Bocchi's bandmates not believing her when she texts that she's sold her quota is such a fabulous bit of character writing. I'm more and more in awe of this show with every episode.
I wasn't expecting this particular show to feature a moment of affirmation for a follicly-challenged person like myself, but the end of the epilogue made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Mr. Kamota joining Leo Vader in the ranks of bald kings of 2023.
I'm sure My Hero Academia wasn't the first show to have its cast narrate the "next time on" preview in character, but it's one of the most charming examples I've heard. Also, kudos to the creative team for finally making me appreciate a scene featuring Bakugo. I wish they'd depict him with the same irreverance in the actual show, but I'll take what I can get.
First time I've teared up at seeing someone light a cigarette.
Weird to see this be the lowest rated episode of TOS so far; aside from the pilot, it's my favourite by quite a margin. I can definitely understand why it would turn off a lot of folks; muddled gender politics aside, it's an uncomfortable, uneasy piece of filmmaking, deviating quite sharply from the more formulaic cases-of-the-week and concepts we've seen so far.
To me, though, "Mudd's Women" manages to make the discomfort into a feature, not a mudd bug. It's like everyone involved in the production decided to take their lead from Roger Carmel's fantastically grubby performance as the titular conman, making everything on screen feel sleazier, more off-kilter. TOS is a pretty dank and sweaty series to begin with, but here, the blocking and angles seem to box in the actors just a little bit more, making me feel the existential threat to the Enterprise much more keenly than the preceding handful. On an emotional level, said threat hits differently as well. It's not as ineffable or otherworldly as in previous episodes. This impending doom was brought about by disarmingly familiar human folly and greed, and for once, those baser instincts didn't really need science-fictional amplification to cause disaster and chaos.
In the final act of the episode, the Enterprise feels like it's slouching dejectedly towards armaggeddon, and everyone aboard just come across as tired and disappointed: "really? This mess is what's going to kill us all?"
For some strange, unfathomable reason, that vibe just feels immensely relatable to me right now.
First Carrie with Brody at the safe house, then Brody in Estes' office and again in the interrogation room. Three scenes where the lead actors of the show were clearly directed to act like the were acting, because in that moment, that's what their characters were doing. Watching all three scenes, though, I found myself wondering, "why are they acting badly?". Even though I think there are good reasons both for Carrie and Brody not to be up to their usual deceptive best in those moments, it's still a pretty audacious move for the creative team to risk having their lead actors look like they're doing poor work. It's a successful ploy- in my opinion - but it still seems like a brand of subtlety that Homeland isn't really suited to. At least in this early going.
That said, it's a cool as heck bit of craft, though.
The return to the school setting – along with a plot that (at first, at least) feels relatively grounded compared to the level of hijinx this summer vacation season has offered up so far – makes for Machikado mazuko at its most mundane. Even if it doesn't last, it's interesting to see how close the show is to being a straight, breezy teen slice-of-life story, if not for all its charmingly manic asides and tempo shifts.
Like the first season, there's no sense at all of this one building to any kind of grand conclusion, which continues to be both a liability (Machikado mazuko's aimlessness does make the standard 12-episode anime season feel even shorter than usual) and a strength (its meandering, impulsive storytelling style makes for a truly idiosyncratic experience).
I don't know why that "we've been waiting for ya, buddy!" from the crowd at the end hit me so directly in the feels, but it really, really did.
I spent what feels like my entire twenties and most of my early thirties watching TV dramas and comedies, as the streaming age revved up, I mostly fell off. So while I know there's probably just as much good stuff out there now as there was back when I was a TV fiend (shout-outs to the AV Club comments sections), it's rare that I see a pilot nowadays that makes me feel the way I did back then (simply because I watch so few). This one gave me that feeling, and how.
Wow, "Salty Ham". The decision to contrast Scott Thompson's naturalistic and low key middle-aged housewife performance with Bruce McCullough as her husband – a deliberately shrill fifteen-year-old-in-a-school-play caricature of an old working stiff – is such an incredibly specific choice, and I don't know if I've ever seen anything like it.
I did not expect this pilot to be able to summon this immense depth of feeling, and then it just kept happening over and over again. It's not like TV musicals (or even film musicals) are that common these days, so for one of those very few to be able to lock into this pretty astounding emotional resonance with its performances feels like some kind of minor miracle. Not just in terms of the performances themselves, but incorporating the lipsyncing in a way that doesn't feel too jarring... it's one of the hardest nuts to crack in this particular genre, and the creative team just flipping nailed it. Wow. Wow wow wow.
More of a standard TV show feel than "The Cage", though not without its charms. My favourite part of the episode might have been the staging of the action sequence where Kirk and Spock capture Professor Crater. Both the production design and the blocking add an abstract, stagey quality to the scene. No one involved seems that interested in trying to make out like they're not shooting on a soundstage, and the end result is all the better for it. Instead, the director, DP and editor concentrate on capturing the actors moving in the space, and both Nimoy and Shatner are committed enough to make the relatively simple choreography feel tense and full of personality.
The farther we get from the 4:3 era of film and television, the more the strengths of the format stand out. Even with a pilot like this, a putative space epic that surely would have benefited from the spread of a wider aspect ratio, the more confined compositions made possible by the narrow box more than make up for the (supposed) lack of scope. For talking heads scenes, the over-the-shoulder shot-reverse-shots ubiquitous in today's 16:9 world simply can't compete with the kind of more intimate blocking that was inevitably lost with the move to widescreen.
Normally, I have quite a low tolerance for comedies where the primary driver is the central character's predilection for creating chaos, but something about the way Star vs. handles that setup counteracts the usual annoyances to me. Maybe it's the way the rest of the ostensibly regular world mostly just rolls with Star's hijinks, regardless of how disruptive she is? I dunno, but I appreciate the heck out of how the creative team has threaded that needle so far. Also the particular way in which this episode allows Marco to get fully sidetracked from Star's mess into his own brand of tomfoolery is an inspired way of subverting the sitcom tropes that follow from the show's overall premise.
How did Marco's fricking actual mouth trombone "wamp wamp" sting on Star get the biggest laugh of the episode out of me? Get the timing right, and even the tritest comedic tools can work, I guess. Big kudos to the creative team on that one, especially the editorial department and Adam McArthur.
The first truly disappointing episode of my rewatch so far; I struggled to find any redeeming qualities about this one, even with my expectations set pretty dang low in the first place. I guess I was entertained by some of Katie Cassidy's line readings? She has a few jokes here that she sells really well.
I love the cellar cholera ghosts so much. It's such a great touch to add just the slightest pinch of actual creepiness to a show that's deliberately removed all the scares from its very traditionally spooky premise.
On the one hand, it feels like the show is getting a bit high on itself with the whole "violence is righteous and good when done by righteous people" thing, and that iffy sensation is kinda leeching away a lot of the fun of the action sequences – and the show in general – for me. On the other hand, Maria Sten's performance is pitch perfect and cool as hell, enough so that I guess I can put up with the rest of the bullshit if it means I get so see more of her Frances Neagley.
Still making my mind up about the adaptation overall, but one moment in this episode did make me sit up and take notice in a big way: Reacher is dancing with Roscoe at the roadhouse, they lean closer together, their foreheads touching. We see the deputy relaxing, and a beat later, Reacher does the same, his eyes closing, peace settling across his face. It's a subtle grace note that had been missing from Alan Ritchson's performance up to this point, and I was relieved to see it. To say nothing of how heartening it was to see the creative team be this willing to show vulnerability and surrender in their big-ass superhuman male lead.
It's a toss-up for who the MVP of early Arrow is; it's either the stunt coordinators/choreographers or Susanna Thompson's performance as Moira Queen. The intensity of the action was definitely one of the most eye-catching and moreish qualities of the show when it launched; the rest of it mostly felt like the CW line-up-filler it was probably considered to be on the executive level. At the time, you can't underestimate how exciting it was for the audience to see a superhero TV show with action that felt on par with most movies in the genre had offered up to this point (remember, in 2012, the Marvel Cinematic Universe was not quite the all-conquering cultural juggernaut it is today).
For me, though, Arrow's actual unique selling proposition was about to be its approach to melodrama, Greg Berlanti and the rest of his creative team hitting upon a way to marry the signature soapy stylings of its network home to the already heightened world of the DC comics source material. This was, of course, nothing new; both Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Supernatural had already worked the same formula, at the same network. Arrow still had a lot to do to get there, though, and that's why I see Thompson's performance in these early episodes as maybe even more crucial to the show's eventual (creative) success than the kinetic superhero action. Among the principal cast members, at this point, Thompson was the only one consistently hitting the unexpectedly gripping emotional notes that were to become the show's stock in trade. You can see how she galvanises the performers opposite her in pretty much every scene she's in, leading by example, instantly identifying the dramatic potential in the hokey genre show she'd signed up for.
Thompson working alongside Willa Holland in their scenes here in particular is so thrilling to me. The stock CW teenager Holland has been assaying thus far just falls away, revealing the sardonic, weary Thea Queen I know with hindsight I'm about to grow to love. It's doubly impressive because there's nothing too spectacular in the writing – it's the kind of plot line I'm sure was dismissed by nerd recappers as the boring bits between the cool superhero stuff – but Thompson and Holland make it sing.
Stephen Ammell's performance isn't at the point yet where he (along with the directors and editors) is fully able to convey the warring motivations of Oliver Queen in this episode, but the effort he does put in is strong enough that watching him try was affecting enough all the same. It's impossible to know exactly how much of the character's backstory (as unveiled in later seasons) was available to Ammell when shooting "Honor Thy Father", but regardless of how far ahead the creative team was working at this point, subsequent revelations do resonate in Oliver's fumbling attempts to improvise a convincing playboy cover for his vendetta. OIiver didn't quite seem to have accounted for how his much-changed (much-improved, arguably) self would crave connecting with the friends and family he'd maybe been able to compartmentalise away as he was busy becoming the Arrow. Perhaps his plans were based on the stunted emotional life of the cad that left Starling City five years previous, but this Oliver seems to suddenly care more than he'd expected to. The melodrama built on dynamics like these was to become the show's greatest asset, but as of this second episode, Arrow has a little ways to go before it really starts hitting those high notes.
Watching the first season of Arrow for me back when it originally aired was mostly a case of "it's a superhero show, I'm a nerd, I'm honour bound to give this a shot" (the early '10s were simpler times, please forgive me). I didn't really get on with the grimdark heroics of the current-day story, nor with the bleak flashbacks, but I guess I was enough of a TV glutton back then to stick with it. Thankfully, both this show and the universe it spawned grew on me over time, but I still didn't expect much, going back to watch Arrow S01E01 again, a decade later.
Imagine my surprise when it turns out that the many subsequent episodes of character and story development seems to have retroactively lent a pretty significant amount of meaning and emotional resonance to a show that wasn't quite equipped to deliver much of the sort at the time. Don't get me wrong, it's still pretty rough around the edges, mostly due to the directors and writers at this point only having the most rudimentary idea how to get the best of out their assembled ensemble. But: because I know how much the work of most of the involved (both in front of and behind the camera) will improve over time, it's easier to forgive the clunky lines and line deliveries. Because I know where Oliver Queen is heading, and where he's actually been as this pilot starts, it's easier to look past the show's brutal super-heroics at the outset.
I can't believe it, I'm actually looking forward to the rest of this rewatch?
There are a couple of composite effects shots in this episode that took my breath away: the stormy view across the river to old New York as Marian and Peggy are about to board the ferry, and the aerial establishing tracking shot of the Fish summer house in the Hamptons. The staging and direction of both were impressive to me, underlining the otherness of this should-be-familiar setting. Weirdly, I think one of the main reasons why these shots managed to convey that vibe was the almost-but-not-quite way in which the visual effects failed to escape the uncanny valley. These computer generated tableaux (that aren't supposed to register as special effects at all) are getting so very close to passing for the real thing, but the liminal territory they inhabit is still ever so slightly unsettling to take in. In this case, that little jolt of alienation just contributed to the spectacle for me, so I guess mission accomplished for the digital artists, inadvertently or not. Hopefully, the production didn't blow its entire effects budget on these two shots, because I'd love to see what the vfx producers (Prashant Agrawal and Mitch Campbell) and their team(s) can do with this material if they're allowed to keep developing it over time.
Honestly, I was leery enough of the way the previous episode ended, that I wasn't quite sure I wanted to keep watching this season. I'm really glad I decided to return, though. Because even though I still think that specific big soapy moment was too big and soapy, this episode handles the aftermath perfectly. I have no doubt that when melodrama is your bread and butter – and you do it as well as The L World as it best does (both the original and GenQ – it can be tricky to judge how big of a swing is too big before it messes with the tone of the show. I'm also fully aware that one person's "too big" is going to be another person's "just big enough", which makes finding the balance even harder. So, as long as the show is able to use those too big (according to me) swings to instigate all of this absolutely amazing, more subtle character drama, I guess it's okay with me.
Saw some folks slagging off the "rom-communism" bit, and I honestly think people have to stop messing about on their phones while watching TV. Ted's been flailing the whole season, his inability/unwillingness to deal with his baggage catching up with him in a big way. By this point, it's really starting to interfere with his capacity to perform at work. Case in point: his charming schtick not hitting home in quite the same way (both for us and for the other characters on the show), because his heart's not all the way in it anymore. Ted reaching out for help from all the sources except the one he actually needs help from? Also intentional on the writers' part.
It's not like there aren't things about this season that aren't working quite as well as other parts, but it feels a bit unfair to start dragging the show if you're not going to be paying attention to what's actually happening on it.
Is every episode of this damn show going to make me cry at some point? I swear, there should be a trigger warning for sentimental rubes on this thing.
The four previous instalments have been the archetypal rough start for U.S. sitcoms, where writers, directors and ensembles have struggled to find the tone and rhythms required for their comedy to sing. There were sparks of promise, particularly in the previous episode ("The Convention"), but you'd have to be the most charitable and/or perspicacious person in the world to be able to infer "A Dark Quiet Death" from said sparks. It's true, "The Convention"'s suddenly sharpened satirical stabs at the video game industry carry through to this episode, but still, its sharp left turn into deeply empathetic, acutely observed chamber drama came all the way out of nowhere. It's a move nigh-on unprecedented for a freshman series: Veering away from its principal setting and characters to tell a peripheral, vaguely related story in the same world is a move usually reserved for long-running shows either comfortable or desperate enough to need – or be able to afford – a hail mary diversion like this.
So I have no idea what the producers are trying to do with "A Dark Quiet Death". Is it a soft reset, Mythic Quest saying that, actually, we want our core experience to be more like this, and less like the bumbling workplace shenanigans of its early episodes? Have the showrunners and execs calculated that shooting a couple of one-offs like this every season would make for a better use of the resources at their disposal? Or is it a statement of intent, letting the audience know that MQ something richer and more complex than we'd been led to expect?
Whatever the answer is, I'm excited to learn what it is. At the very least, "A Dark Quiet Death" was so good that I'm willing to sit through another batch of ho-hum episodes if it means I'll get another one like it.
Oh, to have been a fly at the wall when this episode was screened at Ubisoft. You'd like to think that everyone there was like "damn, this TV show we're financing is making some pretty good points about the precarious position of marginalised people in the games industry. Maybe it's time we take a closer look at our own company culture". Judging by what's come out in recent years about various higher-ups at Ubisoft, though, it's more likely they were laughing and high-fiving each other, everyone of those pretty good points just flying over their heads.
Uncomfortable real-world ironies aside, it's good to see the actual show finally finding its feet somewhat. The writers and directors are still struggling to find a definite tone for the dialogue, but the way this episode refused to pull punches makes me hopeful that the folks involved know what they want to say, even if they don't know how quite yet.
And that makes For All Mankind two for two in the "episode endings that made me cry" stakes. Given how much of a sap I am, that's maybe not as much of a feat as it sounds, but still: pretty dang good.
I realise this is a battle I'm never going to win, but just like its predecessor, Generation Q would be my ideal TV show if it just curbed its soapier instincts by, say, 15 percent. Or, basically, whatever amount that would keep its writers from making the sort of choice they did for the ending of this episode.
