Hansan: Rising Dragon (2022, Kim Han-min)

About half of Hansan is a naval battle. The second half. The first half is a combination history lesson, period espionage and turgid war thriller, and naval warfare theory symposium. The film’s about Admiral Yi Sun-shin, who kicked the invading Japanese navy’s ass in the sixteenth century. Despite being in command, lots of folks questioned Yi, and then he also was trying new tactics and types of warships. Park Hae-il plays Yi. He’s almost indistinguishable from a wax sculpture; Yi was a pensive, reserved fellow, but Park plays him without any personality whatsoever. Not because Park’s bad, but because director and co-writer Kim Han-min doesn’t do character. Hansan’s utterly absent memorable characters, which is something else for a war movie.

It’s also fine because Hansan is a history lesson. There’s a compelling but narratively problematic prologue with Japanese admiral and general dick Byun Yo-Han inspecting a destroyed warship. The Korean navy has some kind of “turtle ship” with a Dragon head on it, which terrified the ship’s crew as it destroyed the vessel. Now, there have been numerous movies about mystery vessels; at least three James Bonds and maybe a Godzilla. Except there’s no mystery. It’s just Park’s latest idea, though he doesn’t like the dragon head.

Kim and co-writer Yun Hong-gi pull back on the narrative distance so incredibly far their characters lose all perspective. Despite Hansan’s first hour being about Byun wondering what Park’s going to do, while Byun’s allies give him shit and Park’s allies give him shit, and they both try to spy on one another, no one ever learns anything in the film. It’s a history movie with the cause and effect removed.

It also doesn’t matter because the second half is a thrilling naval war movie about the application of firepower on sea-going vessels. Hansan shows its hand in the first half; Park drills the Korean navy with the tactics he’s going to use in the second half. The movie shows off the shark first thing (relatively) but still gets plenty of mileage out of it in the battle. There are some surprises, of course, which unfold the same way as the rest of the film’s reveals. A character is alone, remembering a plot twist a few scenes before, completely changing the nature of their subplot. The film does it at least three times, possibly four, saving a major—but not—reveal for the finale.

But it all still works because Kim pulls off the sea battle. There are some land battles too, which he does okay with, but clearly, the thought went into the warships, and it shows.

The best performance is easily Byun, who gets to relish in unrestrained villainy while almost everyone else has to show some decorum. Kim Sung-kyu is good as an enemy prisoner who coincidentally encountered Park in the flashback. Park Ji-Jean has a fun part as the shipbuilder. Park’s okay; the movie doesn’t ask him to do anything, just stand there. Admittedly, there aren’t many options when you’re just supposed to be watching some quiet thinking guy quietly think.

The technicals are all solid. Han Hyun-gun and Lee Gang-here’s editing is a little impatient in parts—there’s a three or four-minute history lesson montage after the prologue, and it’s too hurried. After threatening dozens of characters, Hansan boils down to like six people before the sea battle. Kim and Yun get way too complicated. Once it settles into the espionage subplot, with actual players, it works much better.

But, again, doesn’t matter so long as the sea battle pays off. The movie starts promising a great sea battle, then delivers it. Along the way, there’s some good filmmaking, decent acting, and compelling history, if not character drama.

Hansan’s a qualified, impressive success.

Tomb of Dracula (1972) #27

Great art in this issue. Like, top five Gene Colan and Tom Palmer Tomb of Dracula so far. Not just the strange variety of things—seventies British romantic thriller, zombie vampire movie, Ray Harryhausen picture. It’s a lot, and it’s glorious.

Unfortunately, writer Marv Wolfman goes overboard with his religiously-tinged script. He started it last issue because it was about a guy finding some magic statue from his Yeshiva student son’s perspective. This issue it makes sense if you remember last issue, but then it turns into this weird “Co-Exist” thing with Wolfman lecturing Dracula for being bad in the second person. It’s not You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch, obviously, but also because Dr. Seuss wasn’t chastising the Grinch for not being churchy. Or, in this case, synagoguey.

But Dracula’s religious failings are the finale. First, we’ve got to resolve last issue’s cliffhanger, which had a still unseen new Bond villain dumping holy water on a caged Drac. Dracula escapes, of course, using two of his superpowers. Even with the nicely paced visuals from Colan, Wolfman plods through in the narration explaining how Dracula rolled a five so he could do the mist conversion.

Except, he’s just like misting out of a room. It doesn’t need to sound so hard.

I don’t think we actually find out how his escape resolves, either. It’s a mystery for next time and the Bond villain. Dracula comes to out by the highway just in time to intercept Yeshiva student David and his familiar, Shiela, who is low-key seducing David to get the magic stone tail away from him. Dracula assumed Shiela would tell David he was aiding in Dracula’s (actual) plan to conquer the universe with this Infinity Statue. Instead, they all bicker in the middle of the street, and Dracula sends a fire demon to scorch India.

Why India?

Dracula’s just a dick.

But it hits Taj, who’s moping around about still being on his endless subplot about visiting his wife and kid. He beats his wife. Not sure what he does to the kid. I think I remember, but no spoilers.

We also check in on Frank Drake, who’s down in Brazil, being a colonizing white guy. There’s a funny moment when Chastity the fixer gets off the plane and kisses Frank’s old rich pal hello, and the guy tells Frank he’s next. But no. They’re not going to be a throuple. Bummer.

Meanwhile, back in England, Rachel’s moping over Frank leaving her (not thinking he’s banging his way to South America), and Quincy has a new gadget.

It’s a packed issue; there are lots of varied scenes for Colan and Palmer to excel in rendering.

Just not a great script.

Hereditary (2018, Ari Aster)

For better or worse, once the film proper starts, Hereditary doesn’t have a single wasted moment. Every little thing is important in the end, whether it’s how dead grandma wanted favorite grandchild Milly Shapiro to be a boy or Toni Collette’s justified fears of hereditary schizophrenia. I mean, the title’s Hereditary and she’s got a first act monologue about her brother suffering when he was in high school. And, wait, isn’t Collette’s son, played by Alex Wolff, about the right age for a similar ailment?

Maybe it’s Hereditary.

There are three big plot “twists” in the film, but writer and director Aster wants everyone on the lookout for more. Colin Stetson’s music sets them up, scene after scene. When the film’s building through the first and second acts, it seems like it’s heading somewhere unexpected. By the third act, it’s clear the film’s heading exactly where it said it was heading and why would anyone get distracted by the red herrings, especially since they usually involve dad Gabriel Byrne being suspicious and Byrne’s a red herring himself.

But the red herrings aren’t wasted moments. They’re in the film to confuse both the characters and the audience. It seems to work on the characters, though they have help from Aster intentionally casting doubt on them, but once Hereditary is on the horror movie rails it gets on, it never deviates. The third act’s rote, duplicating story beats from other films in the same sub-genre. It also upends the regular cast, meaning Hereditary doesn’t give Collette a great role. She gives a great performance, but it’s not a great role.

The film opens with its only superfluous moment—an obituary for dead grandma, introducing the characters by name and some general ground situation stuff. Collette’s eulogy covers the same material, so it’s just for mood, only then not. It’s just there to be ominous, not figure into a late-second-act character thread, like everything else in the film. It also stands out because it’s not visual, and director Aster is all about the visuals. Collette’s an acclaimed miniaturist who makes scenes from her tragic, terrifying life as dioramas for wealthy New Yorkers. The film shot in Utah, but there’s no specific location mentioned (if there’s a Mormon subtext besides them being secret Satanists, it’s too subtle).

Anyway.

Aster does a great job transitioning between the doll house rooms and the actual rooms of the house, maintaining the same narrative distance and style throughout. Hereditary’s a great-looking film, with cinematographer Pawel Pogorzelski and Aster always gently implying the uncanny. While Stetson’s music hammers in the uncanny. Besides the music (and maybe Jennifer Lame and Lucian Johnstown’s cuts), the film’s pieces are all subtle. Brought together, they’re anvils.

So while Collette’s trying to reconnect with daughter Shapiro, she’s also got this weird relationship with Wolff, which gets explained somewhere in the second act, but by then, it’s a little too late. The film obscures the ground situation for later impact; it ought to be able to cover for it, thanks to the quality of the filmmaking and then Collette and Wolff being terrific, but then they’re stuck with Byrne.

Byrne’s fine. It’s the part. He’s got no chemistry with any of the family members. Aster writes him as detached and obtuse, but he’s actually doting. It’s a weird fail. Fixing Byrne’s part might fix the movie. It also might not.

Shapiro’s good. It’s a slightly less thankless part than Byrne’s, but only slightly. Ditto Ann Dowd as Collette’s new friend from grief anonymous.

Hereditary looks and sounds great, with seventy percent of a phenomenal Collette showcase, but it is very much what it is and not an iota more.

Elmer Gantry (1960, Richard Brooks)

Elmer Gantry is all about possibilities. Possibilities for the plot, for the performances, for the film. Director (and screenwriter) Brooks watches the film along with the audience, specifically the performances. Everyone’s just waiting to see what Burt Lancaster, Jean Simmons, and Shirley Jones are going to do next. Sometimes, Brooks emphasizes the performance with quick cuts—the first act has some spectacular sequences, with editor Marjorie Fowler, Brooks, and composer André Previn in divine sync—sometimes, he lets the camera sit. Perfectly lighted scene (courtesy John Alton) and Lancaster or Simmons monologuing.

Though it’s not all monologuing. Gantry’s got some wonderful banter sequences; the film’s practically designed for them.

Set in the 1920s, the film opens with Lancaster amusing a bunch of traveling salesmen. They meet up for Christmas every year because Lancaster knows where to find the best booze (Prohibition-time) and the best women (bored housewives). Lancaster’s holding court, telling dirty jokes, and having a great time; only then the Sisters of Mercy come in asking for a donation, and the heathens are shitty to them. So Lancaster does a sermon, surprising the bar (and helping him seduce a lady) with his seemingly devout religiosity. The scene establishes the character, that duality, and Lancaster’s exceptional way of essaying it.

The film will explore the contradictions in the appropriately lengthy second act, but first, it’s got to get Lancaster to church. Lancaster resists even as he sees posters for traveling tent revivalist Simmons alongside his own sales route. He ends up there one night out of boredom (and a busy housewife) and becomes immediately enraptured by Simmons. But Lancaster’s not her only admirer, though he’s the only one who’s planning to do anything about it. Both Arthur Kennedy and Dean Jagger revere Simmons. Jagger’s her business manager, a good Christian who thinks he’s enabling a prophet. Kennedy’s the atheist newspaperman tagging along with the tour.

Lancaster can’t give Simmons to give him the time of day—he’s too much of a smooth talker—until he seduces her band leader (Patti Page) and weasels his way along with them. But he still can’t convince Simmons he’s godly, except she doesn’t care, it turns out. She’s more than willing to put a smooth-talking bible thumper on stage if it gets butts in seats and pledge cards signed. There’s a business angle to it; after all, local churches pay Simmons and Jagger in advance to bring the revival to town.

We don’t find out about that side of things until around halfway through, when—thanks to Lancaster’s fire, brimstone, and sexy sermons—the local big city asks Simmons to bring her show to them. The film stays in the big city (Zenith, a recurring fictional city in novel author Sinclair Lewis’s work), which makes sense because it’s where Kennedy’s newspaper is based and Jones lives. Jones is an ex-lover of Lancaster’s with a very big, very sharp, very justified ax to grind. The film introduces her early, as Lancaster and Simmons start making news together, raising expectations for when she’ll figure into the main plot. Jones is exceptional.

So’s Simmons. Somehow, Simmons manages to give just as showy a performance as Lancaster (or Jones), but they’re absurdly extroverted, and she’s reserved. It’s Simmons’s revival, no matter what Lancaster or Jagger thinks. However, Lancaster and Jagger’s prickly relationship turns out to be one of the film’s sharpest, subtlest subplots. So good.

Kennedy’s good, too; he’s just not extraordinary. Lancaster, Simmons, and Jones all give these singular performances, while Jagger and Kennedy excel closer in character parts. Of course, Jagger and Kennedy’s characters are mostly reacting to the others, which also affects how they function and what they can do with the parts. The film’s practically overflowing with great performances; for instance, Page never gets enough.

All the technicals are excellent. Brooks’s direction is patient, enthusiastic, and reserved. He never rushes a scene or a delivery. He gives Lancaster and Simmons time for their preaching; the film’s about these characters’ relationship with religion, internal and external, and Brooks wants to showcase it. Done wrong, it’d be anti-climactic; Gantry doesn’t do it wrong, quite the opposite.

Alton’s photography, Fowler’s cuts, Previn’s music, all superb. Dorothy Jeakins’s costumes too. Lots of character development in the changing outfits, sometimes subtle, sometimes not.

Lancaster and Simmons are the whole show. Brooks and his crew are just trying to create the optimal narrative distance on Lancaster, specifically on his experiences with Simmons. Even when she’s not around, when it’s Lancaster and Jagger, Kennedy, or Jones, Simmons’s presence is always felt. She’s the show; they’re all spectators, except Lancaster wants to be on stage too. Kennedy and Lancaster have a great friendship throughout, two cynics on different paths.

As far as who’s better, Lancaster or Simmons, it depends on the scene. Though we get to know Lancaster better through the film, whereas Simmons gets to keep some secrets, which makes her performance inherently more complicated. They’re both so damn good. And then Jones. So damn good.

The whole picture. So damn good.

Dan Dare (2007) #5

Writer Garth Ennis has a good issue with this Dan Dare, but artist Gary Erskine seems to be struggling to keep up. The issue downshifts the series a bit, with Dan and newly appointed companion Ms. Christian butting heads with the Royal Space Navy or whatever they’re called. Back on Earth, Home Secretary and former companion Jocelyn is getting a briefing. Lots of talking heads, which Ennis and Erskine have been executing successfully to this point. But, here, Erskine just seems to fall apart. He’s got the composition but not the pacing, and something’s off with his eyes, but only on the ladies (the Home Secretary and Ms. Christian), which is bad since they’re the protagonists.

There’s some awesome space stuff. Most of it’s too hurried, but Erskine does an excellent double-page spread of the Royal Space Navy. Cracking stuff. But even with Dan’s subplot, when he goes off on an ill-advised (by the stuffed shirt admirals, anyway) solo mission, Erskine gets in some okay (rushed) pages before he loses the thread again. The whole issue seems like it’s off-kilter like Erskine stumbled and never regained his footing. He cracks on with a confused but effective finish, but damn.

Otherwise, it’s an excellent issue. Ennis works character development on Jocelyn, Ms. Christian, and Dan before doing a military operation, but a Silver Age comic book’s military operation. It’s a bridging issue for everyone, even the Mekon and his lackey Prime Minister when we check in on them. Bridging issues tend to be a little redundant; done well, it’s character development (as here) in addition to efficient plotting. Ennis has two issues to go; presumably, all the pieces are set after this one.

I really hope Erskine turns it around on the art. I want Dare to be an unqualified success. Iffy art on a bridging issue is one thing; a flubbed finale is another.

My Life Is Murder (2019) s03e10 – Killer Fashion

Killer Fashion is a peculiar episode. It’s a peculiar season finale, but it’s also just weird. It’s more about its guest stars than a season finale ought to be, and then there’s the whole fashion angle. Lucy Lawless and Ebony Vagulans are both obsessed with the fashion world, though Lawless won’t admit it. Other than “My Life Is Murder” having delightful costumes (the pastels are presumably because New Zealand loves life because they’re New Zealand), fashion hasn’t been a character trait. All they needed to do was have a scene with Lawless and Vagulans watching a fashion show and eating sourdough, but no, it’s just this previously unexplored, shared trait.

And it’s often delightful. They’re investigating the unexplained death of a fashion model at world-famous designer Mark Mitchinson’s latest show. Lawless bonds with forty-something but still got it fashion model Simone Kessell, while Vagulans pals around with make-up artist Jodie Rimmer and model Bella Rakete. They’re on the case because Rakete is playing cop Rawiri Jobe’s sister, and he doesn’t want someone killing her too.

Martin Henderson shows up because it’s the season finale, and there’s some slight resolution to his season-long character arc. But then they actually put off integrating Henderson into the main ensemble, which again includes Tatum Warren-Ngata, who does nothing this episode but hang out at Joseph Naufahu’s coffee shop. The episode’s all about Lawless and Kessell hanging out—the dead model was Kessell’s direct competition—and Lawless oscillating between suspecting Kessell and just having a wild time with a famous person.

But there’s nothing for Lawless this episode other than showing the guest star a good time. There’s some season finale celebrating, but there’s no character development or even the hint at any. And the mystery’s complicated but straightforward; there are like four red herrings before they get to the end, with Lawless and Vagulans trading suspects like baseball cards.

If the episode spotlights anyone, it’s Kessell, which is incredibly generous, but—again—so odd. It’s like they’re walking the season finale, which is too bad, given the outstanding mysteries they’ve had elsewhere in the season.

Still, okay episode; pretty fun.

Werewolf by Night (1972) #24

I’m losing my resolve for Werewolf by Night. I was mostly prepared for Don Perlin—there aren’t any good panels this issue, but there are some where inker Vince Colletta adds so many lines they compensate for whatever was there before. It works with the villain, a Jekyll and Hyde-type scientist who maybe can cure Jack’s monthly visitor. It’s only a few months until sister Lissa turns eighteen and gets the curse, too, presumably.

Lissa has been about to turn eighteen for a dozen issues; I think she was actually closer back around issue ten. Like it was imminent. But nothing’s guaranteed in Werewolf by Night except doing the same thing repeatedly, albeit with some whitewashing.

This issue opens with Jack’s landlady kicking him out. He’s wrecked the apartment three times in superhero fights, and the building owner has had enough. The way the owner’s mysterious makes me wonder if there will be a reveal. Curious enough to stick with the book? To see if Moon Knight owns Jack’s building? No.

But Jack then goes to live with Buck, who’s been up all night replacing the window Wolfman Jack jumped through last issue. Buck’s off the hook for killing the disfigured actor turned spree killer (with Jack whining in his monologue Buck killed him with the bullet meant to kill Wolfman Jack, but to save Jack’s life; no, he never hears himself). Jack lived with Buck in Werewolf by Night #1. Maybe even back in Marvel Spotlight. Three or four regular writers ago. And now we’re back, two dozen issues later.

The problem isn’t even writer Doug Moench doing old arcs on repeat; it’s Moench’s writing itself. He’s exceptionally verbose, which wasn’t terrible when he was doing Jack as pulpy narrator, but he’s just doing Jack as whiny bro. He’s not racist, which is an improvement over a while ago, but it’s a very low bar.

The series only goes another nineteen issues, plus or minus a Giant-Size, but nineteen bad comics is a lot of bad comics. Like, Moench’s worse at naming villains than Gerry Conway. He’s as bad as prequel trilogy George Lucas.

There’s just no point.

Enola Holmes 2 (2022, Harry Bradbeer)

Enola Holmes 2 runs a long two hours and nine minutes, but the movie actually leaves a bunch on the table. For example, antagonist David Thewlis has history with both Sherlock (Henry Cavill) and Mama Holmes (Helena Bonham Carter), seemingly separately, but the film never gets into it. Thewlis is phoning it in, gloriously biting off scenery in giant chunks; he can do this part—and well—effortlessly, which is good because director Bradbeer’s not great with actors.

Everyone in Holmes 2 is solid, however. Millie Bobby Brown is a fine lead, except whenever Bradbeer doesn’t know what to do, he has her wink at the camera or break the fourth wall. It’s cute—but for the first and most of the second act, Brown could just be narrating the adventure straight. She opens the film narrating, and there’s always something; why not just go all the way?

Cavill’s effortlessly charming and more than willing to make room for his younger costars, to the point he’s just taking up space. He’s constantly around in this one like they wanted to make him work for the sequel bucks, but they don’t give him anything to do. The film reveals a bunch about Enola Holmes universe versions of Sherlock Holmes mainstays, but mostly just as gags or Easter eggs. It’s awkward world-building.

Louis Partridge is also back as Brown’s love interest, a young lord trying to fight the good fight against the blue blood stuffed shirts. Partridge never really gets anything to do in the movie. He takes a while to show up, then is sort of around, but also not. He’s perfectly good, and he and Brown get some fine teamwork moments, along with romantic ones, but he should’ve been in the movie more. Or less.

Just like Bonham Carter and Susan Wokoma. Wokoma shows up out of nowhere in the late second act like she wasn’t going to be in the movie, but then they needed a combination action and heist sequence, so suddenly Cavill brings her in. Except when she shows up next, it’s with Bonham Carter, and Cavill’s detached from that whole sequence. It’s like the supporting cast is tagging in and out. Got to keep them around, even if they won’t have anything to do until—presumably—Enola Holmes 3D.

The film kicks off with an affable but uninformative recap of the first film. Netflix is assuming you’re binging both pictures. Since the first movie, Brown has gone into business for herself but not seen Partridge, Cavill, or Bonham Carter much. She’s going it alone. And she’s going out of business, right up until adorable street urchin Serrana Su-Ling Bliss shows up at her door looking for her missing sister. Bliss and her friends are matchstick girls, and it certainly seems possible they’ve stumbled into the rich British people killing poor ones for profit.

Ah, capitalism.

It ends up being a semi-true story, which screenwriter Jack Thorne (with story co-credit to director Bradbeer) does an atrocious job integrating. Too many important things in Holmes seem shoe-horned in, with Bradbeer assuming Brown making a joke or Cavill grinning will cover. The film’s a case study in charm only getting you so far.

Decent, thankless supporting turn from Adele Akhtar as Enola Universe Lestrade, and an excellent bit performance from Sharon Duncan-Brewster as another unappreciated Victorian woman. Hopefully, they’ll bring Duncan-Brewster back too.

If Enola 2 had been twenty minutes shorter, it probably would be more successful. The mystery investigation goes on about ten minutes too long. But then it also needs another twenty minutes in the first act, probably. Thorne and Bradbeer don’t flop, but they need more substance for the cast. Not everyone can chaw sets like Thewlis.

Catwoman (2002) #3

There’s a lot of great Darwyn Cooke “good girl” art in this issue as Selina goes undercover to find the john who’s been killing all the girls, which I suppose could kick off an interesting discussion of how male gaze works in a non-realistic styles like Cooke’s. But it doesn’t make for a great issue. There’s a terrific opening with Selina visiting Leslie Thompkins, but after a dream sequence for Leslie.

Like three pages. Beautiful art, with Cooke doing a Will Eisner Spirit nod. It has absolutely nothing to do with the comic itself. It’s just padding. Selina’s visiting Leslie to get Oracle’s digits; Batman doesn’t give Selina his white friends’ phone numbers. It’d be something if they wrote Batman—or even could imagine writing him—as more thoughtful than a sixteen-year-old rich kid.

Oracle comes through—off-page—and Selina and Holly go undercover to interrogate the used car dealer who sold the killer his car. Selina gets to wear the costume; Holly gets to walk the Cooke “good girl” runway. Again, great art. But not a particularly good mystery development. It’s a fun, mischievous scene but has to basically hold up the comic because afterward, it’s just a chase scene.

The bad guy gets past Selina, and to pass the level in the video game, she has to search three different warehouses before he kills again. Writer Ed Brubaker intercuts Selina’s mission with the killer and his date flirting and being sweet when really we know he’s going to disintegrate the girl.

The art’s neat, and some of the dialogue’s excellent; plus, Leslie and Selina are cool pals, but it’s like half an issue with clutter to make up the rest. It’s Darwyn Cooke art, so the issue’s definitely worthwhile; it’s just not a great installment in the arc. Brubaker doesn’t have much narration from Selina this issue either. The whole thing’s a little off.

But very pretty.

My Life Is Murder (2019) s03e09 – Staying Mum

This season of “My Life Is Murder” has had several outstanding mysteries; with one episode to go, I’m pretty confident giving the prize to this episode, though. The script, credited to Kate McDermott, effortlessly keeps the show’s almost ensemble cast involved (except for Joe Naufahu, who’s occasionally around) while unfolding a windy murder investigation. The episode does make a feint at character development for lead Lucy Lawless, leading to maybe Ebony Vagulans best performance on the show outside a suspense sequence, but it doesn’t go anywhere.

Maybe next episode.

Probably not.

Anyway.

The mystery this episode is dead male nanny Alex Walker. Ostensibly beloved by all, he went out into a thunderstorm and got struck by lightning. Only copper Rawiri Jobe (who’s got to be upset he’s gone nowhere as a character this season) doesn’t think so. Lawless is in a great position to investigate because her newly revealed (to audience and characters alike) niece, Nell Fisher, goes to the same fancy private school as Walker’s charge.

There’s the current set of parents, Melanie Vallejo and Jared Turner—both great—the jealous former boss, Tania Nolan, and the rival nanny, Sinead Fitzgerald. Some of the episode’s success in casting these supporting parts well. All of them are good, and most have a character arc playing out through their various reveals.

But then having Fisher at the school lets the episode bring in Tatum Warren-Ngata as her fake nanny, while Vagulans can concentrate on computer hacking and that unexpected character development arc. Of course, because that arc doesn’t go anywhere with Lawless, Vagulans gets stalled out too, but it’s a lovely way of integrating the sidekicks.

Playing up the ensemble aspect is Lawless, Fisher, and Fisher’s dad, Martin Henderson, having their family thing going on too.

It’s just a supremely well-balanced episode with exceedingly solid direction from Mike Smith. I’ve been hopeful for at least another season just in general, but I wasn’t expecting to want it for the procedurals. The show’s stalled out on Lawless’s character development; while this episode acknowledges matters unresolved, it still doesn’t do anything about them. They can probably get away with it for one more ten episode season.

Otherwise, they’ll have to address some things. Like what happened with Lawless and Jobe’s season two, “are they or aren’t they” becoming a season three “did they ever?”

But they can easily get through another season with just these excellent mysteries and delightful ensemble. And Lawless, of course.