Trakt really should implement a feature that stop people from rating shows that aren't even out yet.
[8.1/10] I’m a believer in the idea that television shows should die the way they lived. And “Come Along With Me” pretty much does that. Sure, there’s some special things that Adventure Time pulls out of its hat to signify that this is its series finale, but this show was never shy about having climactic battles and bouts of elliptical symbolism and poignant bits to tug at your heartstrings. Putting a capstone on a series this wide in scope, this versatile in terms of tone, this...well...adventurous, is a big task, but for the most part “Come Along With Me” rises to the challenge in a way that feels true to the spirit of the show.
The episode begins with Shermy and Beth, a pair of Finn and Jake-like adventurers in some distant future, tracking down the fabled King of Ooo about Finn’s robot arm. The King of Ooo turns out to be BMO, and the explosive events of the series finale are mostly told through his eyes, as he recounts the Great Gum War and the fight with Golb to the pair of adventurers. This frame story is packed with easter eggs and teases, but mostly serves as a nice way to bookend the episode and deliver some exposition in a cute and unobtrusive way.
When we get to actually live through those events, the show occasionally tries to pack too much in, but still manages to hit the major themes of the show and the characters, which is ultimately satisfying, if not jaw-dropping.
“Come Along With Me” puts a capstone on Finn the pacifist. From the moment that young Finn refused to destroy an “unaligned” ant, he’s been on a journey of learning that there’s more to heroing than just puncha-ing yo buns. Now, on the brink of war, he does everything in his power to keep the forces of Princess Bubblegum and the Uncle Gumbald from coming to blows. He enveigels them into a dreamland, forcing to confront their common ground. And he does the same for himself and Fern, trying to show them as two sides of the same coin, and refusing to fight.
I like that Finn’s final adventure in this show is one to stop violence and foster understanding, even when he has every opportunity to thrive in glorious battle. For a sometimes wacky cartoon show, Finn has grown a great deal over the course of ten seasons, and his noble commitment to stopping his misunderstood foes without resorting to violence, to ending a war before it stops, and to loving his enemy as much as himself are a tribute to the laudable place that Finn has reached at the end of the series.
There’s also a sense of empathy to all of his, another trademark of the show. After some characteristically loopy and engaging dream scenes, Jake retrieves Finn’s vault, which is enough to show both him and Fern that they’re fighting the same fears, having to confront the darkness head-on, and it’s only then that they can free Fern of the grass curse. It united the two of them, even if leads to a tragic but poignant departure for Fern.
At the same time, Princess Bubblegum, who’s pragmatic to a fault, develops some empathy too. She gets to experience what it was like for Gumbald to be reduced to a brainless candy person, while Gumbald experiences PB’s anxieties over protecting her kingdom. Sure, Gumbald seems poised to doublecross her anyway, but it’s enough to convince the war-hungry PB to stand down after understanding where her opponents were coming from. It’s the sort of war-averting swerve, founded on pacifism and empathy, that feels true to form and to the values of the show.
But it wouldn’t be a series finale if there were no fireworks, so we get the surprise appearance of Golb, the god of chaos whom we saw for the first time (I think) in the Pillow World episode. A combination of Betty, Normal (nee Magic) Man, and Maja the Sky Witch have summoned him to Ooo, and he creates a pair of eldritch monsters who have the creative, colorful, and mildly disturbing designs that you would expect for this show and its climactic battle between the good guys and bad guys.
“Come Along With Me” uses Golb to tie up a few loose ends that have been running through the show for a long time. A close call with one of Golb’s minions makes it seem like Princess Bubblegum has been crushed to death, causing Marceline to spring into action and defeat the creature in a fit of fury. When PB recovers (thanks to some magic/scientific armor), Marceline expresses her concern and feelings for Bubblegum, and the two of them kiss on screen for the first time in the series. (Rejoice Bubbleline fans!) It’s all kind of rushed, but the dynamic is right, and the moment is earned after all we’ve seen previously, so it’s a nice sop to the fans at the end of the series.
It also uses Finn, Ice King, and Betty being swallowed up by Golb (after a failed attempted by Ice King to use fan fiction to reach Betty’s heart and snap her out of her trance) to turn Ice King back into Simon. It has something to do with Golb “digesting” them, by peeling away their layers. As with PB and Marcy, it’s all a little quick and a little convenient, but developments always did come fast and furiously on this show, and having a brief moment of lucidity between Betty and Simon, plus the neat claustrophobic design of the trio being caught in an ever-shrinking cube which creates a sense of urgency to thing, helps cover for some of the rapidity of all of this.
After all, Adventure Time is a show that has always run on its out of the box creativity and heart more than any consistent logic. Sure, there’s continuity nods and character development, but even its more byzantine and intricate plots have the flavor of an eleven-year-old’s playtime imagination, even when suffused with far deeper and more adult themes.
But one of the core themes of Adventure Time has been harmony -- of these disparate and often weird individuals coming together to do things both great and silly (and sometimes both at the same time). It’s fitting then that the show literalizes that idea, with BMO’s stirring song, meant to comfort Jake, becoming a weapon against the discord of Golb, especially when all of our favorite characters join in the melody, and free the heroes trapped inside his belly.
It’s the content of the song, however, that poses the most potent theme in “Come Along With Me.” While the series finale is certainly about tying up all those loose ends and putting a semicolon, if not quite a period on the adventures of Finn and Jake and all their pals, it’s just as much about coming to terms with the end of things.
That is, in the great Adventure Time fashion, literal, meta, and more than a little philosophical. The episode has both Finn and Jake fearing that this will be the end of the road for them in the midst of Golb’s attack. Finn believes his capture in Golb’s gullet to mean curtains for him, remarking that he envisioned himself dying in the process of saving someone. Simon reassures him that no one gets to choose how things end, and it’s a small moment of shared comfort in the face of tragedy, of a piece with Toy Story 3, in wrestling something deep and affecting out of what is nominally children’s entertainment.
Naturally, there’s a last minute reprieve for everyone but Betty. She remains behind to use the crown’s power to try to defeat Golb, and when that’s beyond its capabilities, she asks for the power to keep Simon safe. The result is that she melds with Golb, becoming a part of him and losing herself in the process. There’s the sense that Betty couldn’t accept that her time with Simon had ended, couldn’t accept that there would never be a permanent end to those threats, and couldn’t accept that it wouldn’t erase the time they’d shared together, becoming part of a monster in her denial.
BMO -- ironically the one character we know survives until the unspecified future that makes up the episode’s frame story -- does accept that though. Her song is an effort to comfort Jake, to remind him that even though something ends, that doesn't mean it goes away. Their “happening happened.” Their piece of the timeline will always be there.
That lesson fits for a series finale. There may be no more new Adventure Time episodes to come, but we’ll always have these 283 stories, etched in ones and zeroes if not quite etched in stone. In a way, “Come Along With Me” is meant as a gentle easing into that, a reassurance that it’s okay for one of your favorite shows to come to an end. All the old stories will still be there, and they still mean just as much, even after they’ve come to an end.
There is a force to that beyond the meta-notion of a television series playing its final episode. Adventure Time’s finale contemplates, without seeing through, the notion of all of our heroes dying. But it offers the same comfort to them that it does to us -- that the relationships we make, the friendships we build, the experiences we have, are still sewn into the fabric of the universe.
The opening lines of BMO’s song, suggesting that time is just an illusion to help us make sense of things, and that the whole of our existence is all still there, can’t help but call to mind similar ideas posited in Slaughterhouse 5. There is reassurance in it, in the very notion of endings, that the marks we have left, the lives we have touched and that have touched ours, cannot and will not be erased, no matter what happens after.
That’s the trick. There are no endings. This may be the last episode of Adventure Time, but there is a startling but refreshing lack of finality. Sure, the show loops back around to its closing theme, given new poignance by the episode’s demonstration of the literal power of music. And there’s a montage full of hints about where our heroes’ lives lead them in the future. But that’s all we get -- hints and suggestions, more to show us that the story continues than to put a firm “The End” on one.
To put it differently, everything stays, but it still changes. There’s reassurance in that too, in the frame story that tells us that Finn and Jake and PB and Marceline and more simply “lived their lives” after the curtain falls on our glimpse into Ooo. And the adventure continues. We know, from the remade treehouse born of Fern, from a lumbering Sweetpea, from a denizen who looks a lot like a rainicorn pup, that the characters we’ve come to know and love over the course of Adventure Time have left a legacy, echoes that still reverberate a millennium later.
The episode ends with that sense of cotninuity and continuation, with Shermy and Beth following in the footsteps of Finn and Jake in a world still rife with adventures, striking a familiar pose in a fashion that suggests their spirit lives on. Television shows should die as they lived, and this finale accomplishes that.
Adventure Time is a show that became so much broader in scope than a story about a boy and his dog rescuing a princess from an evil wizard. It expanded to cover trauma, parenthood, growing up, politics, community, spirituality, horror, music, and straight up goofy humor. It had a soul that could not be contained, by the bounds of expected children’s television or even the bounds of time. This finale is just as ambitious in scope, expanding to fill the space, and reassuring its fans that Finn and Jake may depart, the show may leave the airwaves, but what it accomplished, the ways it touched us, moved us, and surprised us, never will, even if it has to come to an end.
Going into this episode, I knew that there was "a shocking surprise ending." So when Eugene Pontecorvo is revealed to be working with the FBI, I said to myself, "Eh, that's not that big of a twist." And then when he killed himself, I thought that had to be what I'd heard about and I said to myself "Eh, that's not that big of a twist." And then Uncle Junior shot Tony and I said, out loud this time, "What the fuck?"
Color me surprised. It was a hell of a moment. The show had spent much of this episode and the last couple of Season 5 to suggest that Tony's days might be numbered. Frank had a legitimate beef with Tony that didn't seem likely to be settled easily. Johnny Sack himself didn't seem too enamored with his New Jersey counterpart. Chris continued to run hot and cold on his uncle. Silvio openly talked about dissension in the ranks. Eugene himself seemed back into a corner with suggestions from more than one corner that he could bump off Tony, and even Vito talked about his possibly becoming the boss of the family.
Instead, it was a man with dementia who believed that he was taking out an intruder or Pussy Malenga or something along those lines in an almost random occurrence. That's often the way in this show -- when everything is looking to build to some expected confrontation, the unexpected, even mundane happens to throw it all into chaos. (See also: Richie Aprile.) There's a sense that David Chase and his colleagues are quite conscious of this episode as the beginning of the final season, with a number of callbacks to early episodes. Junior's obsession with Pussy Malenga (the guy he wanted to knock off at Vesuvio in the show's first episode), and ending up killing the nephew who stood in his way, is a nice little feint toward that opening entry, as is Tony's refrain of "it's a nursing home", in a flip on his usual response to discussion of the retirement community and his mental retcon of what happened with his mother and that pillow.
The episode also draws a number of contrasts between Tony and Eugene, and in a larger sense, between the Sopranos and the rest of the world. Tony and Carmela are enjoying sushi every night and buying expensive cars as apologies. Other folks are feeling the pinch. Even Eugene, who inherits 2 million, can't get away. In many ways it's an episode about the big guy and the little guy. Tony can throw his weight around, he can make choices, live lavishly, at the expense of those around and affected by him. Eugene, even with money, doesn't have power, and that means that everyone from Tony to the FBI can toss him around without his having any say in the matter.
It's also about that difference between money and freedom. When Carmela shows up to Ginny Sack's home, ostensibly for a spa day, but mostly to show off her new porsche while Ginny is having money trouble because of her husband's indictment, it's a little more of the haves rubbing their success in the noses of the have-nots. But when she tries the same with Angie Bumpensero, and Angie reveals that she bought herself a corvette instead, Carmela is taken aback, and is again reminded that her wealth does not give her the independence she once so sorely sought.
And there's also an idea of death as the great leveler, no matter how low your are on the totem pole or how high you've climbed. When Eugene hangs himself, the camera doesn't cut away to spare us his suffering. Instead, it lingers, and the audience sees Eugene kicking frantically, gasping for air, until he finally collapses after a few final twitches. It's incredibly uncomfortable to watch, but underscores the unpleasantness of his position that this is preferable to going on. But then the show pulls the same trick once more. A different show might have ended simply on Junior shooting Tony and Tony collapsing to the ground. Instead, it stays with Tony as he agonizingly pulls himself across the room, struggles and strains to dial 9-1-1, before passing out from blood loss. Tony and Eugene may be at different stations in life, but when it comes to the throes of death, the type of suffering that may be visited upon a person, Tony's money and power can't stop it anymore than Eugene can.
Melfi makes her choices. She has every motivation to sic Tony Soprano on her rapist, to break the social compact, to give into the urges that make her want revenge, want justice, want to end the threat of the man who violated her. But she chooses not to do it. She breaks down, seems to come close to giving in, and hold firm. It's powerful, powerful stuff.
I hated this episode when I saw it as a teenager. I wanted nothing more than to see that miserable raping piece of shit torn to bits by Tony and his crew. The scene where he attacks Melfi is horrifying. It's shot in such a way that pulls no punches. It's not sensationalized; it's not dramatized; it's just chilling and real. And it stirred my teenage self all the more to want to see Tony deliver equal brutality to the scumbag who did it.
But I understand now in a way that I didn't then why it meant so much for Melfi to stand firm. Melfi has admitted the thrill she gets from being tangentially involved in Tony's world. She comes close to breaking off her professional relationship with Tony because she feels she's getting in too deep. And right when she's about to step away, the world gives her a push, almost an invitation, to give in and let her hands get dirty in the seedy business Tony Soprano operates in. But she doesn't. At the brink, to be dramatic about it, she saves her soul. She decides that her anger and her pain and her fear are not worth more than her integrity and her moral beliefs. It's a hell of an episode and a hell of a showcase for Lorraine Bracco.
The other stuff that goes on in the episode is kind of interesting, but pales in comparison. We get another chapter of Tony as the angel of Jackie Jr.'s shoulder, and Ralphie emerges as the devil on the other side. Janice's moments are an odd bit of comic relief in a heavy episode. And Johnny Sack's move to New Jersey is clearly setting something up. But this is Melfi's hour. Even her interactions with her ex-husband, who, it should be noted, repeatedly denies her agency until she basically forces him to let her take charge, are some of her strongest work in the series so far. If I'm honest with myself, the inessential parts of the episode probably ought to keep this episode from being a 10/10, but Melfi's story alone elevates it to something greater.
(And as an aside, Melfi's psychiatrist continues to be useless.)
Louise's character development throughout the seasons is beautiful. What a sweet episode!
Just wow. The subtle change in Crosshair's voice when Mayday was buried in the snow, you could hear genuine compassion and concern in him for the first time. Dee Bradley Baker is a vocal wizard.
Idris Elba is carrying this show so hard.
lol the Crosshair episodes are the best in the season by far , ironic considering the batch arent in them at all
An interesting episode about sons and chafing at the lives their father figures have thrust them into. Chris finds out that being a made man is tougher than he expected and seems to have reluctance about it despite his initial excitement once he sees the black bird. Jackie Aprille Jr. is trying to live up to his father and uncle's role and chafing at Tony and his organization.
And then Tony himself connects his fainting issues to seeing how his father made a living, and it's a big bundle of the meat, the violence, and sexualization. And then when AJ feels like he's being groomed for the same kind of life as his father, and gets leadership through violence while he's cheered on by his dad, he faints too. There's a lot of interesting parallels in the episode and it works well as a sort of sequel to Season 1's "Down Neck" that plays in the same theme of generational neglect and inherited problems.
[7.8/10] This is the most traditional Star Wars story of Star Wars: Visions so far, but that’s not a bad thing! It still reimagines the world to a significant extent. The episode pictures some tie where war has wiped out the Jedi, but there are a few remnants left in addition to a few Sith patrolling the galaxy. The idea of a last master, gathering the few remaining allies and potentials, to bring back the old ways, is a cool setup.
What I particularly like about this one is that, like The Force Awakens it’s an homage to A New Hope, but that like The Last Jedi, it remixes and reimagines that influence more than it simply retraces it. Kara isn’t Luke exactly, and her father and eventual master aren’t Obi Wan exactly, and the journey to the site of the action isn’t exactly the journey to the Death Star.
But it’s enough of an analog to feel familiar, while remixing things enough to feel fresh.
Honestly, this is the episode of Star Wars; Visions that feels rife with the most potential for a regular series. We have some cool new characters in Kara, the neophyte who proves herself worthy in desperate times, her master, a clever man who uses a key moment to round up Jedi, his friend, who falls to the dark side temporarily but regains his way, and the young amsterless Jedi who kicks off the episode, another young hopeful with a strong heart in need of training. You can see this quarter working, especially in a part of the timeline/galaxy where the Order needs to be restored, and Siths and Jedi-hunters roam the land.
This is a particular tribute to the lightsaber as an almost holy artifact in the Star Wars galaxy. It’s what the master tries to reassemble as a first step toward reestablishing the Jedi as a presence. There’s the cheesy yet cool reveal that the resting comet jutting out on a beam of light from the planet below looks, from the right angle, like a giant lightsaber in the sky. And of course, there’s the clever conceit of the lightsabers du jour being constructed to commune with their wielder, thereby revealing the truth in their heart.
It allows for a clever reveal as to who the good guys and buys are, preserving the key twist of the short. It provides for a good way for the master’s friend to reveal that he’s fallen into darkness but is not beyond redemption given how his saber turns back to a good guy color. ANd Kara’s blank saber turning green when she rises to the occasion works as superb symbolism for the untrained but potential-filled warrior coming into her own.
Overall, this is another strong outing for Star Wars: Visions, with some cool lightsaber action, a great rendition of the franchise’s muthos and lore in an unfamiliar setting, and the intrigue and tension of one man trying to restore the light to the galaxy and requiring those implements that so many Jedi Knights are known for. If they do expand this one into a series, sign me up.
This is the kind of episode that makes me agree with everyone who says that James Gandolfini was an important pillar on this series, I think he made The Sopranos something better than what it could have been without him.
Enjoyed this episode less than others before it. The whole "fixing portrait" story was very far-fetched. No one would try so hard to fix it... you dropped it, you hang it back on the wall, run away.
[9.5/10] Louise loves her family. Despite a certain mercenary bent, and above-it-all attitude, deep down, the youngest Belcher kid cannot help but appreciate her mom and dad and siblings as something that gives her holidays, and her life, incredible meaning. That is a simple idea, but a powerful one. The characters who put up the most emotional walls tearing them down in choice moments of openness and affections is an old trick, and also one that's undeniably effective.
So is the setup of “The Plight Before Christmas”. Three Belcher kids have important events at the same time in the lead-up to Xmas, and there’s only two Belcher parents to witness these important moments. What can they do?
The answer is try to make it work! There’s a great franticness to Bob and Linda trying to have at least one parent at Tina’s Thundergirls pageant, Gene’s xylophone recital, and Louise’s poetry readings all at the same time. Poor Linda being emotionally ripped in twain at not getting to see all of them is both hilariously over-the-top and sweet for how devoted a mom Linda is to her kids. Bob urgently trying to sneak out of Gene’s musical performance to cram in Louise’s poem, only to get messed up by a rock-headed cab driver and a jog to the wrong library makes for great stakes and great comedy.
So does Gene’s part in this episode. The humor comes from the fact that the music teacher is out with a family illness, In her place is a flummoxed substitute who knows nothing about music (Tina Fey) who has to try to make heads or tails of the regular instructor’s bizarre notation and a group of sixth graders who know as much about playing the xylophone as they do about social security taxes. The terrible, out-of-sync playing in the first half of their concert is a laugh all its own.
I really like the solution though. Gene proposes that they play “fewer notes”, actively removing some of the keys from the various xylophones so that they can better coordinate and play their parts. It is, admittedly, a bit of a stretch that they could go from junk to funk so easily. But it works in the moment, playing off Gene’s intuitive understanding of melody and sense of creativity, and the central idea of the episode -- that drilling down to something essential and earnest pays incredible dividends.
There’s a lot of laughs in Tina’s pageant as well. The Thundergirls’ troop leader and her overmatched efforts to put on this well-balanced but elaborate presentation of world traditions is a comic delight. Linda’s confusion with Tina being “a star”, not “the star” is on brand and very funny. And one of Tina’s fellow thundergirls envying Tina’s part in such a nothing play lends itself to both humor given the stakes, and eventually, one of the episode’s most clever twists.
In a sideways fashion, Tina may be my favorite part of this. I love the fact that she’s the one who realizes, despite Louise’s protests that she’s there to read a poem about poop, that she’s actually going to read something from the heart and is nervous about anyone else hearing it. I love that Tina selflessly encourages Linda to skip her pageant so that she can be there for Louise’s reading. And when Linda feels pressured to keep stage-handing the pageant, the twist of Tina giving the role of the star to her envious co-star, so that by god, someone will be there when Louise spills her guts, is one of the most wholesome and heartstring-tugging moments Bob’s Burgers has ever pulled off, which is saying something.
Not for nothing, “The Plight Before Christmas” is a tribute to the craft of their series. There is incredible power in a montage -- the way the cinematic form can blend images and sounds to capture something deeper, bigger, and more piercing than dialogue alone. The soundtrack of Gene’s performance, the smiles it puts on the faces of the people listening to these kids finding their way, the tension of whether Lousie will open her heart in public or take the ironic prankster route, the pathos of Linda unable to enjoy all her babies’ triumphs at once, the surprise of a loving sister making the frantic journey to a vulnerable moment to show support where it’s needed most -- I’m getting misty-eyed again just thinking about it. Bob’s Burgers rarely gets this artsy, but when it does, it packs a wallop.
So when Tina does arrive in time to show her sister that she cares, to give her the thumbs up, to listen to whatever she has to say, it’s extra moving. Tina, more than any member of the Belcher family, knows what it means to express yourself through the written word, and how vulnerable an experience that can be. She recognizes the opportunity to facilitate and foster a sister who sometimes struggles to present that more sincere side of herself, and vindicate the beauty and acceptance of that.
Louise’s poem is pitch perfect. It’s not overly flowery or tin-eared for something an elementary school student might write. And still, it’s earnest, about how on the day of the year when kids are supposed to be the most excited about the toys and trinkets under the tree, what she appreciates the most are the people she’s sharing the day with. The sentiment is lovely, and it has extra force and resonance coming from someone who’s stingy with that kind of sincerity, who finds the strength and feels the support, to where she’s comfortable expressing such a personal sentiment in front of the whole world (or at least the denizens of the Belcher’s local library).
“The Plight Before Christmas” cuts the treacle a bit with an adorable, teasing declaration of “You love your family!” from Tina on the drive home. But it leans back into the sweetness with another heartwarming montage of the exact sort of family joy that Louise penned a paean to. Linda tends to her husband’s knees while they remark on the gob-smacking poem their daughter wrote. Gene shares their momentous achievement with the teacher in the hospital via Bob’s camcorder. And most of all, the Belchers sit around the tree, opening their gifts, basking in the exact sort of enervating togetherness the youngest member of their clan gushed over in a tense but courageous way.
How is a show this good at a holiday episode in its eleventh at-bat? That's its own sort of Xmas miracle, one that's as worth of celebrating this time of year as any, and a vindication of the spirit of the season, that asks for kindness, support, honesty, and acceptance from all of us, and invites us to revel in the spaces where we find such comfort, solace, and care.
with the way this ended, I’m quite content on completing the series here. Or make it anthology to explore more platonic relationships with different ppl. idk just spitballing
PB and Finn being just friends is nice
the parallels of both pb & marcy and gary & marshal was so so incredible. maybe the best work of the show so far!!!
the underlying theme of parents this ep was so well layed-out too martin saying he likes baby finn made me cry but it's so fine (it isnt at all)
"I grew up thinking everything was an opportunity to justify existing, but there are people out there who won’t make you feel worthless. You just have to let yourself meet them.”
I've been watching animated content for over a decade now, and I have got to say in all honesty that no show has had its hooks in me like this one (except maybe Infinity Train, although that story went unfinished). The Owl House isn't perfect; most of its flaws being blamed on its production troubles. But that's not to say the impact of this show is incredibly significant, personally and for the medium as a whole.
When Amphibia had concluded its story last year, premiering shortly before The Owl House had, it was clear that the two were perfect contrasts to each other. While Amphibia was a fantastical comedy with dark undertones, The Owl House was continuously a dark drama with slivers of teenage comedy throughout. This show is much more heavy in its tone and nature, some of which have honestly never been seen in a Disney television original.
The Owl House shines in its balance with telling a suspenseful tale alongside various pieces of serious commentary. For kids and teenagers, it's simply an isekai-inspired story about a girl who wanders into a fantasy world filled with creatures of fun design and magic of cryptic nature. But underneath, it's a story about self-identity, finding your purpose when no one else sees your potential, loss of family and friends, and even guilt. The lessons are fit perfectly, the romance is relatable and natural, and no theme that is typically "shoehorned" into other media is felt that way here. This show also manages to keep the depression to a low when it can, with several moments of fun jokes and jabs to go around. And alongside all that, gorgeous background and character art, action-packed moments of animation, and a damn good soundtrack.
The pacing of everything here though is both the show's strength and weakness. While The Owl House's short length (similar to Gravity Falls) helps it be much more binge-worthy and less filler-heavy, it hurts the plot by rushing certain pieces of character building and forgetting about holes to be filled by its conclusion. Obviously this is more to blame on the executive decisions to cut the show shorter than anticipated, as the writers did do a great job working around most of these holes using time skips and the like.
The Owl House may not be a perfect show, but it is one hell of a send-off for serialized animated content on Disney Channel, and an important one that manages to push certain themes further than any I've seen in all of my years of watching cartoons, especially from Disney. I'm really glad that a story like this exists for kids and teens, one that teaches the complexity of humans and to embrace being a "weirdo". And with its short runtime and episodes that keep you wanting more, it is absolutely worth the watch.
If you're looking for one of the best animated shows to watch this generation, The Owl House is it.
9.75/10
I liked this one pretty well. There's a lot of what feels like table setting here, but there are some fun moments and there's a lot to everyone knowing more about deception than the people who are doing the deceiving think.
I'll add that I love the parallelism in the scene with Jackie Jr. and his goon holding a "sit down" with the drug pushers, that immediately cuts to the scene with AJ's principal and the school priest holding a "sit down" with The Sopranos in the exact same position.
There's also a lot about what Tony and Carmella want for their daughter. Even though the episode never comes right out and says it, there's a sense from Carmella that she's worried about Jackie Jr. not because he seems like a bad influence or an inherently poor choice (though, unbeknownst to her, he is), but that she doesn't want Meadow to end up living the unfulfilling life that she has. The show does a great job of putting Carmella's dissatisfaction just below the surface, but still visible enough to come through when necessary. The way she asks Tony if there's anything he needs to tell her after he gives her an enormous ring tells the audience that Carmella has been through this before, and her subsequent purchase of the earrings show that she has subtle ways of lashing out when she's weary of the dalliances she has every reason to suspect Tony is engaging in.
There's also a great deal of mileage out of Tony wanting similar things, though for different reasons. Sure, his chats with Jackie Jr. could be chalked up to him simply wanting the best for his daughter, but there's a corresponding sense that Tony sees Jackie Jr. as himself, and wants him to be a better man than he became. He doesn't want Meadow to escape the same way Carmella seems to, but he does want his daughter to end up with someone better than him.
The two's fears about their children also come through in the AJ storyline. There's a certain fear in Carmella, that is subtle, but palpable, that AJ will take the lesson from his lack of punishment (which pretty clearly arises due to his skill on the football field) that he can do bad things and escape any consequences because of the value people place on his extracurricular activities, which would make him exactly like Tony. Tony too is able to commit bad acts (obviously on a scale much greater than vandalism) but never faces punishment because of an understood conspiracy. Tony seems troubled too, but seems generally relieved when he realizes that the punishment won't take AJ off the football team - the one thing that Tony sees as making his kid into someone assertive like himself. It's interesting as AJ is mostly a cipher at this point, and it's hard to know how much of all of this he's absorbing, but I suspect it'll bubble up again sooner rather than later.
(As a side note, the little Dragnet homage was kind of fun, but also distracting.)
Funny how the best episodes of the Bad Batch in this season is when its not about the Bad Batch and they don’t appear.
First season takes a bit of time finding its voice, but this season is humming along nicely from the start on a tonal balance between goofy irrelevance, fluidly animated sight gags, and an overarching but gentle weight of real-world concerns/relationships. Love its throughline of conveying the latter's unavoidable messiness in a reassuring, life-affirming way.
Okay, I have to admit, I liked the ending, it was subtle and emotionally bittersweet. Probably don't even need season 2 at all.
I found it pretty difficult to sit through this episode., it felt like filler.
I understand the writers needed a reason for Sylvia to be fired but I find it hard to believe that any person above the age of 15 would ever think that it's a viable option to try and fix the painting instead of going to HR and admit what happened since it's a legitimate accident. And more importantly why on Earth does Sylvia put the 'fixed' painting back at all?
What this episode highlighted to me is that Seth Rogen is the weak link. I usually enjoy watching Sylvia, but as soon as Will got involved, I found myself so annoyed by his character.
[7.1/10] “Life on the Fast Lane” is a peculiar episode of The Simpsons. It’s more of a melodrama than it is a comedy. The humor, such as it is, has less to do with setups and punchlines and more from the inherent absurdity of mixing the high allure of deep forbidden passions with the grungy, blue collar world of bowling. (It’s an absurdity the Coen Bros. would also mine in The Big Lebowski.)
But while there’s funny bits in this episode -- mostly the half-formed but amusing B-plot of Bart and Lisa reacting to their parents’ marital troubles -- it’s mostly a sincere, even sad tale of a marriage nearly gone awry. The prospect of Marge leaving Homer, or at least cheating on him with Jacques, her seductive bowling instructor, isn’t some dose of wacky hijinks, but mainly played straight.
The only other thing that pushes it in a more comic direction is that Jacques is a bit of an over-the-top character, albeit one who fits the tone of the episode. Albert Brooks does superb work as always, making Jacques a little silly in the way he speaks in such sultry and dramatic tones about the trappings of the bowling alley. But he’s also totally believable as somebody who’s fawning and attentive to Marge, in a way that Homer just isn’t.
That’s also kind of my beef with this episode. The trajectory of the plot is pretty clear. Homer is self-centered and oblivious on Marge’s birthday, gifting her a bowling ball plainly meant for himself. Partly out of spite, Marge goes to use it at the bowlarama, where she runs into some funhouse mirror version of Homer: someone who’s just as enthusiastic a bowler as he is, but who is also sauve, cultured, and almost preternaturally attuned to Marge’s wants and needs. Given the contrast between the two of them, Marge has to decide whether to give into temptation or give up on her marriage, or whether to hold firm in her love for the father of her children.
My objections there are two-fold. The first is that the episode is pretty heavy for The Simpsons without enough counterbalancing levity. This is season 1, when the series was still finding its voice, so I don’t blame the writing staff for this one feeling a little tonally off as an early outing. And the show would tackle serious subjects down the line with a nimble hand. These scenes are just too much of a down-to-earth bummer to feel right for what the show would later establish itself as.
The second is that the show doesn’t really satisfyingly resolve the issue. And weirdly, it’s a recurring problem for The Simpsons. Marge’s frustrations with Homer are serious and justified. He’s a real jerkass here. And the most we get in terms of him changing or doing better or showing himself worthy of her is (a.) him feeling despondent when she becomes emotionally distant and (b.) him noticing that she’s careful about making him PB&Js.
That’s not exactly the foundation for a better relationship! Maybe the implication is that, having come so close to losing Marge here, Homer’s learned the error of his ways and will do better. Maybe the implication is that with Homer’s simple sandwich comment here, Marge has enough to believe that despite his occasional jerkery, Homer really does notice and care about her. Maybe it’s simply that Marge sees the symbols of a happy family life on her drive to the “Fiesta Terrace” and doesn’t want to give that up.
In other circumstances, I might praise the restraint here and leaving these things for subtext. But I just don’t think “Life on the Fast Lane” does enough to connect the dots here between a legitimate problem and a sweet but unearned resolution.
Despite all that, I like this episode. While the tone doesn’t feel right for The Simpsons, there’s something interesting about taking a Scenes from a Marriage-esque approach to Our Favorite Family. Marge’s fantasy sequence shows off the animators’ talents for melding bowling imagery with high romance. And however unearned it may be, it’s hard not to smile at Homer and Marge walking off into the sunset together, An Officer and a Gentleman-style.
“Life on the Fast Lane” is simply one of those odd ducks you often get early in a show’s run. The characters aren’t fully settled yet. The tone of the series isn’t quite set. So you end up with stories which could work perfectly well for a program still marking its transition from one-minute shorts to full-length episodes, but which strike you as wrong for what The Simpsons would eventually become.
Such a thoughtful and creative way to visualize autism, and the stuff with Scat? Beautiful and heartbreaking.
