Voyager Flashback: Tattoo

Early in the second season of Voyager, executive producer Michael Piller reached two conclusions at roughly the same time. First, the show's focus had drifted away from character, with the sci-fi conceits of each episode dominating the scripts. Second, the series was too slow-paced compared to other contemporary television he'd surveyed; he felt they could pack in more story and faster scenes than they had been. These two observations converged when he decided to rework a story pitch bought from an outside writer, "Tattoo."

The crew finds an alien world that inexplicably has signs of life consistent with Chakotay's tribe back on Earth -- but their investigation of the planet is stymied by strange weather patterns, attacking wildlife, and more. Perhaps Chakotay's own past holds the key to what is happening now. Meanwhile, in an effort to prove that the crew complains too readily when sick, the Doctor programs a disease to experience sickness himself.

Voyager has a track record of cultural insensitivity when it comes to Chakotay's character, of tossing the lore of many indigenous American tribes in a blender (along with a fair amount of made-up stuff) and trying to pass it off as coherent. "Tattoo" actually feels like one of the series' more sensitive episodes, though. In a strange way, it unites Chakotay and the audience to show that, as a teenager, Chakotay thought this was all suspect too. And it humanizes Chakotay to know that the main root of his spirituality is respect for his father more than the traditions themselves.

"Aliens visited ancient Earth" is a recurring trope both in science fiction and among some conspiracy theorists. It's mostly innocent when used to explain tales of "sky spirits" or weird flying objects in the backgrounds of paintings, but it can be a subtle form of racism: the accomplishments of this non-European civilization can only be explained if alien intelligence came around to help them. "Tattoo" steers clear of this darker undertone in a few ways: it roots the alien contact in the far distant past (explaining not the rise of a civilization, but the very migration to North America), and it devotes a lot of time to the conquest of Chakotay's people.

Nevertheless, the episode still mostly doesn't work for me. The crew is awfully slow to suspect an advanced intelligence, given that every attempt to reach this planet is met with proportional resistance. They never question whether they can leave freely; they just seem to know they'll be able to when a crisis comes. The alien foreheads on the native tribe during the Earth flashbacks feels like a weird choice -- I guess they have alien DNA, but still so strongly after millennia? (They're that isolated?)

The guest cast is quite hit-and-miss. Henry Darrow is pretty good as Chakotay's father, but the speaking member of his exploration party is wooden and awkward, and downright cringey speaking in another language. Richard Fancy is pretty good as the alien Chakotay meets, but no amount of makeup can cover that he's Mr. Lippman, Elaine's boss on Seinfeld.

The episode's B-story is enjoyable, though. Robert Picardo himself suggested that the Doctor might "become sick." (His original notion was that Janeway might inflict it on him to teach him a lesson.) Though it does feel like the Doctor's personal growth backslides a little to facilitate the story, it is fun to watch him accuse everyone else of being a big baby before becoming one himself. It's a great moment when Kes reveals that she altered the program to really teach him a lesson (and Harry Kim gives us a great reaction).

Other observations:

• It's interesting that the opening scene is actually shot on location in a quarry when the rest of the episode goes on to be clearly filmed on a stage.

• Neelix and Tuvok have orchid breeding in common. If you're trying to make me like Neelix, maybe don't have him be the character who gets attacked by a hawk. That could have been anyone, but it feels like Neelix is always the liability on any Away mission.

• Chakotay says his Starfleet Academy application was sponsored by Captain Sulu. It's a fun nod to continuity... though I think given the passage of time since the original series, this probably isn't Hikaru Sulu. He'd be quite old at this point, and probably not still a Captain. Perhaps it could be Sulu's daughter that we met in Generations?
  

In all, I don't find "Tattoo" to be especially flawed. It's just also not especially interesting. I give it a C+.

The Titanic

The DC Universe television network itself was a flash in the pan (hehe -- Flash), but its lineup of shows lives on at HBO Max. Some, like Harley Quinn, are incredible. (Seriously. This post is half an excuse just to praise Harley Quinn one more time.) Some shows are Titans.

Titans became the leading light of the DC Universe TV push when its ComicCon trailer debut became famous for Robin saying "Fuck Batman." Look, everyone! So gritty! Even darker than the Zack Snyder movies!

Why am I watching Titans? Well, I have a soft spot for the characters, coming from an admittedly incompatible place. I watch the cartoon Teen Titans Go, and without turning this into a review of that show, I'll simply say: it's a lot of fun. My appreciation for the jokes (both corny and clever) grew over time to where I actually cared about many of the characters (except Robin; he's the worst), and even had favorites (Starfire and Raven are always trading positions on top of the podium). Surely some kernel of truth about the characters as I knew them from Teen Titans Go would be present in Titans.

Well, spoilers here, but: not exactly. Starfire spends most of the first season with amnesia. Raven doesn't know her own back story yet. Beast Boy is constrained by a CGI budget, so he only knows how to turn into one thing. And Cyborg? Not even here. (What the hell?!) I guess Robin isn't the worst anymore, but that's only because nothing I love about any of the other characters is actually here.

Despite the massive shortcomings, season one of Titans still managed to stay on the right side of watchable, and emerge as maybe a grade B endeavor overall. Most of that had to do with a pretty solid cast. (Again, though for completely different reasons, Raven and Starfire are the standouts.) But I did make it through the season at a pretty brisk pace, perhaps a little disappointed that Titans wasn't better, but not ever really having expected it would be.

Then came the train wreck of season two, a series of disastrous writing decisions I didn't think was even possible in a modern television writers' room. Every other episode is a flashback that interrupts the flow of the narrative to "provide information" you already easily intuited from context clues. The characters I was there for all become marginalized save Robin, pushed outside of the plot in favor of magnifying secondary season one characters and introducing entirely new ones. And the plot just makes no damn sense, revolving around everyone being mad at Robin (including Robin himself) for no realistic reason at all.

In season two, the dialogue is atrocious, the plot ridiculous, and the action dull. I felt "pot committed" for having made it some 18 episodes into 24 total episodes of the show, and just had to see it through -- even though it only got worse, not better. It felt like a grade D overall... and probably wasn't actually that good were it not for some residual good feelings carried over from season one. (Maybe. I mean, I did like it better than Aquaman, so there's that...) Season two of Titans is without question the worst season of television I've watched in its entirety in at least a decade.

Season three of Titans will be coming to HBO Max in a matter of weeks. Will they realize how horribly they stepped in it and course correct? Will I even care if they do? All I can say for sure is: if you haven't started Titans, just don't. If you have started? Maybe finish season one, watch enough of the first episode of season two to resolve the cliffhanger, and then cut your losses.

Between Harley Quinn and Teen Titans Go, it's sure looking to me like DC is only good when it's animated and willing to poke fun at itself.

A Trip to the Beach?

This weekend, I went to see M. Night Shyamalan's newest movie, Old. I wasn't sure I wanted to, and had maybe even decided "no" when a friend suggested it. But going out to movies again still seems novel enough to chance something that seems a little wishy-washy.

Old is adapted from a French graphic novel about a mysterious beach where the people can't escape and are aging at an incredibly accelerated rate. Mystery-thriller ensues. And, just as it seemed: it's a little wishy-washy. Old is both very compelling and incredibly hokey -- occasionally even at the same time.

The are two major issues here. One is tone. Shyamalan remains determined to be the Alfred Hitchcock of his generation, and films every one of his movies with a stylish camera and tricks to build tension. Often, it works. (In this movie too.) But something about the premise of this movie feels equal parts science fiction as thriller. It's the Twilight Zone, not Alfred Hitchcock Presents. And early on, those two genres within the film compete against each other in an awkward way.

The second, larger issue is character. The characters in this movie are about as shallow as they can get. Most have only as much personality as needed to service the plot. The dialogue is wooden and functional. The lines that are meant to flesh them out are some of the most stilted and awkward of all. The actors are basically given nothing to work with, and even though you may have seen some of them be good in other movies, you're not going to see that here. The mountain is simply too steep to climb.

But, assuming that you can get over hump into the back half of the movie, that first issue at least does resolve itself. The horror-thriller moments of the movie really do start to work with great consistency. There are a lot of clever ideas in this film. Some might say there are so many as to be gimmicky, but it does work to tee up one solid scene premise after another, like an improv troupe that's getting nothing but A+ suggestions from the audience. The movie serves up many a gruesome image, touches on most of the things that would be truly terrifying about this wild situation, and manages to gesture at sweet and tender in moments too. Considering what you have to wait through to get there, though? Yeah, this movie is quite a mixed bag.

One thing I will go to the mat and defend, though, is the ending. There's a lot of talk online about M. Night Shyamalan's latest Twist Ending. It seems to me that when it comes to Shyamalan, everyone has forgotten how movies work. If a mystery is built into the core premise of a story and is explicitly set in front of the audience, then answering that question is not a Twist Ending -- it's an Ending. You didn't see it coming? Still not a twist. The movie directly raises a question, and then answers that question in the final minutes. That's context. And in my view, it's one of the better parts of this movie. It's not impervious to a hunt for plot holes, but I found it a satisfying justification for Why We've Just Seen What We've Just Seen.

Still, I'm not going to recommend Old. A "recommendation" would imply either (or both) that I think most people will like it, or that I think it will win over the skeptical. I don't think either. I'd call it a C+. If, like me, you hear about the movie and think... "well..... maaaaybe?" Then, well, maaaaybe you'll find something to like about it. You're also probably not missing out to skip it.

Educational

Hugh Jackman and Allison Janney together in one movie. That's all it took to put Bad Education on my radar. But it took a year or so for it to finally get "on my TV screen" to actually watch it.

Bad Education is based on real life events that took place in a Long Island school district in 2002: an embezzlement scandal begins to come to light, the theft of money from the school system's funds. And there seems to be absolutely no bottom to the crime; the deeper that people dig, the more corruption and fraud are revealed.

Before this movie, I never would have thought of Hugh Jackman and Allison Janney as particularly similar actors. But consider. They're both generally known for winning charisma: they do have a screen persona widely thought of as their "true" self, they are often cast in roles that let them show it, and people love it. Yet also, both can be quite chameleon-like, and do take transformative roles where they'll be quite unlikable... and the audience will enjoy that too. You could come into this movie expecting a great actor team-up, or a great sparring match, depending on whether the story bonds their characters together or pits them against each other.

Unfortunately, Bad Education kind of squanders both performers. They're both solid, of course (expect nothing less), but this story doesn't demand much of their considerable talent. Bad Education is a fairly "just the facts" recounting of this scandal, and really doesn't give you much insight into the minds of people at its core. I suppose maybe there just wasn't much insight to give? Stealing money from a school district is sociopathic behavior (no "borderline" about it), and sociopathy doesn't seem like it needs (or even has) much explanation beyond "I wanted to." These characters simply don't have much of an inner life for the actors to reveal to us.

It is an interesting story though, with some surprising reveals along the way (assuming you don't know much about the real life events). There are also moments where the matter-of-fact approach of the film actual serves it pretty well. (Small spoiler here about Jackman's character; skip the rest of the paragraph if you don't want to know.) The superintendant played by Hugh Jackman is revealed to be gay in the course of the movie, and it's not a capital-M Moment. It's not offered up as the key to his personality (though it is a piece of the puzzle that is the character's secrecy and vanity). It's not vital to the plot, and you could imagine that a movie made just a few years ago simply would have omitted it from the story. Instead, Hugh Jackman has some romantic scenes, played no differently than they would have been opposite a woman.

I'd give Bad Education a B-. It's probably not a movie anyone should go out of their way to watch, though I would imagine most people would like it well enough (ish) if they did watch it.

Join the Club?

Game designer Thomas Sing created a masterpiece in The Crew: The Quest for Planet Nine (a game I've only grown to love more the more I play it). I would be eager to try any new design he released, and I got to do exactly that with The Key: Murder at the Oakdale Club.

There are multiple games in The Key system, each with a different setting (and, I'm assuming, the same gameplay). It's a new take on the deduction game genre. A very new take, in fact; like The Crew, this game comes at a mechanic that's been around a long time with a fresh perspective. But there are also a lot of elements tossed in the mix here, and I'm not convinced they gel together.

Since Clue is the touchstone deduction game for many readers (and this game also revolves around murder -- three of them!), I'll use that as a base of comparison. There are three suspects, three locations, three weapons, three getaway vehicles, and three times. Players must correctly work out three murders, each using the five elements. (There are no "red herrings"; everything in the game goes with one of the murders.) Clues to solve the murders are printed on cards.

And that's pretty much where the similarities end.

A large deck of hundreds and hundreds of cards have iconography on the backs to tell you what kinds of clues they'll give -- icons about which aspect of the mystery a card will illuminate, and a point value of 2 or 4 to indicate whether they're a somewhat vague clue or a more specific one. A clue might tell you that "the murder using the gold club happened before the murder using the championship trophy" or "a male suspect murdered at 7:30."

There are exactly 9 "cases" in the game. These are also represented on the backs of cards by coloring in the squares of a tic-tac-toe grid. If you're doing "case 1" (the upper left square), then cards with that square colored in red offer a clue that's accurate for your case. On a replay, you might be doing "case 6," and looking only for cards with the middle right square colored in green.

All cards (even the irrelevant ones) are strewn out in the center of the table face down. And then you just go. All players are working to solve the case simultaneously, and just grab whatever cards they want from the table to help them. A dry erase reference card helps you convert your solution to a 4-digit code, and when you think you've got it, you grab a board with a bunch of codes on it and a hole for each code. Take a key prop ("the key" of the title), jam it into the hole of your code, flip the board over, and if the key is sticking through a color block corresponding to the one for your mystery, you've solved it!

So much of the approach here is interesting. The game is not "first to solve the mystery wins." When you solve the case, you add up the point values of all the clue cards you used, and that is your score. Everyone gets a chance to solve the mystery, and the lowest score wins. The idea that all players can solve the puzzle for themselves and not have the rug yanked out from under them by a sudden ending is a novel addition to the genre. But I have reservations about pretty much every other aspect of the system.

It's weird to play it, because it sort of feels like a race game, a mad dash to grab the best cards to work the mystery. But you shouldn't play it that way at all. If you move too quickly, you will inevitably and carelessly grab a clue card that isn't marked for your current case. The incorrect information it gives you will send you down a rabbit hole of mistakes. Indeed, you should take all the time in the world to lord over ever clue you get, card by card, since the lowest score wins. You should drag out a 15 minute game to 30, 45, whatever it takes for you to most efficiently solve the case.

You could watch other players who go for the solution board and the key and see which hole they're using -- but obviously, you shouldn't. You could learn the layout of the image on the solution side of that same board, and just have a general idea of which hole is the right one for a given case, because there are only 9. (I don't mean that you study the image, just that you learn it after a few plays.) You don't have that many more plays anyway, if you're doing it a bunch -- there are only 9 cases here. Is this supposed to be a disposable "escape room in a box" kind of experience or a "repeatable, just not very often" kind of experience? I just know you couldn't possibly play it as much as we play The Crew.

Nor would I think you'd want to. There are good ideas here, but in an awkward implementation extending down to even the littlest details. (Why are the clue card values used to determine your score numbered 2 and 4 when they could be 1 and 2? No idea.) I feel like deduction board games are almost by definition meant to appeal to fastidious, particular minds, but there's too much that's loosely woven about this one to scratch that itch. And yet, there's no denying that there's some intriguing innovation here.

Ultimately, I think I'd give The Key: Murder at the Oakdale Club a C. If a copy were brought out on game night, I'd probably want to play it. (I love deduction games!) But I really don't see it becoming anyone's first-choice deduction game.

Voyager Flashback: Persistence of Vision

Star Trek: Voyager co-creator Jeri Taylor reportedly tried throughout the first season to get one particular episode made. Others just weren't seeing her idea as clearly as she did, and it took until the second season for her to write the script that would bring everyone on board. Her episode was "Persistence of Vision."

Captain Janeway begins to experience delusions at a particularly critical time: Voyager is about to pass through the space of mysterious and particularly territorial aliens. And soon, everyone on the ship is falling victim to catatonia.

There's a lot to like in this episode -- details big and small, character elements and tonal choices. This episode seems intended to be unnerving, and there are times it truly is, as the captain questions her own sanity. The look of the alien bridge is effective: bathed in light while somehow cloaking the character in shadow.

Best of all, the delusions experienced by the different characters are interesting and generally well-chosen. Janeway is haunted by the fiancé she left behind. Paris' stern father, mentioned before, actually appears to torment him some more (played by a different actor than would later take up the part). B'Elanna is made to question whether she even knows her own mind, as the possibility of romance with Chakotay is foisted upon her. When Kes starts having visions too, things get effectively dark: great makeup (Paris' burns, Kes' festering boils) combine with strong performances to really sell the horror.

But at the same time, the story structure here is a real barrier to fully enjoying the episode. It's clear by the end that a telepathic alien is responsible for what's happening to everyone, yet there don't seem to be any rules to how his powers actually work. Maybe it's dependent on distance, because he first affects Janeway and only later anyone else. Or maybe it's simply fun for him to first make just one person question her sanity before then moving on to attack the rest of the crew? Why is Janeway first to be targeted but also somehow one of the last to succumb to a catatonic state? Why is B'Elanna able to resist the attack for a while (being the only one in engineering unaffected), and what changes moments later when she falls victim?

A little mystery here does feel tonally appropriate -- and the fact that the alien does what he does for apparently no other reason than "he can" does seem to strike the right balance. But it also seems like he just gives up more than Kes defeats him, which doesn't make a lot of sense. And we never even really find out if he is one of the mysterious Bothans we keep hearing about, or if the Bothans themselves are just a figment conjured by this powerful alien. (Star Wars fans: these aren't the spies who stole the second Death Star plans; the first syllable of their names rhymes with "go.")

At the margins of the story are some nods to continuity on the series, both good and bad. On the plus side: after an episode in which the Doctor imagined he could move more freely around the ship, the crew is now trying to make that a reality. (Why holography is so easy in one particular room and so hard everywhere else is unclear.) But on the minus side: Janeway's silly holonovel. Again. As in its two previous appearances, it's shocking how much episode time is given to this go-nowhere fiction-within-the-fiction. Finally, the writers realized it; this is the last time the holonovel ever appears. (Though you might say it's finally starting to get interesting, with strong suggestions of ghostly activity in Stuffy Manor.)

Other observations:

• This episode opens on Janeway walking through the hallway. No establishing shot outside the ship, no music to set the mood. It's quite jarring.
  

• Tuvok and Kim both give fun wordless reactions telling us exactly what they think of Neelix's food. Great humor from both characters and actors... but it sure does seem like the writers don't even want us to like Neelix, do they?
  

• The visual effect of Kes supposedly pushing Janeway's delusion back into her mind doesn't really look like what they say it does. It looks to me like the captain is being possessed.
  

Much of this episode is moody and effective, but I really do struggle with the "what even are the rules here?" of it all. So for me, "Persistence of Vision" ends up about a B-.

Powder Burns

Netflix has a new original movie almost every weekend, and usually does a very poor job of circulating word about them. (Their model seems to be: "Our algorithm will push it on you the next time you log in.") The latest of these is the action film Gunpowder Milkshake. (Is that a milkshake made with gunpowder? Just two random words shoved together because there's a lot of both in the movie?)

When contract assassin Sam kills the wrong person, she is cut loose by her organization. But she immediately finds a cause beyond just "staying alive"; she's protecting an eight-year-old girl (eight-and-three-quarters), refusing to abandon the child as she feels she was abandoned by her own mother. Wild, bloody action ensues.

Gunpowder Milkshake is a milkshake itself, consisting of three ingredients: John Wick, Guy Ritchie films, and "women who kick ass." The more of those things you like, the more chance that you will like this movie. I don't mean to say that this movie is only an imitation of those other things, because it does have one very relevant component to differentiate itself: the presence of that young child throughout the movie does change things up. And yet... the movie is pretty derivative.

Perhaps it's more that the movie is interested in including only what it sees as "the good parts" and doesn't much care whether they make sense. We get a lot of goons in this movie, and half of them inexplicably don't carry guns. Why? Because it will look cool to have a fight involving a sledge hammer. There's are lots of locations where you're supposedly not allowed to carry weapons. Why? So that we can do "found objects" combat... and a vague idea of "sanctuary" was enough for the John Wick franchise wasn't it?

Except the world of Gunpowder Milkshake feels all style and no substance. The rules are either undefined, or not really respected when they are defined. The allegiances shift so easily that it's unclear what they were ever truly based on in the first place. You're forced to disengage your brain to watch the movie, because nothing in it will stand up to even the mildest scrutiny.

But assuming you can do that, there are some pretty good action sequences throughout. The cast is perfect for this sort of confection. Karen Gillan proved herself a capable action star on the edges of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, and gets to be front and center here as Sam. Lena Headey is most known for verbal battles after Game of Thrones, but if you remember back to Dredd or The Sarah Connor Chronicles, you know she'll be fun here. Carla Gugino has this sort of thing on her resume from Karen Sisco to Spy Kids. Michelle Yeoh has never played a role where she didn't literally kick ass. And while Angela Bassett isn't known for action roles, she does always project a regal strength that's going still going to work in this environment.

Do any of them actually get to act? No, not really. It's not that kind of movie, and never pretends to be. But like I said, most of the action is pretty good. Indeed, two sequences in particular are The Reason to Watch -- both revolve around the conceit that the protagonist can't use her hands, and what ensues is clever, novel, and fun to watch.

Overall, though? It's all kinda dumb. And it could be 20 minutes shorter at least if you cut out all the sequences of slow-motion walking (or 10 minutes shorter if you just played them at normal speed). If you're the sort of action movie fan for whom one good sequence makes the experience worthwhile, then I'd say check it out. For me, though, I'd call Gunpowder Milkshake a C overall.

Nothing Happens on Disney+

Loki is the best of Marvel's three Disney+ television series so far... though I would still say it only rates about a B.

That's the kind of statement I usually end a review with. Why am I putting it up front this time? For one, I realize that I never blogged about either WandaVision or The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, so I wanted to get the main point in before I meander. Secondly, I'm going to need to traffic in SPOILERS to get at my thinking here, so I figure those avoiding spoilers can just take the bite-sized review and leave now.

So... I think the big problem common to all D+MCU so far is this: ultimately, nothing happens. You can understand why the Powers That Be don't want to do anything that could potentially threaten a motion picture juggernaut of multiple multi-million dollar box office hits each year. But because of that, nothing actually gets to happen in any D+MCU show. The movies get to take the action figures out of the package, play rough with them, and then leave them on the shelf. The TV shows are forced to carefully remove the action figures from their package, do nothing that would degrade their "near mint" status, and then put them back in the package at the end and glue it shut.

WandaVision opens with Wanda discovering new powers as she grieves the loss of Vision. It ends with her discovering new powers and grieving the loss of Vision. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier opens with Sam Wilson having been handed the mantle of Captain America, stalwart friend Bucky at his side. It ends with Sam Wilson in the mantle of Captain America, stalwart friend Bucky at his side. Loki opens with the Trickster God having no allies or friends, and being told that he has no place in this timeline. It ends with him having no allies or friends, misplaced in his timeline.

To avoid threatening the larger MCU franchise, the D+MCU shows must by definition be inessential. Any viewer who skips them needs to be able to just show up to the next MCU movie without any questions about what's happening and why. (At least, no questions other than the ones that result from having less than total recall of specific plot points from previous MCU films.) As a result, what makes a D+MCU show is what happens "in between."

WandaVision's "in between" was the bumpiest ride of all. It spun its wheels for three straight episodes, indulging in the novelty of recreating sitcoms of various eras while not revealing any plot of note. It grew compelling in the middle, ultimately revealing a great (and often memed) villain, before ending in a noisy (sonically and visually) and senseless battle of CG lights that was not remotely satisfying. I'd say overall that WandaVision was a C.

The Falcon and the Winter Soldier raised some compelling social issues and even had some worthwhile commentary to offer. It acknowledged that making a black man Captain America isn't something that could just happen without a lot of complications. It treated us to the great chemistry between Anthony Mackie and Sebastian Stan. It wowed us with a wild cameo by Julia Louis-Dreyfus, the last person you'd expect in the MCU. But it also was a fresh exhibit in how rarely the MCU generates compelling villains. It turned a villain it already had into comic relief. It unveiled a twist of turning a hero into a villain (that didn't matter, because the consequences of that aren't going to be addressed until the next Captain America adventure). And it didn't really look as hard at nationalism as it did racism. I'd give The Falcon and the Winter Soldier a B- overall.

That brings us to Loki, a six-episode charm offensive starring one of the MCU's most charming performers. Tom Hiddleston has on-screen chemistry with everyone and everything. Plus, the TV series featured plenty of great characters in their own right. Owen Wilson was great as a "buddy cop movie" foil, and comedy between him and Hiddleston was top notch. Sophia Di Martino was compelling as Sylvie, and sparks flew between her and Hiddleston in every possible way. Indeed, until the last episode, I might have dared call Loki an A- show; I was that thrilled by the performances and the interplay, and that enthralled by the anarchic environment that can allow zaniness from Alligator Loki to the destruction of Pompeii.

But of course, the last episode has to put all the action figures back in the package. And it was frankly rather boring to boot. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled that for once, an MCU story dared not to end with a massive CG-assisted fist fight. Nary an explosion in sight. But 30 minutes of dialogue in one room, featuring a never-before-seen character? That was hardly in keeping with the unhinged ambition of the rest of the series. Plus, in the end, the narrative of Loki in the MCU was even less substantial that those of WandaVision or The Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Before Loki, I know I for one never would have imagined that "alternate realities" weren't a thing that could happen in the MCU. Loki introduces that notion... and then ends by saying, "but actually, now they can." If you didn't watch Loki before the upcoming crop of clearly alternate-reality-based MCU films, it wouldn't matter one bit.

And yet, damn is Tom Hiddleston fun to watch! Will I watch Loki season two, now that the series is the first to officially be announced as getting a second season? You bet! But what are my expectations for that season? It's going to be a fun ride with a shitty, meaningless ending. Which I think is maybe all you can hope for from any D+MCU show... at least until the Powers That Be decide that maybe the TV shows are pulling in enough money for Disney+ that perhaps they can risk one show that does something essential in the MCU. (Otherwise, my money is on "What If...?" as easily the most compelling D+MCU show, as it won't be under the restraints of continuity.)

Voyager Flashback: Parturition

By the second season of Star Trek: Voyager, executive producer Michael Piller realized that the recurring story of Neelix's jealousy over Kes was an unlikable trait weighing the character down. So he pushed into development the episode that became "Parturition," to conclude that character arc.

Neelix and Paris are assigned to a mission together at a particularly awkward time, as Paris realizes he does have budding feelings for Kes, and Neelix is feeling threatened. When the two crash land in a shuttle, they must survive together under harsh conditions... and also care for the infant alien they discover.

Piller did have it right: Neelix's jealousy is a note the show has played again and again and again. It wasn't especially engaging the first time around, and it is absolutely played out by this point. But the apparent solution to making Neelix more likable is to drag another character down to his level.

Up until this point, Neelix's feelings of jealousy were all in his head. But now, and suddenly, Paris decides he really is interested in Kes, cementing for him that "falling for the wrong woman" is as much his defining character trait as "being a good pilot." Every juvenile "tit" in the episode is answered by an equally juvenile "tat" from Paris. They engage in a food fight. They never pass up an opportunity to insult each other. When Neelix shows skill in caring for the alien baby, Paris notes with sexist amusement that Neelix isn't the infant's "godfather," but "godmother." Sure, characters from The Next Generation didn't quarrel with each other enough, but this is a gross overcorrection.

Also gross: putting the young (she just turned two!) Kes at the center of an "everybody loves Kes" love Rhombus. Besides Neelix and Paris, the Doctor's interactions with her in this episode seem creepily tinged with sultry voice and amorous subtext. And it almost feels like Harry Kim is showing up at one point to "stake a claim" when it seems as though Neelix and Paris may have been killed on their mission.

But then, as always, Kes is written to be far more mature than many of the other characters on the show. Neelix and Paris' childish behavior is hardly reserved for each other. Tom's protracted whining to Harry somehow turns to complaints about not liking the clarinet music he chooses to play. Neelix admits to a view of love that's purely transactional: he thinks Kes is only with him because he saved her life.

Is there anything good going on in this episode? Well, it is directed by Jonathan Frakes, so: yes, of course, there are also good actor performances throughout. Paris is briefly sympathetic when recounting past friction with his father. Some of Neelix's barbs are actually funny (like when he actually says "technobabble"). Tuvok's not-subtle milking of the reveal of his plan is made funny when Chakotay beats him to the punch. And the Doctor's deadpan "you've always been interested in autopsies" is hands-down the funniest line of the episode.

The production values are pretty good too. The camera work does maybe go a bit over the top during the crash (it was reportedly mounted on bungee cords to achieve this wild shaking effect), but the planet looks better than average. And while modern CG would of course look better still, the alien baby puppet (which reportedly took eight people to manipulate) isn't too cheesy.

Other observations:

• "Planet Hell" was the behind-the-scenes nickname for Stage 16, the place where all the away team missions for The Next Generation and Voyager were filmed.

• A series-long misunderstanding took root here. Kim at one point offers up "an old Chinese expression" to Paris. Actor Garrett Wang always knew that his character was Korean -- Kim being perhaps the most common Korean last name. But he figured "maybe Kim has an affinity for other Asian cultures or something," and gamely performed the scene. Meanwhile, the culturally clueless writers wrote seven seasons of television believing that Kim actually was Chinese. Wang has said that it was only around season seven or maybe six that something came up to actually make him ask the writers, "you know he's not Chinese, right?" (As he pointed out, the character should have been named "Chin" if that was the intention.)
  

• Sure, the story needs Paris and Neelix to be alone on the planet together, but it makes no sense to send just the two of them on a mission in which gathering as much food in a short period of time is the goal. Why not send a couple redshirts with them to be killed in the shuttle crash?

• Speaking of the shuttle crash, this is now the third shuttle Voyager has lost in just in season two so far. It's totally undermining any sense that this is a limited resource for them.

• The old "heat the rocks with your phaser" gag. That's classic Star Trek.

• "I'm a doctor, not a voyeur."

"Parturition" does have some good moments, and certainly has the right intention in dispensing with the "Neelix is jealous" story line once and for all. But also... wow, is it rough at times. I think I'd balance it all out to something like a C+.

Black Thoughts

I expected that Black Widow would have a bit of "halo" to it -- as one of the few big, brazen action movies released in more than a year (and for many, the first movie seen in a theater in more than a year), it was likely to be the beneficiary of goodwill. It might seem better than it is. So pronounced was this effect, though, that I'm finding the movie almost has a "half life." It struck me as pretty damn entertaining in the immediate aftermath of seeing it, but my opinion has faded quickly in the hours and days since.

Black Widow is still decent enough. Scarlett Johansson has always been one of the better parts of the MCU, handling all the action with skill, and infusing the quieter moments her character was often given just as easily. It was a no-brainer to give her and her character her own movie... but apparently, there was "no brain" driving this aspect of the decision making for years and years.

The cast is mostly good. Florence Pugh is the best addition as Natasha's sister Yelena. She plays very well off of Scarlett Johansson, has her same skill with both the drama and the action, and is also the source of most of the movie's legitimately funny comedic moments. Those two are so strong together, in fact, that when the movie expands to include their mother and father, played by Rachel Weisz and David Harbour, it only dilutes the hyper-effective pairing. The movie begins to decline.

Actually, the main problem is in the writing of Harbour's character, Alexei. (A few small spoilers here, if you want to skip this paragraph.) It's pretty hard to connect the dots between the Alexei we see in the opening flashback and the Homer Simpson-esque goober we get later in the movie. Modern Alexei is a sitcom cliche (fat dummy with a smart wife). There are Marvel movies that could take on his tone (imagine Alexei hanging out with the Guardians of the Galaxy, or the newer Thor), but Black Widow doesn't set itself up to be that movie. Its themes, its main character... everything is fundamentally too serious. Alexei is probably being made such a clown to amplify the powerful women here, but his antics deflate the stakes and bring everything down with him in the process.

The movie is also held at "good but not great" for being quite predictable throughout. I suppose the good side of that is that what could have been an overly convoluted plot is actually quite straightforward and easy to follow. But nothing happens that you won't see coming a mile off.

Then, of course, there's the tidbit that many critics have picked up on in their reviews: this movie should have been made years ago. Literally, it falls between Captain America: Civil War and Avengers: Infinity War, so it should have been made years ago. (Though we wouldn't have gotten Florence Pugh, so at least one part was worth the wait.) Better late than never, I suppose. But this movie definitely arrives late (and COVID has little to do with that).

Overall, I'd call Black Widow a B-. It's perfectly watchable, and not truly in the "lower tier" of MCU movies. But I also feel like the character and Scarlett Johansson deserved better.

It's Been Years Since Weeks

It has been more than a decade since I last read a book by author Brent Weeks. So long, in fact, that I'd forgotten I'd read him before. (And that's probably a good thing; if I'd remembered what I thought of the final book in his Night Angel trilogy, I almost certainly never would have given him another chance.) But if you read enough fantasy books (and log them in places that track your tastes), it's inevitable that Weeks will show up in your recommendations at some point.

That's how I came to The Black Prism, book one of five in his Lightbringer series. It's a fantasy setting in which "drafters" harness their magical powers from light itself, each specializing in just one or two colors from the spectrum, and thus possessing different powers associated with a given color. One special drafter is different: a "prism" capable of drafting all colors, but otherwise constrained by a political system and lofty expectations of what they'll accomplish in their (often shortened) life.

Against this backdrop, young Kip is thrust into the magical world beyond his experience when his entire village is razed in a rebel uprising. The Prism himself, Gavin Guile, soon takes an interest in Kip. But the secret behind that interest is only the lesser of two secrets Gavin harbors. And neither can be Gavin's foremost concerns, as the uprising that destroyed Kip's village escalates toward a broader conflict.

The magic system at play in the Lightbringer world was one I found rather interesting, and Brent Weeks does a fairly good job of parceling out information about it in organic ways that fit with the narrative. (There aren't too many "exposition dumps" where the plot is paused to explain the rules of magic to you.) It's an interesting "if this, then that" system that leads to magic users wearing colored spectacles to tint the light they see toward their powers, rare magic users with ultraviolet and infrared abilities, interesting contrasts between "bichromes" with powers in adjacent colors as opposed to separated colors, and more.

The characters have their moments too. An uncharitable take would see Kip only as a too-typical protagonist in an expected "hero's journey," or Gavin as the overpowered wizard who too-conveniently solves plot problems. But also, Kip seems equally inspired by fantasy sidekicks (Samwise of The Lord of the Rings, Samwell of A Song of Ice and Fire, and others). Gavin has a fascinating back story with his brother Dazen that complicates any simple read of the character. And then there are two prominent female characters in Karris and Liv; though neither really drives the plot much here, they're often more interesting to read about than the "main characters" (and I hope for their roles to expand as the series continues).

The Black Prism does occasionally stall on the narrative highway a little. It's a long book, and the plot does lag a few times along the way. A middle section set at the world's "magic academy" runs uncomfortably long, and the final act is a protracted siege that starts off strong but grows repetitive before it resolves. Overall, though, the story moves and builds, and pieces are certainly put into place that make me want to know what happens in the next books.

I'd give The Black Prism a B+. I won't jump straight into book two, but I'm putting it in the reading queue. It's been a decade; hopefully Weeks has grown as an author, and (looking back at my criticisms of his Night Angel trilogy) learned more about crafting good endings and vital female characters. We shall see...

A Netflix Special

In the world of Netflix, there's room for all kinds of TV series that would never make it on conventional television. They don't fit a broadcast time allotment. They feature characters who the average TV executive thinks aren't relatable. They're unusually specific. In the case of Special, it's all of those things.

Special is the sole vision of its writer-director-creator-star, Ryan O'Connell, who built the series on the back of his own memoir, I'm Special: And Other Lies We Tell Ourselves. It's the fictionalized story of (you'll never guess) Ryan, who is starting a new job at a web zine. He is gay and has cerebral palsy, and is presented an unusual opportunity to remake his own identity when, on his first day at work, he's hit (comically) by a car in the parking lot. He decides to pass off his cerebral palsy as the after-effects of the accident. The series is rounded out by Ryan's friend and co-worker Kim, quirky boss Olivia, mother Karen, and a handful of heightened comedic characters.

It feels like there are more stories than I can count about LGBT characters struggling with their identity, arcing toward a coming out, or doing the dance of "passing" as straight. It's a novel and subversive twist on that formula to present a character who is openly gay and trying to mask some other part of their identity. And because it all emerges directly from the mind of O'Connell, the broad comedy is also lined with a real-world perspective that often feels eye-opening.

There are just two eight-episode seasons of the show -- and that's all there will be. (I'm not sure if Netflix or O'Connell chose to end it, but the series finale is definitively a finale.) But there's quite a difference between both seasons. Season 1 is "bite-sized," with 15-minute episodes focused mainly on the humor. Season 2 expands to 30-minute episodes, becomes somewhat more dramatic, and expands to include more significant subplots for the other major characters.

Special could never have been anywhere but a streaming service, of course. But the paradox is that I really do think it's more "for everyone" than many of the shows on broadcast television. (Assuming you're OK with "strong language and sexual situations.") Besides the show just having a light, comedic touch that makes it easy to watch, there are just so many roads into it. You might relate to Ryan as an LGBT character, or for his cerebral palsy, or as a struggling writer. You might have a bold friend like Kim, or be struggling financially, or be worried about maintaining your "image." You might be an empty nester parent unsure of what to do now that the kid you raised has left the house. Special sounds highly specific in concept, but it's actually quite universal in many ways.

Is Special the "best thing on Netflix you're not watching?" No, that's overstating it. But I'd say the two seasons are reliably and consistently enjoyable. I'd give the series a B.

Voyager Flashback: Twisted

When network executives held four season one episodes of Star Trek: Voyager for season two, rumors began swirling about one episode in particular, "Twisted." It was the worst of the lot, so bad that maybe it would never air. At least, so some of the actors were saying in summer convention appearances (which was pretty much the only way such rumors spread in those days). Seeming to confirm the reputation, "Twisted" was the last of the four delayed episodes to be broadcast.

Voyager passes through a strange interstellar phenomenon that "twists" the ship, reorganizing rooms and driving the main characters almost inexorably toward the holodeck at the center of the ship whenever they try to go somewhere else. Together, they struggle to escape while unable to reach the bridge or communicate with each other whenever they separate.

It's true that "Twisted" is not a particularly good episode. But it's not even the worst Voyager installment so far, and certainly not so bad it should have been locked up and never aired. (It's not even the worse of the "delayed four"; I'd give that distinction to "Elogium.") Still, you can see why the actors might have hated it so.

First, many characters aren't acting much like themselves. Tuvok illogically decides to leave the bridge in a crisis, hunting for others rather than taking charge himself. Paris claims he "chose this life" of exploring space when he most certainly did not; he's on Voyager only because it earned him an early parole from prison. B'Elanna is so rattled at the sight of a shirtless man that she's practically speechless. Janeway's encounter with the spatial distortion leaves her brain so scrambled that she sits up and spouts nonsense. (Poor Kate Mulgrew has to sell a line that sounds far too much like "doggy doo-doo.") No one is showing much urgency to get wherever they're trying to go, nor does their urgency increase when they find themselves lost on the way.

And yet there must have been some urgency on set, as the episode reportedly ended up a full eight minutes short, requiring additional material to be written and filmed to pad it out. The writers responded with a bunch of character moments... which sounds great in theory, except that the simplistic interactions expose how little the characters have been developed so far. Janeway is suddenly telling Kim that he's one of the best things about the mission so far? (How about a promotion, then?) Chakotay has to pull rank on a disobedient Tuvok (before mending fences with him later). There's a shallow exchange between B'Elanna and Chakotay over spirit guides. There's a line that rankled actor Tim Russ, where Tuvok claims to have always respected Janeway's decisions (after memorably defying her in an earlier episode).

That's just the material that might have been added later. What was probably there to begin with is pretty spotty too. The Doctor's subplot for the episode is being pursued by a horny hologram. For some reason, the minor character of Baxter is back, his one character trait still being that he works out a lot (even though his uniform has changed colors).

Then there's Neelix, who deserves his own paragraph. For the umpteenth time, Neelix is jealous of Tom Paris and unable to speak to Kes about it like an adult. (Mixing it up just a little, he's jealous of several random crew members too this time. And Paris is maybe being a little sketchy, spending two weeks of replicator rations to get Kes a weirdly personal birthday present.) Actually, Neelix is generally close to rock bottom as a character at this point: he comes very close to saying that "women are bad with directions," he wanders off and gets lost in a crisis, and worst of all, he bakes a birthday cake that looks to be almost all fondant. (Yuck.) He's so bad in this episode that Chakotay actually rolls his eyes at having to work with him -- and Chakotay is absolutely right.

The generic "Star Trek puzzle-solving" is pretty shoddy too. They decide to make a map of the twisted ship mere moments after concluding that the ship is continually rearranging itself. (How is that going to work?) And the ultimate solution, to "do nothing" and let it all happen, isn't very heroic or climactic. That it all turns out to be a strange form of alien information exchange is a cool idea, but the fact that the information never amounts to anything undermines that coolness.

Hmm.... maybe this episode really is that bad? Except, it honestly doesn't feel terrible while you're watching it. There is something effectively creepy in the idea that the only home these people have is being scrambled around them. Little moments do play well. Tuvok finds a logical way of letting Kim "leave work early" to go to Kes' birthday party. The debate between Chakotay and Tuvok on how to tackle the maze, only to split up and immediately reunite, is a fun scene. The doctor serves up another "I'm a doctor, not..." homage to classic Trek.

Other observations:

• The teaser ends with Tuvok's distorted voice repeating "phenomenon" over and over. Cue the Muppets.

• Not that this should have been turned into a two-parter, but given that no one else could understand Janeway after she passed through the phenomenon, I feel like there was an interesting story to be told after this encounter: what if now the Voyager crew could understand each other again... but no one else in the universe? What if they had to then find a way to undo the damage when they could not communicate with anyone beyond the ship?
  

Like I said, I don't find "Twisted" the worst even among the Voyager episodes so far, so I think I'll call it a C+. Not that that qualifies it for any "best of the series" compilation.

"No Sudden Move" Is a Plea to the Camera Operator

When I heard that director Steven Soderbergh was releasing a new movie, it didn't take many details to convince me that I had to see it. No Sudden Move was a return to the "heist" genre that he helmed in Ocean's Eleven, Twelve, and Thirteen, and Logan Lucky. It starred Don Cheadle and Benicio del Toro, no strangers themselves to a heist movie. And, some critics were whispering, it might just be Soderbergh's best heist movie (or at least up there with them). That's all I needed to know!

Except... that's not all I needed to know. Because had I done much more digging at all, I likely would have reached the conclusion that No Sudden Move was not for me. The numerous flaws I found in the movie really aren't hidden; there's no shortage of articles on the internet calling out basically every one of the things I found off-putting about the movie.

No Sudden Move does start off quite strong. In its first half hour, we're introduced to a tight little group of interestingly drawn characters. They have fun, big personalities that seem like they're going to be interesting in a tense situation. And a tense situation is exactly what we get, as the movie throws us directly into the caper before we fully understand even what the caper exactly is. It's compelling, and the work you have to do to catch up feels rewarding.

But then the movie continues to open up more and more and more. Each new half hour introduces seemingly just as many characters, until the cast has quadrupled by the end. Every new batch is less well-drawn than the one before, for lack of screen time available to devote to them amid a story already well underway. Motivations don't make sense, and soon neither does the plot. It all devolves into an incomprehensible snarl of double-crossing and greed that feels like a heist movie without actually evincing any of the joy or smarts that for me are hallmarks of the genre.

Worst of all: you can't even really see any of it. For reasons I simply cannot comprehend, Soderbergh chose to film this entire movie with fisheye lenses. Actors on the edges of his super widescreen frame become skinny and stretched. Even the slightest pan or zoom of the camera induces mild vertigo as the visuals lurch awkwardly. It's as if, having previously gotten a little press for filming a movie entirely on an iPhone, Soderbergh decided to make this one on a doorbell security camera. Did he conceive it so that projection on a large curved screen would stretch it back to normal? (If so, he had to know better; this was filmed in fall 2020, squarely in the pandemic.) I was just pulled into the movie enough in the opening act to tolerate the visuals, but had I known it was all going to be downhill from there, I never would have put in the extreme mental effort to "ignore what I was seeing," trying to get over some imagined hump.

There are some good performances amid the stacked cast. David Harbour plays rather against type in a fun way, timid and cornered. Jon Hamm exudes his signature charm/smarm. Brendan Fraser is unrecognizable at first in a role that's fun for how serious it is. Kieran Culkin surprisingly gives what I think is the strongest performance in the film. And all that's not even getting into the appearances by Bill Duke, Ray Liotta, a fun unbilled cameo... and yes, pretty good anchor performances by Cheadle and del Toro (though, arguably, they're outshone by the ensemble).

Still, I don't think the cast makes it worthwhile to wrestle with the belabored plot. And again, it must be stressed: you can't see much of it: anything that takes place on the left third or right third of the screen, out in fisheye territory. All told, I'd give No Sudden Move a D+. Sometimes, my instinct to avoid learning more about a film that "could be interesting" pays off with pleasant surprises. This is one of the times where a little digging would have saved me two hours.

Voyager Flashback: Non Sequitur

At the close of season one of Star Trek: Voyager, actor Garrett Wang discussed the shortcomings of his character, Harry Kim, with staff writer Brannon Braga. Kim never got to "kiss the girl." He was never involved in action; he was literally the only main cast member who had not yet needed a stunt double. Wang hoped his feedback would nudge the writing in season two. Braga arguably overreacted and threw everything into one episode, "Non Sequitur."

Harry Kim awakens on Earth in an alternate reality where he wasn't aboard Voyager. Though back with his fiancee and working as an experimental engineer for Starfleet, Kim can't shake the feeling that everything is wrong and that he must find a way to return to his reality. And he'll need the help of a surly Tom Paris (and a mysterious alien observer) to do it.

The premise of this episode is great. Showing us Earth on an episode of Star Trek: Voyager is a rare treat, and "what if I'd never done [this]?" is a classic science fiction hook. This is certainly a good showcase for the underused character of Harry Kim; he's in almost every scene (and almost every other member of the cast is barely in the episode at all.) But the execution here falls short in a number of ways.

We know, of course, that the series is going to set everything back to normal by the end of the episode, and so there's only so much tension that could be created. Still, I think too much tension is deflated right out of the gate by opening with Janeway's voice, telling us that Harry is involved in a shuttle accident right before he awakens on Earth. We're primed to think maybe this is a dream or hallucination, and predisposed not to worry much about what's unfolding. Then, rather than committing to the scenario, the story dangles the character of Cosimo (with his cliché accent) in front of us right away to underscore the unreality of the situation.

The bigger issue, though, is that no one's behavior makes any sense. Kim's urge to return to his original reality simply doesn't track. He has talked about his fiancee before on several occasions -- and here she is! (The wooden guest star has no chemistry at all with Garrett Wang, but still...) He could carry on in this reality knowing that Voyager is lost in the Delta Quadrant and not destroyed, and with that knowledge perhaps work to rescue his friends.

Harry could have "poisoned" this reality a lot more thoroughly, making it so that he needs to return home. His fiancee Libby could leave him, rather than stick by him as he spouts nonsense. The vague threat of arrest could have been made more explicit by telling us just what kind of prison time is in store for him for his apparent crimes of espionage. But instead, Harry just vaguely complains that things "aren't right" before settling on how depressed Tom Paris is as his major justification for trying to escape this reality.

Paris' behavior makes even less sense. While I can force myself to "get there" in believing that his life is such a bust that he'll seize on any stranger showing up to give him purpose, I just don't buy that he's willing to die for it. I mean, his life is still put-together enough that he has friends who can get him a site-to-site transporter on a moment's notice. And he still has enough hustle to get the best of Starfleet security. Things simply don't look that bleak for him.

Harry does get to run and shoot and kiss and all the things that Garrett Wang lobbied for. But he doesn't actually figure out his own problem and solution. After 30 minutes, Cosimo pulls up a chair and dumps a big exposition bomb of truth. Then suddenly, conveniently, Kim remembers an awful lot of details about the shuttlecraft accident that got him here -- details it seems like he should have been thinking about a lot more before now (as opposed to theorizing about the holodeck, alien simulation, or time disruption he might be in). The episode never works toward an ending; it just reaches the point where it's time to start wrapping things up.

Other observations:

• There are a few Deep Space Nine connections here. Quark and Odo are both mentioned (though not by name), and the climactic sequences are filmed on that show's runabout set.

• Future San Francisco is a rather believable mix of new (futuristic streets) and old (Harry's building has an old-fashioned fire escape). I suppose that's just as likely about budget limitations as planning, though -- the episode also saves money by filming on the Paramount "New York City streets" backlot, and by lifting "establishing shots" from Star Trek movies I, IV, and VI.

• Why does Harry's "friend" Lasca turn around and become his interrogator while the admiral is questioning him? (Side note: Brannon Braga originally wrote that admiral character to instead be Counselor Troi, now working at Starfleet headquarters. Marina Sirtis wasn't available for the role at the time, though she would appear in later seasons.)
  

I do feel like this episode shows me enough to believe that Garrett Wang (and Harry Kim) can carry a whole episode. But the script here really isn't helping him in that endeavor. I give "Non Sequitur" a C.