistfulness in Norma’s mind when she sees the husband and wife together adds another layer of pathos to the whole thing.

That said, the theme for this episode seems to be two-fold: 1. Baffling transformation and 2. Doing a collection of really stupid stuff.

The latter assessment may sound harsh, but I don’t know how else to explain some of what seems to be trying to pass for comedy or texture throughout this episode. While the senile room service guy has a certain anti-humor charm to it, the similar attempts at weird or wooly humor are painfully bad. The numerous, extended shots of Deputy Andy’s odd little walk and wobble were dumb as all get out. Leland breaking into a little jig and Ben and Jerry following him was a baffling effort at charm. And the “hospital food is terrible” recurring gags are the hackiest kind of easy crap. I think the show means to be funny here, but it never quite makes it above moronic.

And that’s not the only place where “Giant” be with you makes no sense (in a bad, rather than merely surreal, way). When Ben chases Audrey around the bed, why in the world doesn’t he recognize his daughter’s voice, or the other features besides her face? The whole bit is creepy (which is, in fairness, what I think Lynch & Frost were going for) but it feels like a cheap way to avoid the reckoning the show set up in the prior episode.

That’s not the only nonsensical parent-child scene in the episode. Major Briggs tells his son Bobby about a dream he had where they embraced as family in a wonderful house some time in the future. It’s meant to play as some kind of reconciliation or corner-turning moment for the pair, but it plays as ridiculous as all get out. Much of that can be pinned on the horrible acting from Bobby Briggs, who seems be trying to communicate being sincerely touched, but mugs and renders the reaction implausible.

Then there’s the strange transformations in the episode. Leland Palmer’s hair turns white after he returns from strangling Jacques Renault. So...there’s that. But he’s also happy now, singing songs and passing out during them. I’ll admit, there’s something funny about Ray Wise playing so chipper (and it’s a nice change from his awful cry-dancing routine), but it’s so exaggerated and over the top that it’s hard to take anything from it beyond mild bemusement.

The same cannot be said for Donna’s transformation here, as she seems to be attempting to step into Laura’s persona. Between taking Laura’s glasses, her meals on wheels route, and toying with Bobby, we get an entire change in her personality without the slightest hint as to why or how. Maybe the glasses are cursed or the ghost of Laura is possessing her or some crap like that? It’s weak sauce from Lara Flynn Boyle, and a direction for the character that feels entirely unmotivated.

Oh yeah, and then there’s a soothsaying giant. While this struck me as odd, it’s of a piece with the “people who seem like they’re from an old circus’s freak show give Cooper vaguely-worded prophecy” shtick from the first season. It didn’t do much for me (and certainly didn’t feel as formally audacious as Cooper’s first dream), but it didn’t really bother me either.

In total though, “May the Giant Be With You” may be a new low for Twin Peaks, which had already been scraping the bottom of the barrel for a while by this point. Plodding pacing, more awful dialogue and acting (with Pete joining Bobby as a particularly bad offender on that score), dumb attempts at comedy, and nonsensical character choices. This was a slog, but hey, at least we have Alfred back to voice my thoughts on the ridiculous of this all in-universe. Yeesh.

[5.6/10] I unabashedly love The Room. It has this bizarre, unreplicable combination of incompetence and raw earnestness, of someone putting their soul on a platter for all the world to see with no understanding of how to actually convey that. The end result is one of the funniest and yet purest films you are ever likely to watch.

But it is not a standard that any professionally produced or written show should aspire to, and the funeral scene in “Rest Pain” feels legitimately of a piece with scenes from The Room. I want to be clear here. Sometimes I exaggerate for comic effect when talking about this show and its foibles, but that’s not what I’m doing here. My first thought when seeing the ridiculous outbursts of that graveside scene was legitimately the work of Tommy Wiseau.

Maybe it’s just the would be all-American kid (in this instance, Bobby), overacting and screaming his head off about everyone being hypocrites and to blame for Laura Palmer’s death. Bobby is one of the show’s worst actors (no mean feat) and seeing him contort himself and rant and rave in such a cartoonish fashion calls to mind Johnny’s “Fed up with this world” speech in The Room.

The silly eulogy delivered by the preacher, while the camera darts around to reaction shots of the assembled does the sequence no favors, nor does the slow-motion confrontation between Bobby and James. And by the same token, Leland Palmer leaping onto the coffin and crying out in outlandish, over the top grief, while his wife screams at him for ruining a solemn occasion feels like the loudly-broadcast mishmash of emotions that only come in movies directed by Tommy Wiseau or, failing that, Harold Zoid.

But what’s strange is that the show seems at least vaguely aware of the absurdity of this. Shelley makes fun of the sequence in the very next scene. In the same way, Laura’s identical twin cousin Madeline shows up, “Rest in Pain” seems to acknowledge how silly this is by having the show within a show, a melodramatic soap opera, include a woman playing two different parts in its opening credits. Simply owning up to one’s own ridiculous doesn’t excuse it, but it at least makes you wonder what the show was getting at, why it didn’t do better, what it hoped to achieve, in depicted such goofy scenes and story choices.

Thankfully, there’s a few things that save “Rest in Pain” from succumbing to the worst of Twin Peaks’s tendency toward ridiculum. One of them is the choice to, however briefly, pair up Agent Cooper and Audrey again. As I’ve mentioned before, the two of them are uniquely compelling in a show full of caricatures, and so matching their energies, having Audrey be clearly infatuated by Cooper and Cooper aware of what’s going on with Audrey while being smart enough to hold his place, makes for a moment that’s charged in a way that few others on this show can muster.

I’m also rather entertained by Alfred. Sure, he’s an exaggerated character as well, but he has a proto-Dr. House quality, as he drips with insults about Twin Peaks and its denizens in an amusing fashion, that at least makes his routine funny even if he feels like something out of a sitcom at times. His tension with Sherriff Truman and Cooper, and his steady stream of digs at this town and its people, make for entertaining texture as he drops more clues about what happened to Laura.

We also get clues about how Ed and Nadine got together, and how he and Norma found one another. Credit where credit is due -- I complained about how the last episode took what could be a pathos-ridden character in Nadine and turned her into an object of scorn or fun. But here, it offers a little more sympathy for her, casting her as the “brown mouse” who harbored affections for high school hero Ed, and is grateful that he “came back to her.” It’s not much, but the episode treats her more kindly than before, and suggests why Ed and Norma fell back into their old high school sweetheart habits, as the conveniently-timed threat of Norma’s husband’s parole looms on the horizon.

I even appreciated the supernatural elements hinted at here. While the notion of a secret society, “The Bookhouse Boys,” strikes me as a little hokey, I can appreciate what the show is going for with the broader material it’s aiming at with them. There’s a great deal of talk, from Cooper especially, about how Twin Peaks is an idyllic town, with slices of pie and ducks on a lake and a certain old school simplicity and sweetness that so compels Cooper that he contemplates buying land out here.

But Truman suggests that seeming tranquility comes at a price. Maybe that price is the notion that for all its shiny exterior, there is a darkside to Twin Peaks that, as Bobby butchers in a poorly-written and delivered monologue, nobody in town is willing to acknowledge. But “Rest in Pain” also suggests that there’s something more spiritually wrong with the place as well, that the protection of that paradise comes at the cost of an evil that lurks around the place. The nice down with a dark secret is an old trope, but it’s also a compelling one.

The problem is that it has to be executed correctly, and generic teen bad boys who couldn’t act their way out of a wet paper bag, bog-standard jerk husbands who have all the nuance of anthropomorphized plaque in a toothpaste commercials, good-for-nothing hoodlums who offer accents about as convincing a fratboy on St. Patrick’s Day, and manic cry-dancing dads who only achieves farce when they’re going for feeling, leave “Rest in Pain” as a kitschy mess despite the promise and mild improvement it shows.

The Room is unintentionally hilarious, and Twin Peaks often is too, but nobody wants to make you laugh by accident, especially when they want to make you think or worry or empathize. “Rest in Pain” isn’t that bad most of the time, but it comes too close to the Wiseau line than anyone, viewer or creator alike, should be comfortable with.

[7.6/10] Ahsoka is doing a slow burn, and I can’t say that I mind. There are more teases and piece-moving than there are important plot developments, but that gives us time to get into the world and the story. The machinations of something as grandiose as the return of Grand Admiral Thrawn shouldn’t happen in a day. And something as emotionally potent as Ahsoka and Sabine reuniting as master and apprentice shouldn’t happen in a single episode. Taking the time to let these things simmer before they boil is a feature, not a bug.

Not that the cheekily-titled “Toil and Trouble” is lacking in narrative stakes or high-flying action. The latest clue as to Morgan Elsbet’s intentions leads Ahsoka and Hera to the shipyards of Corellia, where they uncover a host of ex-Imperials, still devoted to the cause, helping out their enemies with hyperdrives and other tech for the “Eye of Scion”.

The visit to Corellia serves a broader theme throughout the Mando-verse side of Star Wars -- that the transition from an Empire to a Republic is an awkward and irregular one. The “happy ever after” of Return of the Jedi gives way to lost causers, reactionary schemers, and in this case, people who profited off the old system who are just as ready to profit off the new one.

Peter Jacobson (of House M.D. fame) does a good job as the local shipyard functionary, trying to put our heroes off the scent and dissembling to keep his operation rolling. But he never comes off like a former Imp trying to raise the last vestiges of the Empire anew. Instead, he seems like someone willing to sell his wares to the highest bidder, whomever that may be. In the franchise’s continuing exploration of what it means to stamp out the embers of the last regime and build up the structure of the New Republic, it’s nice to acknowledge the problems caused by those simply out to make a buck, in line with The Last Jedi.

And it makes time for some action to keep the casual ans happy once more. We get another lightsaber fight, as Ahsoka makes quick work of the mooks in the control tower, bursts through a window with badass glory, and takes on a darksider and their assassin droid with sizzling aplomb. The sword fighting is crisp and clear, without too many cuts, and the choreography is exciting enough to hold your interest.

But this is really Hera’s coming out party. It’s a blast to see her flying with grace and dexterity in live action, as he chases down the ship headed to Morgan’s stronghold. The fancy darting through opposing fire throws her nimbleness at the controls. And what a debut for Chopper, her trust droid, who is as cantankerous, amusing, and potentially murderous as ever. The pair remain great, with a clear goal to place a tracker on the ship, some fun banter and gesticulating between them, and a nice display of their talents. Despite the deliberately placed plot movement, there's plenty of high octane moments here to keep the tempo up.

There's also some genuine intrigue on the villain side of the equation. Our mystery girl refers to Baylan as master, and seems to be genuinely ignorant of what this is all building towards. The episode reveals a new ally, a formidable foe who uses an Inquisitor’s lightsaber and can stand their ground against Ahsoka. And Morgan reveals the power of the map, lighting it up with her Nightsister magic and pointing the way to retrieving Thrawn. It’s all just breadcrumbs for now, but they’re compelling enough to whet your appetite for more.

More than that, Baylan gets a little shading in ways that make him a more interesting player. He derides Morgan’s theories about Thrawn’s location as fairy tales. He laments the possibility of killing Ahsoka, thinking it a shame to lose another Jedi with so few left. He seems steady, dignified, appropriately imbued with Jedi calm. And yet, he seems to desire unimaginable power, a sign of the fall of the dark side. While I’m impatient and, frankly, annoyed with Star Wars mystery boxes, I’m curious enough and satisfied enough with the early hints, to be on board waiting to find out what precisely Baylan’s deal is.

Despite all of this -- the latest rendition of the New Republic’s challenges, the action and excitement, the teases for our villains -- the main event here is the rekindling of the partnership between Ahsoka and Sabine.

I like the structure of how it plays out. You have Sabine’s closest ally, Hera, encouraging Ahsoka to take her on as an apprentice once more. You have Ahsoka’s closest ally, Huyang, encouraging Sabine to seek the path of a padawan once more. And you have both the former master and the former apprentice bucking at the idea, but eventually acquiescing when each realizes they’re ready.

You understand the distance that exists between them and why. The show does well to dramatize the ways in which Ahsoka is steady, thoughtful, and measured, as a Jedi Master might be, and also the ways in which Sabine is still recalcitrant, brash, and a little reckless, in the way a certain young togruta once was when she was a padawan.

Ahsoka is perceptive and deft, as her recovery of the attack droid in Sabine’s home reveals. Sabine is talented and capable, as her ability to retrieve the data from the droid’s head shows. But the near-explosion she causes when pushing the limits to retrieve it, and Ahsoka’s quiet but judgmental air, ably demonstrates why things fell apart.

But Hera and Huyang make the case that they need one another, for structure, for support, for purpose. They’re each too proud, and a little too burned from the last experience, to admit it, but their friends are right. Sabine gradually accepts it. A meaningful haircut is a trope, but also a good signifier that Sabine is done running away from her past, and ready to embrace the path she was on when the Ghost crew road high.

And Ahsoka speaks of both master and apprentice simply knowing they’re ready, the reason behind her reluctance to start anew. But when Sabine shows up, ready to take up her vocation once more, feeling more “her”, each of them lives up to that standard. It’s time to start again.

That start doesn’t happen overnight. I imagine they won’t magically be on the same page the whole time in episode three. It’s a process. A journey. A transition for both of them. But with a measured, even soulful rendition of their intertwining path, I’m willing to wait.

What an absolute perfect ending, and I say this while admitting this ending didn't go the way I expected it to. Like honestly, how many of us actually thought Picard was going to survive this episode? I didn't, but I'm damn sure glad he did, even if we never see any of these TNG characters ever again, which I honestly doubt we won't given the ending. This was an emotional final send off however for this crew that honored and respected each of them throughout the season, every single one of them got their grand moment to shine, Riker with his asteroid, Geordi with his ship, Worf with his rescue, Crusher with her contraction discovery, Data defeated Lore, Troi rescued them in the end with her love for Riker, and Picard saved his son. And how about that borg queen, holy absolute hell was she horrifying looking or what? Anyway, what a beautiful ending that they all deserved, and one last poker game for the sake of it all. Am I excited about the future with Q showing up to tease the next series with the Enterprise G? Sure, but not as happy as I am that the old timers I grew up with got their swan song and somehow, someway, all survived. And if you didn't burst into tears when Riker and Worf decided to stay back to find Picard, basically sealing their death, then damn it I don't know what will satisfy you in life. Was this show perfect? Fuck no. Was the 3rd season without flaws? Bahaha, no! But if you can't appreciate what this really was meant to be here, I don't judge you, I just feel sad you couldn't feel the raw enjoyment the rest of us felt, because this was fucking awesome.

Can’t help but feel this was a little bit of a dud of an ending? Not sure, going to have to reflect on this for a little while, but immediately feels like a 6/10 ending for what was overall an 8/10 show.

Edit: Having read the book ending, yeah, I'm a little let down by this one. The book basically throws in another murder that Jacob is suspiciously close to after Hope winds up dead and Laurie finds a red stain on Jacobs bathing suit. This pushes Laurie over the edge with guilt as she is now totally convinced Jacob did it, resulting in her killing him with the car crash. I feel this is much more compelling ending as it adds a pattern of similar circumstances around Jacob, but still doesn't confirm he is the killer. and further drives home some of the central points of the show. The grey area between right and wrong, the decision between what is right ethically, and what is right for the family, and how hard it is to straddle that line for the people involved. How a parent copes with loving someone that they are convinced did a horrific act. It keeps the same ambiguity of the show ending while adding the finality of Jacobs death, meaning we may never know the truth.

Although it feels like I've bemoaned the entire ending here, I still really enjoyed the show, and would probably give the whole show about an 8/10 if pressed for a score. Would have just been great for them to have gone through with the book ending as it's a little darker and much more in-keeping with the shows tone and presentation.

Nicely done CBS. Deftly blended in some characters (1 this episode) and iconography from TOS to squelch the discord from the nattering, canon fascist nabobs, and pique the curiosity of the undecided, while still remaining PRE-TOS and advancing the original "Discovery" premise. Well played..., well played indeed.

Of course the "purists" will be quick to point out everything wrong with this episode, just as they have all along, insisting that this is a show we shouldn't enjoy because it's not Trekie enough, or TOO futuristic for the timeline, or too politically correct, or too violent, or too gay, when perhaps the real problem is with those whose cranial contents simply haven't evolved enough to grasp the actual depth and awesomeness of the show.

Star Trek has ALWAYS been about "going BOLDLY where no man has gone before" yet, sadly, there are those who desperately try to squeeze it into the confines of what THEY say is correct, and would have the writer and producers restricted to the same tried, true, and BORING stories that were fed to the masses starting almost 50 years ago. Now imagine if they were allowed to restrict technology, or commerce, or just about any facet of life to where it was 5 decades ago. I for one like and embrace the changes that have occurred both IRL and on our screens of all various shapes and sizes. Just as I am willing to give each new generation of Star Trek writers the benefit of the doubt, and the chance to not just copy and paste, but to stretch the limits of possibility and imagination, and take us on new adventures, and to new frontiers.

If that gets some purists canonical panties in a wedgie, well, so be it. But I for one am willing to suspend disbelief, buckle up, lower my shields and enjoy the ride.

As for the episode itself, several nice head fakes, when those familiar with TOS would be expecting certain things to occur but... gotcha!
Kudos to Sonequa Martin-Green for continuing to evolve her portrayal of Michael Burnham, and showing some emotions when appropriate. To the always delightful Mary Wiseman, who, as newly minted officer trainee Tilly is "incandescent" as ever and never fails to make me smile when she's on screen. Anthony Rapp's Staments, is of course going through the stages of grief, and, had me worried for a moment, but, it looks like something new is about to bring him out of his funk. Doug Jones Saru, was, well... Saru, and, believe me when I say, I mean that as a GOOD thing. Anson Mount pulled his weight as Captain Pike, doing a yeoman's job of restraint when stepping into such an iconic (if short lived) role. And the addition of Tig Notaro's deadpan wit and whip-smart timing (as well as her characters apparent next level engineering chops) might have her hanging out in the Montgomery Scott wing of the Discovery, we shall see.

Overall a really good season premier, and, from the looks of the upcoming clips, it's gonna be fun.

SOMETHING BEAUTIFUL
-33-

"Can I make the call now?"
Holy shit! This show went dark.
What a way to start this episode.
Always appreaciate those Scenes in which we actall see how they do their stuff, in this case forge a gunfight.
So beatifull made…
Nacho is in a lot of Trouble and who is the source of it?

"No more than a week."
Gustavo Fring, again. He creates chaos so he can climb the ladder to the top.
Genius. Who is his tool? The Cousins. Again.
Or should I say for the first time?
His talk with Juan Bolsa is another example how good Gus is.
Always just a little push in the right direction.
He can built an empire. He is made for that.
The Little smile of Gus...
Again: He is not the Gus we know from "Breaking Bad" yet.
He wouldn't have smiled there, not one bit.

As he walked into the School, I got goosebumps, then I saw "Chemistry" and I thought:
Is he in Walts School? But it was even better!
As soon as I heard someone sing...
Gale is back! (Run Gale! Run!)
His love to chemistry is one of a kind.
I have to say, I believe him when he says he can make better than 67%!

And now to Jimmy.
Eight minutes? More like Eighty minutes^^
Clever way to get this guy out of his office.
But who did he got for the Job?
Ira from Vamonos Pest! Nice cameo.

For the letter from Chuck I only have one Thing to say:
The fact that Kim has Tears in her eyes and is so moved by his words and Jimmy had no emotions whatsoever, says it all.
Or does it?
The last conversation with Chuck was so cruel and These words sound off.
Did Chuck wrote the letter only to relieve his soul?
Guess Jimmy made up his mind. The rest is open to Interpretation.

This episode hits me every time, and I always forget just how meaningful the plot is until Captain Keogh shows up with his intimidating Galaxy-class starship and I remember what's about to happen.

Ultimately, the episode title could not possibly be more relevant. Everything that happens eventually serves to paint the Jem'Hadar and the Dominion in full color, and we know exactly who they are by the end. We don't know what they want, precisely—even if we can guess from the name, "Dominion"—but we do know that agents of the Dominion will stop at nothing to carry out whatever orders the Founders have given them.

I did forget about Eris being a Vorta until they all made it back to Deep Space Nine, but I have to agree with @LeftHandedGuitarist on at least these points: Her telekinetic power is never displayed by any other Vorta in the Star Trek canon; and it's extremely odd that she should fail to recognize Odo as a Founder. Eris was meant to return in at least two episodes ("The Search, Part II" and "The Ship"), but Molly Hagan was unavailable. In the process the writers seem to have forgotten about the Vorta's supposed telekinetic ability. As for Eris failing to recognize Odo as a Founder, all I can think of is that the writers hadn't yet thought far enough ahead. Later we find out that the Vorta consider themselves "those who serve the Founders", and that the hierarchy of the Dominion government is essentially Founders > Vorta > Jem'Hadar > everyone else. But this early on, that structure likely hadn't solidified in the writers' room yet.

Certainly there are other little things I could nitpick, like how Jake seems to think putting back the single piece of the autopilot subsystem he removed would be too difficult, but overall this is a good, gut-punching (on account of the Odyssey's fate), first real introduction to the Dominion's true colors.

I hear what a lot of fans are saying, but this isn't supposed to be modern day star trek, this is a time when the federation was just formed and people are still trying to unify their morals with the ideals of the species as a whole. This is a time of desperation, and desperation has always led to starfleet officers to having battles of morality. I think it's a great launching point to the modern idealistic universe that the federation turns into, and find it super interesting that it came through not so moralistic means. At the end of this arc with the klingons we know that they sign the Khitomer accords, and the federation and Empire usher in a new era of peace. I find it awesome how they're going about it, each plot is dynamic and I cannot call what will happen from episode to episode, and the fact that the federations launching point is based in moral ambiguity leaves very deep interpretations that you can consider, such as Cpt. Picard's moral virtousness being grounded on the actions of less moral men, because the federation made it to the point where it was established and unified. I dunno, i'm enjoying the series and am looking forward to each new episode!

[9.7/10] Most great Star Trek episodes do one or two things really well. A top tier installment might have a strong high concept premise. It might feature a strong emotional story. It could have a great sci-fi plot. It might advance the characters and their relationships. It could offer a piercing moral thought experiment. It might advance some of the major arcs of the show. It may be well-directed with engrossing visuals. It could say something worthwhile about the characters and about what’s important to us.

Do just a couple of these things with success and style, and you’ll end up with something superb. Do more than a handful, and you may have something truly outstanding.

“Children of Time” does them all. And it does them all brilliantly. It is a minor miracle, a true series highlight, and one of the best things Star Trek has ever done.

The idea is deceptively simple. Dax wants to explore a Gamma Quadrant planet with some typically atypical weird energy with the rest of the crew of the Defiant. When they get there, they find something bizarre and unexpected -- their great great great great grandchildren. Turns out that trying to escape the planet's peculiar field of temporal energy left our heroes stranded two hundred years in the past, where they founded this colony now run by their descendents.

It’s a brilliant premise, because it allows Deep Space Nine to do a clever sci-fi “What If?” story, one that provides us hints and glimpses of our characters’ futures, without resorting to alternate dimensions or dream sequences. Sisko and company learning who ended up with whom, who started this tradition or that one, who passed away in the centuries since the colony was founded, creates a stunning opportunity for them all to reflect on where their lives might be headed.

And like “The Visitor”, one of DS9’s other high water marks, it blends the engrossing science fiction premise with a series of deeply personal and emotional stories on that account.

The biggest of these is Kira meeting none other than a future Odo, who has survived those two-hundred years and is ready to share his feelings in the way our Odo never has. It is a truly stunning development that the show plays perfectly.

For the make-up team, Odo’s more refined features help us to visually distinguish the planet’s incarnation of Odo from the one we know and love. In terms of performance, Rene Auberjonois kills it, as always, conveying the sense of a more open-hearted, downright romantic version of the character who nevertheless feels of a piece with the Constable we know and love in his mannerisms. You get the sense of him simply allowing the things our Odo feels on the inside to reach the outside.

That’s an extra thrill because of the writing. This is a sneaky yet powerful way for Kira to finally understand how Odo feels about her. It allows Odo to confess his feelings in a true and vivid way without it being our Odo who quite reaches that breakthrough, without it ever feeling like a cheat. That’s because there’s a plain reason for the change -- not just the two-hundred years that the Changeling has had to evolve and reflect, but the fact that Kira is the only member of the crew who died in that temporal accident two-hundred years hence.

He’s had all these years to consider what he might have said if he’d only had the time, to imagine what their lives might have been if he found the courage to express his feelings, to plan for the day he knew Kira would return to him. Having this Odo deliver the earth-shattering news to her is a unique end-run around the usual narrative trajectory, but one that lets the show play fair, while still earning the emotion involved, given how much of the episode is founded on the unfortunate fact of Kira’s death in the time-defying crash that kickstarts the colony.

Because that’s one of the most fascinating parts of this episode -- the eternal question of how you weigh lives against one another, blown up to fantastical scale. The core dilemma at the heart of “Children of Time” is how you balance the lives of the eight-thousand colonists who’ve made their homes on the planet, versus the continuing lives of our heroes with their friends and family aboard Deep Space Nine, and the continued existence of Kira in particular.

But for that dilemma to have visceral weight, and not just be an academic discussion, you have to make the audience care about the strangers on the planet, and something they achieve in flying colors. It is a thrill to see the workaday workings of this community founded by the people we’ve gotten to know over these past five seasons.

There is an automated math program designed with Quark as its virtual guide. There are a line of Bashirs who revere Julian as their primogenitor. There is a child who has Benjamin’s eyes whom he holds with joy. There is a young O’Brien girl who has the Chief’s spunkiness and wit. Half the fun of this one is looking at this flourishing civilization, built on the ingenuity, kindness, and principles that the main cast has embodied since DS9 began.

And the peculiar joy of the situation, as Sisko and company are respected and admired as the equivalent of Founding Fathers, makes you want to hold onto these people and their society. They are the product of, and the inheritors of, so much good work following the example set by the Deep Space Nine crew. How would we not value and admire what they’ve built all the same?

The episode smartly forges connections between DS9 and the planet’s population. One of the most conceptually interesting are the Sons of Mogh, an order founded by Worf, that exists apart from the main group. It is populated partly by his descendants, but partly by those simply drawn to his way of life, regardless of their heritage. It is a wonderful tribute not just to Worf’s steadfast devotion to Klingon ritual and tradition, something which survives him in this branching timeline, but also his inclusiveness and willing to extend its blessings to those beyond his biology, much as similar blessings were extended to him by his human parents, Federation colleagues, and Trill partner. It’s hard to imagine a happier sort of ending for him.

That Trill partner survives to the present, after a fashion. We also meet Yedrin Dax, Jadzia’s descendent who carries on the Dax symbiont. It’s a clever choice from René Echevarria and the writing staff, because it gives the DS9 crew an honest broker who can substantiate what the colonists are saying, and it gives the audience an entry point character to represent the community in personal terms whom we know as well.

Guest star Gary Frank does terrific work as Yedrin, convincingly portraying that sense of familiarity with Benjamin, seeming connected to Jadzia in attitude and spirit, while also having a distinct presence all his own. What’s more, this character from “the future” also allows the show to comment on the Dax/Worf pairing, acknowledging that things will continue to be rocky, but that the couple will bend toward one another until marriage, and a beautiful life together, is in the offing. As with Kira and Colonial Odo, it’s a nice way for the episode to gesture toward what could be without having to pull the trigger just yet.

And yet, there’s part of me that wishes they would, if only because there is something magnetic about seeing Kira and (an) Odo together with open affections. This is a gorgeous episode to look at overall, but the cinematography is particularly eye-catching in bucolic, sunlit scenes of Colonist Odo and Kira in the countryside. Their shot in gauzy hues, with heartfelt dialogue that make these interludes feel the closest Star Trek’s ever come to a stately but passionate BBC literature adaptation.

Part of that vibe comes with the emotional attachment checked by what amounts to ideological disagreement. Odo is driven to forge a life he himself will never see, taking comfort in the mere expression of his love, even knowing that if his pleas work, it’s our Odo, not him, who’ll reap the benefits. The poignancy of that, of wanting the romance you imagined to take root, even if it’s not quite with you, being satisfied to simply have your feelings known, is wondrously romantic in ways I struggle to articulate -- a blend of self-sacrifice and satisfaction that moves the heart.

For her part, Kira is overwhelmed by all this: finding out that a dear friend is in love with her, worrying that her conversations about Bareil and Shakaar may have hurt him, having the surreal experience of praying over your own grave, wondering what it all means when your religion teaches you that the gods have but one path, and seeing a technological solution that seems to blasphemously create two. Who wouldn’t be affected by that?

And yet, therein lies the wrinkle. Yedrin promises our heroes that in the two-hundred years since their ancestors first landed here, Dax has been concocting a typical reverse-the-polarity-through-the-main-deflector-dish solution that will theoretically allow one version of the Defiant crew to head back to DS9, while another version continues through history as the colonists know it. A little visual flourish with Kira seemingly duplicating for a moment in the teaser helps give the idea credibility with the audience, not to mention Yedrin Dax’s status as a seeming honest broker.

The twist, then, is that he’s lying. And I love it because it makes this choice harder, not easier. Sisko and company can’t have their cake and eat it too. They must decide what’s right and which is worth more -- the eight thousand colonists who’ve made their lives here, or the forty-nine Defiant crewmembers who’ve made their lives aboard the Deep Space Nine. And there are no easy answers.

In the abstract, it’s a hell of a thought experiment. Can you just count heads and decide the interests of the greater number of colonists win out? Can you impose that choice when some of your crew might agree with it and some of them might not? Is making a choice where some people will never have existed the same as killing them? What responsibilities do the people alive now have to later generations, and what sacrifices should they be expected to make? How do you measure the right to pursue your own passions or projects against a moral obligation to see to the welfare of those down the line? There’s no good or simple answers to these questions, which makes for good conflicts and thought--provoking ideas.

But this is also a personal story, and what I particularly appreciate is how well-motivated everyone is in where they stand.

The people who have families, like Sisko and Miles, are reluctant, if not downright hostile, to the idea of abandoning their partners and children in favor of the colonists. I love the contrast between bachelor Bashir, who contemplates asking the recent transfer out since he discovers they eventually marry on the colony, and family man O’Brien who’s downright horrified at the idea of losing his wife and children and starting anew somewhere he’ll never be able to see them again. Yedrin Dax talks about having kept Sisko away from Jake, one of the most palpable connections that would be severed if they go along with Yedrin’s own plan to see that history continues as he knows it.

Yedrin’s position, however deceptive, is also comprehensible. Dax feels responsible for this colony, since it was Jadzia’s insistence that they check out the weird energy planet that got them stranded there in the first place. This colony is his baby, in some way, and part of exercising the guilt is ensuring that it wasn’t all for nothing, that they will build on these two-hundred years of progress and prosperity, not see it wiped away by a flourish of temporal mechanics. Jadzia herself feels betrayed, but also understands.

And then, most notably, the people who make the case for staying are those who are religious, and with that, believe in destiny and a universe where everything happens for a reason. Worf sees the Sons of Mogh as an honorable legacy. He believes that this is meant to be, and Kira agrees with him.

Kira’s agreement is the most powerful, because she has the most to lose. Yes, she believes in the same sense of fate that Worf does. When Miles rightly slates Worf’s blase attitude about severing family ties given Alexander’s conspicuous absence, Kira shoots back that the Prophets will care for him and for the O’Brien family on the station. She thinks this has been ordained, and more than that, would not credit her own life against the eight thousand who have thrived here. That is true faith, true devotion, true belief, and even in the humanistic world of Starfleet, it’s hard not to admire it in these terms.

But even if it’s a choice Kira can make for himself, it’s not a choice Sisko feels he can impose on everyone. So they resolve to leave. It is a hard choice, but an understandable one, which gives it extra force.

The decision provides one of the most powerful sequences in the episode and also the show. The colonists know they are doomed. Yet, they do not despair. They plant. They till. They work. They commune. They relish. This is a communal last meal, a tribute and triumph to all this society has achieved in the last two centuries.

It is some of the most lavish cinematography and touching scenes Star Trek has ever done. The vision of this community banding together against annihilation, hands meeting hands in the soil, parents reassuring children with the rhythm of the day, a Buddhist sand painting of labor destined to be washed away but that much more vital and vivid because of its impermanence. As Worf tells his sons, time is the enemy now. Let us band together and fight in vain against it.

When Chief O’Brien takes part in it, even he cannot deny the transcendence of what has been built here. He cannot destroy it, even if it means sacrificing all he knows and loves.

And that is that. In one of the most heart-rending choices of DS9 the crew collectively decides to recreate the accident that was the catalyst for this community, because it is too beautiful, too full of the love and values that they themself radiate, to rend asunder.

And then it is rent asunder. Our heroes record their goodbyes. They prepare to commit to this life. And at the last moment, the autopilot ticks them off the course, sending them free of the anomaly du jour, and blinking the colony from existence. “Children of Time” spends so much making us, and them, love this place and these people, and then it rips it away from both. It is devastating, in the best way.

I knew the who and the why from the moment it happened. The episode offers a feint, with Sisko voicing the notion that Yedric had a change of heart. But there was only one answer, what’s always been the answer. Colonist Odo loves Kira. He cannot endorse a choice that would kill her. He cannot allow a choice that would rob the universe of the possibility of love blossoming between her and our Odo. After two-hundred years of waiting, of holding onto that hope, it would be a loss too great to bear.

That too is a complicated choice. If you love someone, and want what’s best for them, does that give you the right to override their autonomy? To overrule what they themselves believe in? To let thousands perish for their benefit? Kira is rightfully aghast at it. Our Odo, who knows what his colonial counterpart knows thanks to a timely link between them, is understandably shaken by what he missed when bottled up to protect him from the local radiation, but he also realizes it isn’t so simple.

And even if it wouldn’t endorse Colonist Odo’s choices unreflectively, love is an awing thing, and in the right circumstances, or the wrong ones, it can make us willing to let the whole world crumble to pieces if it saves the ones we care about. That too is a kind of faith, a kind of a devotion, a kind of belief. I don’t know the right answer, but I understand why everyone here feels the way they do and makes the heart-rending choices they make. That is all I can ask from Star Trek.

“Children of Time” is not a perfect episode of television. The colonists seem pretty blase about whether telling their ancestors about the future might change it, in a way that seems un-Trek-y. Even if Yedric’s original “plan” was above board, none of the Defiant crew seems concerned about whether they or their sci-fi duplicates would be the ones returning to the station or the ones trapped on the planet. And there’s small shortcuts for convenience, like the forty-three others not at the debate table not really having a say in what happens, that require some willing suspension of disbelief at the shorthand.

But the episode does so many things right. It plays with our emotions, our loyalties, our intellectual engagement, our conscience, our sense of excitement, our empathy, our hearts, our minds, our eyeballs, so expertly. You can understand why Star Trek has returned to this sort of premise again (Enterprise basically does it twice), given the chance to deliver a vision of possible future and a meditation of what the present is worth.

“Children of Time” is the peak of that idea. It is a love letter to what the officers aboard Deep Space Nine represent and believe in, a vision of their perfect community lifted up and then ripped away, and an affirmation of the love between and among them in the here and how, that makes the choice to hold onto such possibilities as profound as it is heartbreaking.

[8.0/10] Every Star Trek show does the “We just need to use science-as-magic to solve this life-threatening problem!” routine. I get tired of it sometimes, because it doesn’t require any actual ingenuity from the crew or the writers. Simply saying, “We could blow up the Protostar to stop the living construct, but if we [technobabble] the [technobabble-machine], we should be able to disperse the explosion and not hurt anyone!” is kind of a cheat. Sure, it ostensibly requires some in-universe cleverness from Zero and Rok-Tahk to drum up the solution, and from the rest of the team to make it happen. But nothing the show set up to this point really establishes why this would be a good or natural solution to the problem.

But there’s a way you can still make those nigh-magical solutions meaningful -- give them a cost, whether it’s practical or emotional (and ideally, both). In this instance, there’s the simple fact that Dal, Gwyn, and company would have to say goodbye to the Protostar, the ship that has been their home and their salvation after the events on Tars Lamora. That alone makes it tough and sad to let the ship explode, even for the greater good. (Hello Search for Spock fans!)

More than that, though, the destruction of the Protostar to prevent the construct from continuing to destroy Starfleet’s entire, er, fleet is meaningful because it comes with a human cost. For one thing, Dal is willing to go down with the ship, something that indicates how he’s grown into the role of captain. More importantly, it takes a sacrifice from Holo-Janeway.

She has been the den mother to these young officers-in-training all this time. She knows what this will cost her. But she’s also willing to make the sacrifice because she too has internalized Starfleet’s ideals. She wants to save these kids as much as she wants to save the universe. So she makes the choice, and doing the right and selfless thing means losing her with the ship. There’s something beautiful but melancholy about the fact that her time with the young heroes has caused her to grow, to the point that her program can no longer fit on an isolinear chip. The irony of her developing alongside these kids, to the point that she can’t join them in their escape, makes her sacrifice all the more poignant.

There’s also some synchronicity to the fact that the Protostar’s shockwave creates a wormhole that either is what took Chakotay and his crew fifty-three years into the future, or at least allows Starfleet to learn that's where he ended up. Frankly, I thought I understood the whole kit and kaboodle of Chakotay’s disappearance and the Vau N’Akat going back in time, but the “five decades into the future” threw off what I thought I knew. Still, it’s not that hard to get, even if it’s a little convoluted, and the fact that the Protostar’s self-destruction helps create a bridge there gives the adventure a certain clockwork quality.

This is also a strong outing for Admiral Janeway. I don’t know why, but there’s always something compelling about a captain (or, in this case, admiral) defending the actions of her crew to a stuffy Starfleet tribunal. Her speech to Starfleet command is a great one. She pushes back on the council’s ojbections to theft and other misdeeds on the part of the Protostar’s crew, and points out that they saved everyone’s butts with their courage and ingenuity. She rejects the idea that they’re not suited for admission to the Academy, arguing that the baptism by fire they’ve survived is a better indication of their fitness than any formal evaluation could be. And she stands up for objections to Dal’s status as an augment, noting that he’s not enhanced and, more than that, is a living representation of the bonds among Federation worlds. It’s a great stand for Janeway on behalf of what’s good and right, and a vindication of all the good works and maturation our young heroes have gone through.

That's why it’s so triumphant to see them show up on Starfleet’s doorsteps, after landing in the bay. (Shades of Star Trek IV!) Their hard work and good works pay off. They may not be able to attend the Academy straight away, but they’re permitted to become warrant officers under Janeway, thereby achieving their goal to become an official part of Starfleet. It’s a nice middle ground. On a practical level, the council makes a fair point that it wouldn’t be fair to fast track them ahead of other candidates. On a show level, this allows Dal and company to succeed in joining Starfleet, while still making it possible for the basic premise of the show to continue and evolve. I like the line that walks.

The exception is Gwyn, who chooses to go to Solum and try to prepare the Vau N’Akat for first contact. I have mixed feelings about the choice. Mostly, I hope this is a Saru thing, where the ostensible return to the homeworld is more of a pitstop than an exit from the show, since I like Gwyn’s presence. But I wish we got more time with her reconciling her feelings about her dad before just deciding to return to a planet she’s never known and a people she’s never been a part of, over her own found family, because it’s what her quasi-abusive father wanted. I’ve already said my piece, but suffice it to say, I’m uneasy about how the show’s handled this.

All that said, I dig the idea that she’s taken Federation values to heart, and wants to use her abilities to bring people together to help resolve the conflict her father wanted to avoid using more peaceful, progressive means. Her and Dal’s goodbye is suitably sad and sweet, with enough callbacks to their initial sparks to give them a sense of having come full circle.

So the first season ends on a high note. Zero gets a fancy new containment suit. Jankom impresses his fellow cadets with his engineering abilities. Rok-Tahk’s care for Murf and others is consecrated into the study of xenobiology. (I knew it!) And the kids get to join the real Janeway to be a part of her bigger plans. Despite some science-as-magic, the second part of “Supernova” gets the big things right and makes our heroes achieving their goal feel earned, which is what’s important.

Overall, I walk away impressed with Prodigy’s maiden voyage. The show still has cracks in its armor, like the janky animation and occasional bouts of overly broad humor. But it also reinvigorated the meaning and value of Starfleet’s ideals by showing them to us through the eyes of children and outsiders who need them more than anyone. It leveraged fifty years of Star Trek history in creative ways, bringing back concepts and characters, but using them to enhance this show’s main players rather than dousing us with simple nostalgia. And despite the more baroque qualities of its mystery box, the first season uses that plot to show why Dal, Gwyn, and their comrades grew and matured in dealing with these challenges, to where they deserve to be in Starfleet as much as anyone.

It’s nice to have something specifically aimed at a younger audience that helps deliver these concepts and stories in a way that fits their style and needs. As with Star Wars: The Clone Wars, it balances canon connections and grown-up ideas with accessible stories and age-appropriate adjustments. The reverence for Trek is plainly there, and it’s nice to see the show’s creative team move the ball forward, in a way that makes the franchise’s big tent even bigger.

[7.8/10] The first ten minutes of Discovery’s season 4 premiere may be my favorite of the whole show. The episode’s opener is confident. It’s fun. It’s exciting. It’s clever. It’s deft and efficient in its check-ins with all our heroes. And most importantly, it’s a tribute to the values of both the Federation and the show’s protagonist.

This is, in fact, Michael Burnham’s (Sonequa Martin-Green) coming out party as captain. She renews contact with a species of “butterfly people,” and the situation turns from a comical misunderstanding into a run for her life. Even under attack, though, she refuses to fight back, despite Book’s (David Ajala) urging. And after Michael notices her pursuers’ erratic flight patterns, she and her crew put their heads together and figure out how to repair and restore the satellites that once guided them. Her steadfastness and altruism become a powerful gesture of goodwill. The Starfleet officers do escape (after defending Grudge’s honor, of course) and still leave their peace offering of dilithium, marking a new beginning despite the hostile reception.

It’s the most sure-footed, endearing, and true to the Star Trek spirit Discovery has ever felt. There’s action, humor, compassion, principle, and camaraderie at play, all of which blend together wonderfully to kick off Burnham’s tour as captain, and the show’s fourth season, just right.

But there’s also a larger point behind the excitement. Burnham doesn’t want to fire on her winged pursuers because she’s pot committed to rebuilding relations with former Federation communities. Her goals are noble, but she’ll brave a hell of a lot at risk in their service. And why wouldn’t she? She’s been in the direst of straits and still come out on top. Burnham bets on herself no matter how perilous the situation, and her history gives her good reason to.

So begins “Kobayashi Maru”, an aptly-named episode about whether she can accept that such victories aren’t guaranteed, that there are some factors beyond your control, and that good leaders must make the hard calls anyway, even if it means sacrificing the few to save the many. The newly-dubbed Captain Burnham engages in the type of bold heroism we expect from our starship captains, showing devotion to her friends and a commitment to rescue those in danger, even if it means spreading that danger to many more souls.

Deconstructing her history of big swings and disaster-courting theatrics -- and introducing political forces who question whether her calls are logical, even if they’re successful -- points Discovery on an intriguing path as it begins its fourth season.

Sure enough, the crisis of the week brings these questions into focus. One of the finer points of “Kobayashi Maru” is that it works well as a standalone adventure, with enough pick-ups from last season and setups for new plot threads to furnish the show’s long-term storytelling. Here, a Starfleet officer sends a partially-garbled distress signal. A space station is hurtling through the cosmos thanks to some unknown spatial anomaly. And, of course, only the U.S.S. Discovery can save it! It’s some good, old fashioned, meat-and-potatoes Star Trek business, with a chance for the characters to show their mettle and their talents in a life-or-death scenario.

But Federation President Rillak (Chelah Horsdal) arrives at the same time. She’s the most intriguing new element in Discovery’s premiere. Burnham suspects her civilian counterpart of craven political efforts to draft off her crew’s wins from last season. When the President wants to come along on the latest mission, Burnham assumes she merely wants to “check a box” and otherwise coopt Starfleet’s successes as her own.

Nevertheless, President Rillak proves to be both an asset and a thorn in Burnham’s side. She helps talk down the anxious station commander in a tense moment, but may have lied to him in the process. She questions the wisdom of Burnham herself venturing to rescue those trapped aboard, but doesn’t overrule the captain’s decision. She pushes back on some of Michael’s bolder strokes with justifiable concerns, while seeming a touch too condescending in the process. In short, she’s a skeptic of Burnham’s methods, even as she appreciates their results, and has the stature and clout to challenge Michael without being dismissed out of hand. Rillak is, nigh-instantaneously, a strong narrative counterbalance to Michael.

It’s not all just Burnham vs. the President, though. One of the nice pieces of Discovery’s return is how it checks in on the key characters and loose threads leftover from season 3. Tilly (Mary Wiseman) and the rest of the major players have been promoted as lieutenants. While It feels strange for her at first, Tilly also shows her strength in a crisis by helping to manage the sanity-slipping station commander, even as she admits to not knowing what comes next for her.

What’s more, Adira (Blu del Barrio) is a full-fledged ensign now, helping to solve big sciencey problems and conversing with Gray (Ian Alexander) about restoring him to a physical body. Stamets (Anthony Rapp) is jury-rigging the Discovery’s innards to power-up this and rechannel that, while still harboring deep concern for his friends and loved ones. And Admiral Vance (Oded Fehr) has his family back and seems a happier man for it. Some of these check-ins are brief for the time being, but they’re just enough to reacquaint us with the team in an already-packed series premiere.

The episode does dive deeper for two characters, though. One is Saru (Doug Jones), who has returned to Kaminar to mentor Su’Kal (Bill Irwin) and help guide his people into the coming age. There’s plot-relevant excitement here, like the prospect of the Kelpiens returning to the stars or a council where they and the Ba’ul coexist in harmony. More endearing, though, is the lovely words Saru hears from Su’Kal, who’s matured considerably since we last saw him.

Su’Kal gives his surrogate father figure his blessing to return to Starfleet. He reassures Saru that he no longer has to choose between his people and the pull toward the skies above. He tells his dear friend that their bonds, as family and as a community, will remain strong even from a distance.

It’s a beautiful affirmation of Saru’s commitment, his sensitivity, and most notably, the gift he’s returned to his people. It’s also a tribute to the compassion he’s shown to this once-fragile being, with whom he shares a deep love and sense of renewed purpose that’s fulfilled them both. Saru’s departure from the Discovery at the end of last season was never going to be permanent (barring cancelation), but “Kobayashi Maru” gives us just enough of him on Kaminar to be satisfying, while also justifying his return to service.

The other character who receives a little more time and space is Book, who returns to Kwiejan to participate in his nephew’s coming-of-age ceremony. As with Saru, there’s some plot-necessary work being done here. The scenes of Book on his home planet reestablish his bond with his brother and their family. They reestablish what this world means to Book, and his spiritual connection to it. There is beauty in both, with a specificity to the rituals and a warmth to the interactions that makes each feel heartening and genuine.

The bigger purpose of these scenes, though, is to add shock and impact to Book’s Alderaan moment at the end of the episode, as he sees his home planet destroyed in an instant. There’s merit in reminding the audience of the vitality of what you’re about to destroy, even if, given the hit-or-miss nature of Kweijan-centered stories last season, it’s a bit of a trick. Still, It works; so I’m not complaining.

Nor am I complaining about the fireworks du jour as Burnham and the Discovery rescue their tumbling space station colleagues. The episode puts the money on the screen in the process. Those aboard the station tumble upside down in a “gravity nightmare.” Burnham herself whirls through space in a moment of breath-holding silence. There’s narrow rescues, technobabble solutions, personal interventions, and last minute escapes from disaster. All of this is the standard block and tackle of a good Star Trek crisis, but “Kobayashi Maru” executes it well.

Not well enough for President Rillak, though. As exciting as these scenes are, they come at the cost of Burnham trying to rescue every last person, even though doing so put her entire crew at risk. When she and Rillak have a heart-to-heart later, her political counterpart dangles the tantalizing chance to captain ships with next generation spore drive tech and “pathfinder” advancements. But the Federation leader essentially tells Burnham that she’s too confident in the face of uncertainty, too unwilling or unable to accept the vagaries and dangers of the unknown and take wins where you can find them, rather than risking everything to come out a little further ahead.

It’s a fascinating tack. The nature of most ongoing television shows is that our heroes inevitably win. It’s what people want to see. Times may be desperate, but the good guys almost always survive. And in the process, they usually find a way to save the day at the last minute, defeat the bad guys, and rescue the famous faces the audience already knows and likes.

Burnham’s done that and more. Having a character point out the implausibility of that, or at least, the recklessness of expecting it to happen every time, gives Discovery and its protagonist the chance to both blanche at the accusation and grow from it. How Michael shoulders the burden of these command decisions, with a skeptical superior who appreciates her successes but questions whether they’re sustainable, suggests worthy philosophical and practical conflicts to come for our hero.

To the point, one of my least favorite parts of Discovery’s third season finale came when a random brute told Burnham she was in a “no-win situation,” and she responded, “I don’t believe in those.” It was a cheap call-out to one of Star Trek’s most famous outings, with no relevance to the moment at hand. Channeling iconic bits out of context for no reason than the spark of recognition is lazy and pandering.

But as Discovery launches into its fourth season, the show is rectifying that sin. “Kobayashi Maru” takes the themes of The Wrath of Khan seriously. It projects them onto the struggles and triumphs of Michael Burnham over the last three years and asks if she can understand, like James T. Kirk once had to, that even for the bravest and boldest, eventually your good luck will run out. Overconfidence from a track record of daring successes, knowing loss, watching those you care about suffer and sacrifice, was enough to humble even that dauntless captain who started it all.

What that idea could mean a thousand in-universe years later, whether Burnham will learn a similar lesson or barrel her way through more close scrapes and great successes, how she and her friends will adapt to the new normal and grapple with a policial foil, promises the sort of thoughtful, intriguing storytelling the best Trek is made of. Discovery still has something to prove, but on the cusp of the fourth year of its journey, the show knows where it’s going and starts out firing on all cylinders. Let’s fly.

Ensign’s Log:

Burnham’s straightforward, unshowy use of “they/them” pronouns for Adira was perfect. It’s a subtle way for the series to continue its commitment to representation while not patting itself on the back for it.
Speaking of which, I’m still curious if Discovery will continue the thread of Stamets holding a grudge against Burnham for putting Hugh and Adira at risk last season. There’s hints of that here, but no strong confirmation.
The Discovery B-team (Detmer, Owo, etc.) are all accounted for here, and each gets something worthwhile to do as part of the proceedings. But they still feel more like friendly props than characters. I hope season 4 gives them the spotlight for at least an episode.
The Dot robots from last season (and the fantastic “Ephraim and Dot” Short Trek) are back, briefly, and help with the peril in the teaser. I guess Starfleet managed to rebuild this (theoretically ancient) tech, despite almost all of them being destroyed last season?
“Kobayashi Maru” is smart to make us care about the station commander, giving him enough personality, flaws, and nobility, to where it matters to us when he turns up dead. He’s not a regular character, but it adds weight to the issues Rillak raises as things don’t go perfectly with Burnham’s big swing here, and there’s a palpable human cost.
It’s appropriate that the latest ship named Voyager is the one planned to receive new “pathfinder” technology.
Speaking of homages to classic Trek, I freaking hated Jonathan Archer, and I still got misty hearing the opening notes of the Star Trek: Enterprise end credits theme playing over the dedication for the “Archer Space Dock.” Kids, sometimes Star Trek turns me into a sap.
In the same vein, with Burnham and Book messing up a first contact-esque situation by bringing a pet along and thereby offending the local population, Captain Archer’s true legacy lives on!

[7.7/10] I liked this. It start out a little bumpy, and frankly, it feels more like a Trekkie version of Star Wars: Rebels than anything we’ve seen from the franchise before. But there’s a lot of potential here. The mix of characters is strong, and while Dal is a little annoying in his quippiness, he has a lot of room to grow and mature. The animation is a bit rough in places, particularly the character designs and movements, but the ship-based set pieces are beautifully and even stirring.

It’s been a long time since Star Trek made something to appeal specifically to kids. This definitely fits modern young audience-focused sensibilities more than the 1973 Animated Series did. That means parts of it feel a little broad relative to what we grown-ups expect from Star Trek. But it feels like the series’ heart is in the right place here. While the Star Trek connection feels more like set dressing for a traditional action adventure series than a core part of the conception, I like the elements that Prodigy puts forward in the early going, and I’m curious to see where it (and Captain Janeway) will take them from here. Godspeed, kids!

Did SG-1 need to show some Jaffa women? Yes, definitely. The fact that we only ever see Jaffa men fighting for their respective system lords needed to be addressed somehow, and this story did cover it as far as Moloc is concerned.

However, I was deeply disappointed in the wardrobe choices made for this episode. Just like in every video game or action movie featuring women in fighting roles, the Hak'tyl warriors wore unrealistically skimpy outfits that would provide no real protection in battle. These costumes were no better than what Hathor wore* a few seasons ago—and in that case, "Hathor never expects to find herself in active combat" was a flimsy but valid excuse. Ishta and the others here go off to raid other Jaffa parties for symbiotes with no armor at all. It's no wonder they lose so many good warriors in trying to procure symbiotes for the children among them.

We also have to acknowledge that Teal'c's romance with Ishta makes no sense. Had Christopher Judge not written the script, I very much doubt that idea ever would have come up. Though I have no evidence to prove that it was indeed his idea, the lack of any co-writer credits for this script is about as damning as possible. To think that Jolene Blalock took a break from T'Pol's Bermanization on Star Trek: Enterprise to film this, where her character was arguably treated even worse… Sigh.

Honestly, I'm out of energy now to also complain about the huge gaping plot hole: there were at least three symbiotes available at the SGC for reimplantation into Neith, since their original Jaffa hosts had given them up in favor of Tretonin treatments.

In writing this down, I talked myself into revising my rating from 6/10 to 5/10. Whoops.

* — And at least Hathor's skimpy costume covered where her symbiote pouch should be; "Birthright" overlooked that detail a few times.