Defiant to the End

I've finally finished my first series written by Brandon Sanderson: I recently completed Defiant, the fourth and final book of the Skyward series. This concludes the saga of Spensa, the brash young warrior who flies space fighters against her people's powerful alien adversaries. (Ok, there's way more too it than that, but I'm not going to spoil four novels and three novellas' worth of plot here, even if I could find a way to do so succinctly.)

Sanderson is best known, of course, for his fantasy writing -- not science fiction, as this series is. But I've stalled in finishing his original Mistborn trilogy after what I thought was a lackluster book two. So this was my first exposure to one of his endings -- endings being arguably the other thing he's best known for (having completed many series of his own, as well as Robert Jordan's The Wheel of Time). Did Sanderson have what it took to stick the landing?

Mostly, yes. From a story perspective, I was more than satisfied. The Skyward series has more than a dozen notable characters, and that's more than I'd expect to receive a "great" ending. But the story wraps up well for the main character, Spensa; the most important secondary characters also conclude satisfying arcs; most of the tertiary characters get a potent moment in this final installment. (And in a deft bit of narrative construction, the story does very much end while still leaving the door open for future stories of a different nature -- and it's already been announced that Sanderson's co-author on the Skyward novellas will be taking that up.)

But I had some reservations about the writing of this final book. Every part of the Skyward series so far has been told in the first person. The fact that you only get Spensa's perspective on things plays a crucial role in how the story is received by the reader. It's also part of what made the three novellas (in my view) essential reading in the overall narrative: when Spensa is separated from the rest of the characters for the bulk of books two and three, it falls to the novellas to chronicle what's happening in her absence. (And notably, even the novellas maintain a first-person conceit, each of the three being told from a different single character's perspective.)

This final book starts out from Spensa's perspective just as all the other main books have done. But just as the final act begins, about two-thirds of the way through the book, that convention is compromised. About half the chapters continue to be "first-person Spensa," but the other half are told third-person, focusing on different characters. Some of these aren't even the characters who were featured in the novellas. One, most jarringly, is the antagonist of the story -- why, this late in the game, do we need to know this person's inner thoughts?

The answer would seem to be purely practical: there's too much happening at the end of this story that the main character cannot personally be present for, and so it's difficult to deliver a satisfying ending without breaking the first-person convention. And yes, I want that satisfying ending, and so I suppose I ultimately have to agree with breaking the established "rules" in order to provide one. At the same time, this feels like trying to have your cake and eat it too. There are reasons a writer chooses to tell a story in the first person, and there are consequences of that choice that you have to accept and work around. Sanderson did that for three-and-two-thirds books... and then just gave up at the finish line. Did he always know this was the general ending he was working toward, and just never cared? Did he just need to get on to his next book, and didn't want to make time to try for some other ending? (I guess I can respect the choice not to become a George R. R. Martin, Scott Lynch, or Patrick Rothfuss.)

Most readers might not even care about this sort of thing, and might say I'm just nitpicking here. "Rules are made to be broken," some say. But I would say that when it comes to writing, rules are made to be ignored. There are countless "rules" of storytelling, and a writer is welcome to curate their own collection of which ones to embrace and which ones to abandon. But I feel like once you choose your toolbox, you really have to earn the decision to abandon it later. Defiant is a good enough ending to the Skyward series. But I think it's not that good.

I give Defiant a B. (Like I said, "good enough.") I think the series as a whole is worth reading (with or without the novellas, though my recommendation would be "with"). At the same time, this wasn't really the stellar experience I might have needed to nudge me into finishing book three of Mistborn -- that's going to take some more time.

Voyager Flashback: Drive

Star Trek: Voyager was a show that didn't like to mess with the status quo very much. But it's likely they knew from the very beginning of season seven that it would be their last. And since the writers wouldn't really have to live with the consequences of major changes for long, I think they became more open to taking chances -- as they did with Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres in "Drive."

Tom Paris wants to enter the newly-rebuilt Delta Flyer in an alien race. But B'Elanna Torres sees an enthusiasm for this that he apparently doesn't share for their relationship... which she's thinking about ending.

"Drive" is an episode that has its heart in the right place, and it is moderately entertaining. But it's had its "thunder" stolen in multiple ways. First, as I noted in the previous episode, it aired out of order, undermining the rebuilding of the Delta Flyer after its destruction. While we don't really see the shuttle being rebuilt anyway (why would we when we got plenty of it being built the first time around?), this story is about testing the ship out -- which hardly seems necessary after it's already been in use.

Of course, the story is also about Tom Paris and B'Elanna Torres finally getting married, but this too is undermined. We've already seen the marriage of the two characters, in the form of the "duplicate life forms" from another episode. So for the same reasons you don't want to watch the Delta Flyer be built again, you don't want to see another wedding. And yet, not seeing it sure makes it feel like it isn't a big deal (especially after Deep Space Nine made an entire episode only out of the wedding of two main characters).

But enough about what isn't in the episode; let's talk about what is. The race conceit works better than I'd have expected. Yes, space is so big and empty that the idea of having an "auto race" there falls apart if you poke at it too much. But the writing and editing of the episode generally works: it's both fast enough that you don't poke at that too much, and fast enough to give racing vibes.

The cast of guest stars is fun. We get an alien woman for Harry Kim to chase, a hard-ass "racing is life" type who makes for a fun heavy, a fun little twist about which racer is really a guerilla terrorist, and actor Brian George as the alien administrator overseeing it all. The production design on all of this is even better, from a variety of CG ships to interesting alien makeups to fun "race suit" costumes. (The Starfleet version is one of the most flattering uniforms ever created on Star Trek.) And the script allows for fun character moments for most of the main characters: Janeway blessing the idea (when Tom's building up steam to have to convince her), Seven's lack of enthusiasm for the whole affair, and Neelix usurping the role of color commentator.

I actually quite like the Tom/B'Elanna storyline too... I just wish that it didn't conclude with marriage in this episode. Basically, I side with B'Elanna. For three seasons, Tom Paris hasn't done much to suggest that he actually cares about his girlfriend's feelings. This episode is an especially well-drawn magnification of the little slights we've seen along the way. When B'Elanna decides to address the problem by inserting herself into her boyfriend's hobby whether he likes it or not, the scales tip in an interesting way -- until still more boorish Tom behavior tips them back. But in the end, rather than split up as many couples realistically would as a result of all this, Tom and B'Elanna actually have a meaningful conversation where they air all the frustrations and misunderstandings of several years. I do kind of wish it resolved with "now let's be better to each other for a while" rather than jumping straight to "great, now we're ready to get married." But hey, it's television, so what are you going to do? (And people do get married far more impulsively, of course.)

Other observations:

• Another Dune reference sneaks in, as one letter is dropped from a planet's name to give us "Gedi Prime."

• Sometimes, a sci-fi show decides it has to give you the futuristic version of a thing that isn't likely to be that different in the future. Here, it's golf, which we're supposed to believe is going to one day involve blinking, glowing balls and a weird putter that looks like it's been cross-bred with a meat tenderizer. OK, when you're looking for your ball on the course, maybe the glowing/blinking thing would be useful.

• I've commented before about how the supposedly limited number of photon torpedoes aboard Voyager (established in the pilot) was never really something the show was going to take seriously. (At this point, they've used many more than they ever actually had.) But it seems especially egregious to detonate a torpedo to signal the start of a race.

• After all that work B'Elanna was doing to coordinate holodeck time, which could have been used for a killer honeymoon, they just take off for a day trip on the Delta Flyer?

I'm glad that Voyager finally decided to take the Tom/B'Elanna relationship seriously. Still, I feel like this episode is trying to make up for years of narrative neglect all in one grand gesture. I give "Drive" a B-.

Percy Us

The new TV series Percy Jackson and the Olympians really had to win over a lot of its audience. From what I understand, fans of the books were looking for a more faithful (and less aggressively "meh") adaptation of the story than the films from a decade ago.

I'd never seen those movies, nor read any of the books. (I see there are a staggering number of them.) But I was skeptical too. Simply put, I'm growing a bit tired of this type of story. It might be a temporary thing, but I've reached a saturation point for "the unsuspecting youngster suddenly pulled into a magical world that exists right under everyone's noses." Bonus fatigue for "and they are the chosen one, the only person who can prevent catastrophe in this magic world."

So when my husband (who has read some Percy Jackson books) said we should watch this show together -- this was just going to be one of those spousal trades. I've "made" him watch some show he doesn't like as much as I do; he "makes" me do the reverse.

Make no mistake -- Percy Jackson and the Olympians is exactly the kind of story I'm feeling worn out on right now. But it's also an entertaining version of that story, and it did win me over. In part, this was through fun use of the core conceit of "modernizing the Greek gods." Whether presenting Ares as a scary "biker dude" or Hermes as a literal package courier, the story always had amusing ways to recontextualize the classic gods of myth in the present day.

Even better was the acting. A surprisingly long list of recognizable faces lined up even for quite small roles in this television show, including the late Lance Reddick, Megan Mullally, Lin-Manuel Miranda, and Jason Mantzoukas, among others. More crucially to raising the "quality bar" overall, the three young actors in the three key roles are all quite good. Leah Sava Jeffries as Annabeth, Aryan Simhadri as Grover, and Walker Scobell as Percy -- all of them feel perfectly cast for their roles. Each brings a decidedly different on-screen energy, and all three play well off one another. It's hard enough to cast one strong child actor; this is probably the best trio that's been assembled since the "lightning in a bottle" that was discovering Daniel Radcliffe, Emma Watson, and Rupert Grint.

The show kept me engaged for most of its eight-episode season. The last episode felt a bit rushed to me, with a bunch of loose logic and too much setup for future story. ("Come back next season for any of this to make sense," seemed to be the subtext.) But they have received the green light for that next season. And if readers have enjoyed that story enough to support as many books as there are, I have some faith that the continuing story of that next season will be one worth watching. I'd rate Percy Jackson and the Olympians a solid B.

Voyager Flashback: Imperfection

In the days of more standalone television, it wasn't at all rare to air episodes out of order from the way they were filmed -- for any number of reasons. But this choice was clearly made for Star Trek: Voyager's "Imperfection," and not to good effect.

When Seven of Nine's cortical implant begins to fail, she finds herself facing a terminal medical diagnosis. Her only chance at survival is a transplant, and finding a working replacement node is a long shot.

Eagle-eyed Star Trek fans (who care far more deeply about continuity than I generally do) will point out when the stardates of two consecutive episodes fall out of order. But you don't need to venture that far into the weeds to know that this wasn't meant to be the second episode of Voyager's seventh season. First, the Delta Flyer is somehow back again (after having been destroyed in the season six finale). Second, Tom Paris can clearly be seen wearing a wedding ring while he assists the Doctor in a surgery. Both of these developments would be explained in the next episode to air.

So why was this episode pulled forward to run earlier in the season? My best guess is that some network executive wanted to front-load as much Seven of Nine and/or Borg content as possible, imagining it would juice the ratings at the start of the season. And maybe it even did at the time. But in a world of syndication (or now, streaming) it makes for three back-to-back episodes stuffed full of basically the same thing, and feels a little tiresome for it.

That's a shame, because this episode is quite a bit more convincing, emotionally, than the "Unimatrix Zero" two-parter. Although the premise is very sci-fi, the story still touches on many aspects of terminal illness. Seven of Nine feels shame at her condition, as many patients irrationally do -- and in particular doesn't want her "child" Icheb to see her in a compromised state. We see how different people interact with Seven: the Doctor showing rare tact, Neelix "goading" her into a game (so she doesn't withdraw further), B'Elanna having a rare and deep conversation with her about the afterlife, and Janeway trying a hopeful pep talk that Seven simply doesn't want to hear. Of course, it's also a big episode for Icheb, who decides he wants to join Starfleet, comes up with a way to save Seven's life, and shows willingness to sacrifice his own life -- all in one episode.

Still, I feel like the episode could have given us even more, by removing a few other elements. A rather pointless action beat involving alien scavengers aboard the Borg cube serves only to make Tuvok look dumb for being ambushed. And while writing off all the other Borg children in a quick teaser does put the emphasis on Icheb, it short-cuts deeper emotion surrounding their departure. (Others besides Seven of Nine have bonded with some of them. Neelix, for example.) Losing the other kids also too-obviously telegraphs Icheb as the solution to the current situation -- though, admittedly, it's unclear whether he'll have to die or not.

Other observations:

• The makeup and visual effects are notably well done throughout the episode. Seven's exposed implants look gnarly. Every time an implant is shown going in or out of someone's forehead, it looks unsettlingly convincing.
  

• Poor Chakotay just doesn't get anything to do these days. He doesn't even lead the away team to the Borg cube. He just comments (stupidly) that it's not every day they encounter the Borg, when the last several episodes have made it seem like that's exactly what they do.

• Okay, that action sequence accomplishes one thing: Paris ordering Captain Janeway around aboard the Delta Flyer is a fun exchange.

• While I like the scene between B'Elanna and Seven about life and death, you'd think B'Elanna's "Barge of the Dead" experience would leave her with more certainty on the topic.
  

I give "Imperfection" a B -- though perhaps I would have rated it a bit higher were I not feeling some "Borg fatigue." Even when the storytelling isn't exactly "serialized," sequencing matters.

Bottoms Up

The "raunchy teen sex comedy" has been a staple of popular movie-making for decades. Still, there's plenty of room for more diversity in that genre, and so last year we got Bottoms.

PJ and Josie are unpopular high school friends looking to hook up with other girls. When rumors begin circulating that they spent last summer in juvie, they're able to parlay that into the creation of an after school club for "female empowerment" (aka, a Fight Club), where they'll be able to interact with the girls they're crushing after. But one of the football players is so upset with this disruption of the popularity status quo that he makes it his mission to destroy the pair.

One incredibly brief elevator pitch of this movie might be that it's American Pie for lesbians. That's basically what I expected as I was sitting down to watch; I hadn't even known that it came from writer-director Emma Seligman and writer-star Rachel Sennott, who previously collaborated on the indie darling Shiva Baby. (That movie wasn't really "for me," but left me open to the idea of them doing something more comedy-forward.)

But while you think you may know where the movie is going to zig, it zags instead. Hard. Where the typical teen sex comedy goes for laughs with over-the-top nudity or (as the content label might say) "sexual situations," Bottoms surprises by going for violence. When I said the main characters start a Fight Club, that's literal: a bloody, David-Fincher-referencing Fight Club. It's a clearly calculated juxtaposition to put a group of young women into that kind of story, and the resulting shock value is kind of hilarious: the movie has several laugh out loud moments.

That said, Bottoms also isn't built like the typical sex comedy in that it isn't really bouncing from set piece to set piece. The movie cares about the emotions of its characters in a way that this movie genre usually does only superficially at best. It's never really at risk of becoming a "drama" -- the world of Bottoms is not strictly realistic. (For one thing, the football players wear their full game gear at all times, seemingly having no other clothes or even identity.) But laughs aren't the only thing the movie is after. Maybe not even the main thing.

The cast is solid. Besides Rachel Sennott (who was great in Bodies Bodies Bodies), there's Ayo Edebiri and (from the fun but ill-fated Willow) Ruby Cruz. And in a weirdly funny turn, there's Marshawn Lynch (yes, the football player) as the strange teacher who sponsors the school club. Generally, it feels like one of those movies where, 10 years from now, you'll be shocked to remember/discover that someone now famous had a small role here.

I give Bottoms a B. Without (I hope) building too much hype for it, I think it's a pretty fun twist on an old boys' club formula.

Voyager Flashback: Unimatrix Zero, Part II

Star Trek: Voyager, having created a rather "Best of Both Worlds"-style cliffhanger in its sixth season finale, was also similar in resolving that cliffhanger: the payoff of "Unimatrix Zero, Part II" is not as good as the setup of part one.

Aboard a Borg tactical cube, Janeway, Tuvok, and B'Elanna retain their individuality, but use their assimilated status to deploy a virus throughout the Collective. The drones of the Unimatrix Zero "dream world" begin to retain their own memories when they wake, and can now resist the Borg. But when the Queen captures Janeway and compromises Tuvok, it falls to Voyager to rescue them. Meanwhile, Seven feels conflicted about her past relationship with Axum, leader of the Unimatrix Zero Borg.

Throughout this season seven premiere, I felt like the writers don't quite know what the most interesting -- or at least, most distinct -- parts of their story were. Too much of the precious 44-minute runtime is squandered on verbal sparring between Janeway and the Borg Queen, while other compelling story points get little or nothing.

There's a subplot about Tuvok being taken over by the Queen that's remarkably brief. Janeway actually makes the decision to kill Tuvok (at his request; but it's too late), but she doesn't ever deal with any of the emotional consequences of that decision. And why is the mentally formidable Vulcan the one who succumbs in the first place? You can conjure up an explanation if you want to -- perhaps his metabolism burns quickly through the too-miraculous drug that allows you to retain your identity after assimilation. But it sure would have been neat to actually visualize the confrontation between Tuvok and the Queen, rather than rely on Tim Russ to simply tell us that Tuvok was slipping.

What's happening to B'Elanna Torres, alone -- but free! -- aboard the Borg cube after Tuvok is lost and Janeway is captured? Surely she didn't just sit and wait for help, but no screen time is given to what she might be doing. How does Korok -- a single "awakened" drone all by himself on a Borg vessel -- manage to seize control, convert others, and come to Voyager's rescue? Why not spend more time dramatizing an actual conflict between Chakotay and Paris over rescuing the away team, rather than easily resolving it in a single scene? Then there's the relationship between Seven of Nine and Axum, which has the shape of a character arc without any of the actual content. What exactly changes between the two of them that she suddenly goes from "never wanting to see him again" to "sad to be losing him?"

Unfortunately, the Janeway/Queen conflict we do get in place of all that isn't all that compelling. For one thing, they aren't actually in the same place together; their confrontation is a holographic conceit. More crucially, the Queen's behavior never really makes sense. She's willing to destroy her own ships, holding tens of thousands of drones, to take out a few isolated Unimatrix Zero rebels. (And Janeway basically calls that bluff, encouraging her to go right ahead and destroy the whole Borg collective.) Later, the Queen concocts a virus to kill all those rebels, but then demands that Janeway convince them all to return willingly to the Borg. The Queen has already showed a willingness to just kill off huge numbers of her own drones, so why not just kill off these now that she can?

Other observations:

• Within moments of the start of this episode, we learn that Janeway, Tuvok, and B'Elanna still retain their individuality aboard the Borg tactical cube. I think it might have worked better to show us this in the final moments of the cliffhanger, giving us a tantalizing "now what are they going to do?" springboard to part two, rather than the basic "Locutus of Borg x 3" ending we got.

• I've been playing too much Legend of Zelda. I couldn't hear the Klingon name "Korok" without hearing "ya ha ha" in my mind (and expecting a seed I could later use to expand my weapons stash).

• It's quite fun that when the Borg Queen visits the illusory world of Unimatrix Zero, her trademark lighting scheme accompanies her.

• Also interesting is the story she tells about her own original assimilation. (I kind of dig these otherworldly aspects of the character.)

• How do you start a resistance within the Borg and not reference the famous "resistance is futile" line in some way?

I guess as long as you're cribbing from "Best of Both Worlds," why not also crib from another successful Borg episode of The Next Generation, "I, Borg?" The threat to the Borg here is the same as it was there: the spread of individuality. But where the Next Gen episode was about "rules of engagement" and racial prejudice, "Unimatrix Zero, Part II" is pretty much just straight-up-the-middle action tropes. I give it a C+.

Virtually Infinite

Every now and then, Denver gets to play host to the premiere of a nationwide tour. For three months, from February to early May, that's an interesting movie/game/science interactive experience called Space Explorers: The Infinite. If you're at all interested in crewed space flights, this will be right up your alley.

The presentation utilizes film captured aboard the International Space Station, with a special camera built to capture everything in a full 360° panorama. Hundreds of hours of footage has been curated and built into an immersive VR experience. You put on a set of VR goggles and walk out into a large space where you can tour a wireframe model of the ISS itself. You can look down and see the Earth below (or not, if you're prone to vertigo), and move through the environment and get a sense of just what size the station actually is.

Sprinkled throughout the VR setting are dozens of hovering orbs. Walk up to any of them, "touch" them, and the environment fades. You then get to see a minute-or-so clip of full-resolution footage captured aboard the ISS. It might show someone repairing some device aboard, suiting up for a spacewalk, or just having fun during downtime. You get enough time to experience about a dozen of these clips -- and you could easily go back and do it all again, since there are far more clips than you'll have time to see in one visit.

The entire experience concludes with you being directed to a chair, where a series of chosen clips is presented that were taken outside the station. Seated safely, you see all around the outside of the station, watch the Earth whiz by below, and generally become fully awed with the scope of it all. Like I said, if you're interested in crewed space flight, this experience is great.

Well.... "good," maybe. Only good because you do have to share it with other people. Perhaps 40 or 50 people are allowed in the space at one time; whatever the number, it feels like about 25% too many. You are able to navigate safely enough with the VR goggles: any people you attended the exhibit with show up as yellow "human-shaped" avatars in the wireframe, while any other people show up blue. To me, anyway, it seemed simple enough to avoid running into anybody else.

It apparently was not so simple for the rest of the audience. It's not that anyone full-on ran into me during the experience. But if you're in the middle of watching one of the full video clips, and someone approaches close enough to you that it might be an issue, the clip gets cut off immediately in favor of the wire frame, to let you know the person is there. You can't restart the clip again; you simply have to move on to something else. Three times during my 20-30 minute experience, something interesting was interrupted when someone else "invaded my personal space." There are simply too many people allowed in at one time.

So -- if you're going to go (and again, I think space flight fans will really want to), you might try for a time that may be less crowded. First thing in the morning, if you must go on a weekend? Mid-day during the week, if you have the option? Also be aware that while you can buy a ticket ahead of time with a prescribed time on it, that time is really just when you're able to get in line for the experience. If you're there with any kind of crowd, you'll be waiting a while before you actually get to walk the ISS for yourself.

And yet... still probably worth it. If you live in Denver (or if this exhibit comes to your city next), you may want to look into it.

Projecting

It seems to me that abstract board games don't move up the charts of Board Game Geek as fast as games with some thematic hook. So when an abstract game does reach the upper echelons of the game rankings, it's probably worth a look.

Project L was released in 2020. Since then, it has reached the top 400 on the BGG chart. It's a tile-laying, polyomino game -- and while it's easy to characterize many such games as feeling "like Tetris," this one really does give off Tetris vibes.

The game uses dual-layered "cards," each with a geometric pattern of squares to be filled in with pieces. Said pieces are colorful plastic "tetrominoes" that cover one to four squares. When you place pieces perfectly onto a card's shape, you've completed the card -- you'll score the points it's worth at the end of the game, you take a specific bonus piece that card gives upon completion, and you can dump out the pieces you used to then use on other cards.

On your turn, you take 3 actions from a limited number of options. You can draft a new card to be filled in; cards come in two difficulty levels, and you can have in total up to 4 in front of you at once. You can "upgrade" one of your unused pieces; you start the game with only a "1 square" and "2 square" piece to place, and this action lets you "trade up" by 1 square for something else (or take a new "1 square" piece). You can, of course, place one of your pieces on one of your cards. And finally (once per turn only), you may place on each of your cards one single piece.

I've played the game a few times, and I don't feel like the strategy runs all that deep. It sure seems to be all about maximizing that last ability. Because it normally takes an action just to place one piece, you'd better be doing the "place one piece on all your cards" action every turn, because that's like being given free actions. There is perhaps some nuance to this; I've personally found it better to keep three cards going rather than the maximum-allowed four -- because it's too hard to have enough pieces to be working on four cards at once.

Still, if the strategy is straightforward, there's still room to enjoy the activity. Here's where the game departs from the feeling of Tetris. Where Tetris is all about leaving possibilities open for the pieces that might come (when you can only see the next piece), in Project L you can plan exactly what pieces you need to pick up to fill in exactly the cards in front of you. It doesn't quite feel like "strategy," but it most certainly is "planning ahead."

Yet I do question whether the opening turns of the game have too big an impact on the outcome. I mentioned earlier that when you complete a card, you may get points and/or a bonus piece for your supply. The "or" there is a big deal -- early in the game, you will happily take a card that gives you no points, so long as it gives you a piece to get the ball rolling. A card that's worth an extra point that doesn't give you a free early piece feels utterly worthless in the opening rounds. (And a card that gives you only a small, "1 square" piece isn't much better.)

While the cards are divided into two decks ("easy" vs. "difficult" to complete), I think the designers should have made it so that every card in the "easy" deck awards you some critical bootstrapping piece. They did not -- and indeed, there are enough cards in the deck that feel like early "whammies" that the drafting row of four cards can actually fill up with them. Specifically, in a four-player game, it seems rather common that one player will get a whammy, while the other three get something better. Needless to say, that one player has never won the game (in my experience).

But like I said, the activity is still enjoyable. And the game is also brisk at 10 minutes per player (at most). So even if you're "the unlucky one" in the scenario I detailed, I think you can still have some fun filling cards -- and, more importantly for this position, not have the game drag on too long. Still, I think the game isn't reaching the full potential of its mechanisms; with stronger development, I think the experience could have been more even on the early turns, allowing players to always enjoy the core of the experience.

Yet I have enjoyed that core whenever I've played. And if someone suggested next game night, "want to play Project L?", my response would probably be, "sure." So... I think I'll give the game a B-. I'd say maybe some house rules could smooth out the experience, though the simple rules set the game has is also part of its appeal. Maybe you just have to accept Project L for what it is, or find a polyomino game that's more your speed.

Voyager Flashback: Unimatrix Zero

When Star Trek: The Next Generation went back to the Borg for a second season-ending cliffhanger, it felt like a case of diminishing returns after the superlative "The Best of Both Worlds." Star Trek: Voyager also used the Borg twice as a cliffhanger, first with "Scorpion," and then in season six with "Unimatrix Zero."

Seven of Nine is contacted in her "sleep" by a small group of Borg drones who have forged a mental oasis within the Borg collective, inside which they can exist as individuals. But the Borg Queen is aware of their "defect," and is determined to root them out. If Voyager intervenes, they may be able to protect people from the Borg -- or even fan the flames of a resistance movement. But if they do, they invite retaliation from the Queen.

This story wasn't actually conceived of as a Borg tale, or even as a cliffhanger. Writer Mike Sussman's core idea revolved around an away mission conducted virtually through the use of the holodeck. The Voyager writing staff wasn't quite into that... but wasn't quite not; Sussman was given the opportunity to revise and re-pitch the idea. He fully fleshed out two other takes on it, plus a third "backup" notion that the virtual reality could be buried inside the Borg collective. That's what the staff went for, elevating it to "season finale" status in the process. (Sussman later quipped: "William Goldman's pronouncement that in Hollywood 'nobody knows anything' is as true as it ever was. The story they bought, the idea that sold, was the one I had the least faith in.")

I will say, though, that the episode starts out on better footing than simply, "we're going back to the Borg well again." Voyager is not in direct conflict with the Borg here; they're just being good Star Trek humanitarians, and the urge to "do good" brings them into conflict. Seven of Nine connecting with an alternative and more human version of herself is interesting, and even the question of her romance with another drone, Axum, is intriguing.

But the further we get into the episode, the more it becomes "just another Borg story" -- most of all in the actual cliffhanger. Star Trek has already given us "the captain has been assimilated!" as a season finale, so what does this episode do to one-up it? It two-ups it, by having Janeway, Tuvok, and B'Elanna all assimilated. Sure, we're told that this time, it's "all part of the plan." Still... it feels "been there, done that."

Yet also, the breakneck pace of everything allows for several fun moments. We revisit the Doctor's skepticism about Vulcan mindmelds. We get fun banter between Janeway and the Borg Queen. ("How are things in the Collective?" "Perfect.") There's an oblique reference to the last season-spanning cliffhanger, as this time Janeway wants Chakotay to buy into her crazy scheme. They even destroy the Delta Flyer to show us just how high the stakes of this story are! (Though, a few episodes into season seven, they'll retroactively undermine these stakes with how easily they just build another one.)

The same blinding pace also papers over a few moments that don't work as well. What exactly did Tom Paris do to get promoted? (It would be nice if he "earned" it as clearly as he earned the original demotion.) Shouldn't the ex-Borg kids figure into this story somehow? Surely their first confrontation with the Borg since leaving the Collective should come with huge emotions hard for young children to handle. What's with the Borg Queen's weirdly specific threat to Harry Kim ("We'll see you soon, Harry.") when there's no particular past connection between them, and this moment isn't paid off in any way in part two?

Regardless of what you think about the story, good and/or bad, you have to acknowledge that the episode certainly gets a big budget treatment. Impressive visuals include a look at a massive Borg "city" in space, a new variation on the assembly of the Borg Queen, a bombed-out station on a spinning asteroid, and a new Borg cube design that looks all armored and burly. Plus, not all the fun effects are computer-generated. The severed Borg heads we see are great props. (One is actually a mold of Brent Spiner -- "Data's head," reused from The Next Generation.)

Other observations:

• At the start of the episode, when the Queen confronts a "malfunctioning" drone, he keeps repeating "I don't remember." I, not "we." Is this a slip in the dialogue, or a deliberate telegraphing that he's remembering Unimatrix Zero in his waking life now?

• Chakotay says the plan to help the "drones" of Unimatrix Zero violates half a dozen Starfleet protocols. Which protocols would those be, exactly? A group of people have specifically requested aid from a Starfleet vessel. In no way could the Prime Directive apply to the Borg. The Federation is essentially at war with their enemy. What's the issue?

Though I do find this episode a bit of a mixed bag, I think I ultimately enjoy the earlier, more original elements than I dislike the later, more "reheated Best of Both Worlds" elements. I give "Unimatrix Zero" a B.

And with that, season six of Star Trek: Voyager comes to a close. My picks for the top 5 episodes of the season are: "Tinker Tenor Doctor Spy," "Blink of an Eye," "Pathfinder," "Life Line," and "Unimatrix Zero." One final season of Voyager to go; next up, season seven!

Hurts Good

When it comes to Oscar-nominated Best Pictures from last year, I think I may have reached the end of the ones I'm actually interested in seeing. But there are still plenty of other 2023 movies I'd like to get to. One I recently checked off was You Hurt My Feelings.

Beth is a published memoir writer who has been working on her first novel. Her world is rocked when she overhears her husband Don confess to a friend that he doesn't actually like the book. Can she even stay in a relationship with someone who doesn't like her writing... and lies straight to her face about it? Meanwhile, Don is going through his own problems in his job as a therapist. He's beginning to suspect he's not actually good at that job.

This movie comes from writer-director Nicole Holofcener, and stars Julia Louis-Dreyfus as Beth and Tobias Menzies as Don. It's a tight little comedy-drama that in 90 brisk minutes manages to thoroughly explore the topic of "white lies" -- the lies we tell our loved ones, and the lies we tell ourselves. They're lies we tell with the best of intentions... but they can be taken as having anything but.

The particulars of the story may not be universal (though I'll bet there are more "aspiring novelists" among my blog readers than there are in the general population). Still, the simple topic of "white lies" is so completely universal that the movie really can't say anything profound that an audience doesn't already know. That's ok; the movie doesn't have to be revelatory. It can just be occasionally quite funny, and generally quite fun.

Julia Louis-Dreyfus is synonymous with comedy, but isn't known for many dramatic roles. Tobias Menzies has starred in a long list of dramas, and hasn't done much comedy. Together, the two make a great team. Each of them does well the thing you expect they'll do well. But they're also both great scene partners, able to bring out the more unexpected quality from the other. They're supported by a great supporting cast including Michaela Watkins, Arian Moayed, Owen Teague, and Zach Cherry. And for extra fun, real-life spouses Amber Tamblyn and David Cross play a feuding couple that Don is utterly failing to help in therapy.

I'd be surprised if You Hurt My Feelings made many people's "best of" lists for 2023 films. But I'd be equally surprised to hear of someone watching it and not enjoying it. It's a solid movie I'd rate a solid B.

Short But Sweet

Readers of my blog have enjoyed (or tolerated, or ignored) my many Star Trek reviews. In particular, I try to keep up with all the new Star Trek within a week of its release. But there was one release in 2023 that I have yet to write about -- a release that quite a few Star Trek fans don't even know of: Very Short Treks.

In September 2023, to mark the 50th anniversary of the original Star Trek: The Animated Series, five new cartoons were released. They were unusual in every conceivable way. They were, as the name promises, very short. Where the Short Treks from a few years ago ran about 10-15 minutes each, these Very Short Treks are all under 5 minutes. They're all deliberately done in the animation style of the original animated series (most lovingly recreated). They each focus on different time periods and different characters throughout the Star Trek franchise. They were made available not on the Paramount+ app, but on YouTube. And they are declared to be "anything but canon."

If you watch them all back to back, it's really like watching an episode of Saturday Night Live in which every sketch is about Star Trek. Each episode is basically one joke taken to the extreme, some funnier than others. All five really do have their moments, but in the way of an SNL sketch, some probably do go on a little too long.

They were released one at a time over the course of five weeks, so there is nominally an order to them. Still, that order hardly matters, so I'll quickly recount them in my personal order of preference. I won't say much about any of them, because to say more would be to spoil the joke -- the whole point of even watching them.

My favorite was "Worst Contact," a Next Generation cartoon centered on Riker and Crusher beaming down to make first contact with an alien race we quickly learn to be contenders for the most disgusting creatures in the known universe. (And the fact that it really is Jonathan Frakes and Gates McFadden doing the voices definitely makes it funnier.)

A close second was "Holograms All the Way Down," a hard one to discuss at all, but one that gives all kinds of quick one-off jokes and delightful cameos along the way.

"Holiday Party" showcases Ethan Peck in the most hilarious way, as Spock tries to entertain the crew with his understanding of a blooper reel.

"Skin a Cat" is a fun riff on the human-centric nature of Starfleet.

"Walk, Don't Run" is the capper of the whole affair, the episode that breaks the fourth wall to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the Animated Series... but it isn't exactly funny so much as celebratory.

If you haven't watched these Very Short Treks (or, indeed, even heard of their existence), you should take the time to check them out. It will barely take you 15 minutes... maybe more depending on the ads YouTube makes you watch first. Your favorites may be different from mine, but I think you'll find they're good for a few laughs, regardless of your taste. I give the collection a B+.

Ocean (Re)view

It's been quite some time since I last read a book by Neil Gaiman, and concluded that while I was deeply impressed with his writing, I was not as swept up in his storytelling. Since then, I've watched Sandman and Good Omens both, and gradually came to feel that indeed, I would try another Gaiman book at some point. I finally wound up doing that with The Ocean at the End of the Lane.

When a man returns to his childhood hometown, he begins to remember fantastical, extraordinary events from his youth: the time a dark supernatural creature gained access to the real world, and the strange neighbors next door helped protect him.

Though first published in 2013, The Ocean at the End of the Lane has enjoyed renewed attention in recent years thanks to a stage adaptation that has enjoyed multiple limited runs in the U.K. It's a sensible choice to adapt into a play; assuming you can figure out how to portray some of the more fantastical elements live before an audience, the story itself is quite tight. The book is almost more novella than novel, one of the quicker reads I've undertaken in some time.

For me, it reinforced everything I felt about reading American Gods. I am deeply impressed by Gaiman's way with words. I tend to like plot-driven books, and so long as the language is sufficiently descriptive, I don't usually care if it's especially "poetic." Gaiman is somehow able to craft multiple sentences on every page that make you sit up and take notice... while still having them feel natural and not overly fussed over. It's heightened without being precious, clever without seeming false.

But also... I didn't get half as caught up in the story as I did in the language. Even as a slim novella, there were times The Ocean at the End of the Lane felt a bit "stretched too far" to me, like a bedtime story that rightfully should have taken one bedtime expanded to a week of them. Certain elements felt strange to me, from the protagonist being nameless, to the flashback structure that didn't seem to be adding much in my eyes. The story wasn't bad, but it just wasn't nearly as engaging as the clever turns of phrase throughout.

I'd give The Ocean at the End of the Lane a B. I'm glad to have read it, but I'm not sure I'll be rushing for another Gaiman book any time soon. It's simply a bit outside my own personal tastes -- something other readers may well love a great deal, but for me best left as an occasional diversion.

Voyager Flashback: The Haunting of Deck Twelve

Star Trek may be a science fiction franchise at its heart, but it sometimes "tries on" other genres for an episode, to bring more tonal variety to the viewing experience. With "The Haunting of Deck Twelve," Voyager took a run at horror.

During a power drain aboard Voyager, Neelix watches over the ex-Borg children, passing the time with a scary story. But is his tale invented, or an account of something that happened months ago... and may still be happening?

No episode of network television is ever likely to scare you like a well-made horror movie can. It's not only a matter of limitations on extreme violence or suspense; the format of allowing for a commercial break every 8 or 9 minutes is going to release the tension too. All the same, "The Haunting of Deck Twelve" is a pretty solid attempt at a scary ghost story.

It's arguably weakest in the concept itself. Star Trek is encountering strange new life on a regular basis, sometimes even creatures that objectively should be terrifying. This life is so often greeted instead with wonderment that it feels a bit arbitrary that the life form in this episode should be regarded as scary. Also, the "was this real, or just a story?" ending does nothing for me -- it doesn't seem especially ambiguous, and I don't really think it would add anything to the atmosphere even if it was.

But if all that's the "tree," there are some very pretty "ornaments" adorning it. The dialogue is notably strong throughout this episode. Not only does Neelix (and actor Ethan Phillips) really lean into telling the "ghost story," the reactions of the children seem perfectly authentic for their age while being laced with fun Borg behavior. ("Snacks are irrelevant! Continue the story!") Plus, the scenes of Janeway trying to communicate with the alien life form (who responds with snippets of standard computer dialogue) really do approach both the creepiness and sense of danger that the whole episode is striving for.

Then there's the truly remarkable technical work here. The lighting throughout this episode is incredible; shadows reign as whole scenes are lit by lantern or flashlight, and flashing red alerts cast a sinister overtone on it all. Burn makeup applied in different moments to Paris and Tuvok looks really nasty. Even the musical score is allowed to be far creepier than "Star Trek standard."

Other observations:

• This episode begins immediately with creepy horror music as we see Neelix cooking. Yeah, Neelix's cooking is a horror show. (Later in the episode, he just leaves an open flame running for hours. Sure, it's a source of light in the darkness -- but it's completely destroying the pan he leaves on top.)

• There's a great early sight gag with a great visual effect: Janeway orders coffee, only to get a cylinder of liquid that immediately collapses, followed a moment later by an appearing mug.

• Tal Celes returns from an earlier episode, and continues to be "a bit of a screw-up" just as she was before.

• When Tuvok guides Neelix in meditation, he says to "imagine your lungs filled with light." Tuvok ought to be precise enough to recall that Neelix has only one lung.

I wish "The Haunting of Deck Twelve" could truly have been more scary. But I like what they tried for here, and I really appreciate the obvious efforts of the production team. I give it a B.

Putting the Audience Into the Story

One thing about the Oscars that you can count on above all else: their nominations will always recognize some movie that celebrates Hollywood and/or the art of making movies itself. This year, filling that role on the Best Picture slate is American Fiction.

Author Thelonious "Monk" Ellison has published several books, but his newest effort has failed to find a publisher because its themes aren't "black enough." And the way he sees it, all the latest critically praised books from black authors have been pandering nonsense. In a burst of reactionary anger, he writes the most outlandish, most cliche "black book" he can force down his own gag reflex long enough to type... and is thoroughly dismayed to discover he has a massive bestseller on his hands.

This isn't that purest of Oscar tropes, the "movie about making movies," but it IS a movie about the creative process. (Though in the story, a movie executive does come about to secure the film rights.) Because this movie takes such a dim view of the public's collective tastes, it feels nothing like Oscar's often self-congratulatory nominees. It's so off-brand, in fact, that you could well wonder how it got Oscar attention in the first place... until you consider the delightful "feedback loop" at play here.

American Fiction is based on a novel by Percival Everett, and that book's original title cuts much more to the heart of the major theme here: Erasure. The character of Monk (many times throughout the movie) voices frustration that huge swaths of the black experience are never spotlighted in popular fiction; there's only one thing the audience wants to read. And as the movie also makes abundantly clear, we're talking about the white audience, looking to tell itself it's "doing something" by "engaging" with the "important stories" that "must be told."

In that light, it's absolutely hilarious that the Oscars would nominate this "important story" for Best Picture. It might be the most committed meta-joke since Robert Downey Jr. recorded DVD commentary for Tropic Thunder in character. The joke even extends to the experience of watching the movie in public, with an audience: when something funny happens... is it OK to laugh? How loud is it OK to laugh? Make no mistake, American Fiction is, at many points, laugh out loud funny.

But in truth, the movie is not funny most of the time. And that's another key part of the wacky Escher staircase of its construction. The vast bulk of the film follows the life of Monk when he's not writing: all the "mundane generally," yet "monumentally important personally" parts of his world. In just under two hours, we see Monk have to deal with an aging parent, a rebellious sibling, money problems, dating concerns, and more. We go from the lows of a death in the family to the highs of a wedding. The stuff of life.

These aspects of the story are so common as to approach being dull. No profound insights on Alzheimer's disease are offered here, only minimal introspection on what it's like for a family member to come out of the closet later in life. It's all just part of the background texture, between the hilarious scenes about Monk's mounting frustration over his literary success. It's the stuff I frankly want less of in the movie, so I can have more of the funny stuff. And that's exactly the point: that I'm an audience member wanting to cut out all these less "entertaining" parts of life to get at the narrow thing I'm obsessed with. I totally see what you're doing here, movie. Real-world author Percival Everett, as adapted by writer-director Cord Jefferson, is putting me in the exact position of the audience that the fictional character Monk is railing against.

In that light, it's no surprise that Oscars would show love to an art-imitates-life ouroboros of social commentary such as this.

The terrific cast includes Sterling K. Brown, Tracee Ellis Ross, Issa Rae, Erika Alexander, and Keith David (among many others), and is led by Jeffrey Wright. Wright and Brown earned Oscar nominations for their performances here. Brown seems to have done it for his broad and boisterous portrayal amid a generally grounded company. Wright's work is generally more subtle, all pent-up frustration and eyerolls -- except in the moments when he must embody the persona of the "author" of Monk's book. Perhaps it was the dual nature of the performance that caught Oscar's eye; I certainly can't begrudge Wright some recognition in any case.

I give American Fiction a B+. It made me curious to read Erasure, on which it was based, as I've heard that it takes the joke even further. (Where the movie really just gives us the tiniest taste of what Monk's spitefully written novel is like, Erasure reportedly goes much further in juxtaposing that against the more realistic material.) This is one of those movies I feel like I might never even heard of without the Oscar bump, but I'm glad I did.

Voyager Flashback: Life Line

Over its many incarnations, Star Trek has been a vehicle for a notable number of its main actors to break into directing. But in more than 55 years, only two main Star Trek cast members have ever received a writing credit on an episode. One was Walter Koenig, for an episode of the animated series. The other was Robert Picardo, who received a "story by" credit for the Voyager episode "Life Line."

When the Doctor receives word that his creator, Lewis Zimmerman, is dying of a terminal illness, he persuades Captain Janeway to send him back to the Alpha Quadrant via the monthly data stream. He has grand visions of using his Delta Quadrant knowledge to cure a grateful Zimmerman, giving life to the very man who gave it to him. Instead, he finds a curmudgeon unwilling to be treated by an "inferior" program that's been outdated many times over by advancing technology. And it may be only Counselor Deanna Troi who can bridge the gap between them.

This episode is nominally another installment in the ongoing "Pathfinder" story line, though Barclay's role in the story seems both mandated and inessential. (It boils down to "he forged the connection to Voyager in the first place," and "he's always had a thing with holograms.") Really, this is exactly the sort of episode you'd imagine an actor would craft for themselves: a vanity project in which they'll play both of the two major roles in a grand "one-person show."

Thankfully though, the episode is also better than you'd probably imagine a pure "vanity project" to be. The emotional underpinnings are well-drawn and rather universal: one character starved for approval from a withholding "parent," the other wallowing in a great personal failure and unable to cope with a walking reminder of that failure. And while it may not be a good episode for Barclay, it's an unusually good one for Troi, who gets to do some actual counseling. (And be quite devious in her ultimate solution.)

Marina Sirtis had met Robert Picardo on the Star Trek convention circuit, and said she'd looked forward to working with him on this episode. But also, she'd later say that the technical demands of this story were extreme, due to her involvement in many effects shots combining two Robert Picardos. (Overall, the shots turned out great. Only a few have that "bad lighting" effect that often gives away a poor split-screening job.)

Perhaps the biggest shortcoming of the episode is that it feels like we're missing out on interesting stories back on Voyager. The events of "Life Line" unfold literally over a month, but in that span we get just one scene back on the ship, between Janeway and Chakotay, talking about how far they've come together since they were separate Starfleet and Maquis crews. That's good... but what is it like having Tom Paris as the ship's only Doctor for a month? Surely some kind of medical crisis takes place in that time; does Tom rise to the occasion, or have to live with losing someone "on his watch?" This episode was too full for a B-plot because it needed to make room for Barclay and Troi -- yet what a missed opportunity for one of the series' regular characters!

Other observations:

• Jupiter Station had been talked about on Star Trek for years, but here we see it for the first time. And it really looks spectacular. (We're getting into an era of Star Trek were some of the visual effects still hold up reasonably well even today.)
  

• I presume the shuttlecraft Dawkins is named for Richard Dawkins. Star Trek rarely does contemporary "shout-outs" to people like this. (See what happened on Star Trek: Discovery that one time they mentioned Elon Musk.)

• It's not been a couple of good years for Lewis Zimmerman since the last time we saw him. His disease has clearly aged him.

"Life Line" is a better episode than you'd expect from an actor writing something for themselves to play. Still, I wonder if it could have been better still had it found a bit more room for other characters to shine too. I give it a B+.