Doom Patrol (2019) s04e09 – Immortimas Patrol

Immortimas Patrol gives away some of the bit during the opening titles when the “Doom Patrol” theme gets an acapella cover version. Last episode ended with big bad Charity Cervantes getting pissed off. The town was celebrating the Doom Patrol for rescuing her, not her for being rescued, and she did something. This episode, we find out what she did was turn the world into a musical.

All of the series regulars get to participate in the musical in some capacity. Brendan Fraser and Matt Bomer get to show up in person since Fraser’s not a Robotman in Cervantes’s alternated reality. Bomer gets to be a square-jawed hunk worthy of beau Sendhil Ramamurthy. Fraser sticks around the whole episode, even doing a duet with Riley Shanahan (as Robotman—so Fraser is double-voicing), while Bomer’s one of the first to get back to normal.

In his case, normal meaning back into the full face bandages and Matthew Zuk taking over. Zuk and Ramamurthy have a great dance number. Do Bomer and Ramamurthy have a great duet? It’s complicated.

The episode’s a good entry in the very special musical episode every show does these days, and a couple of the songs are catchy, but it is somewhat slight. The whole thing builds to Cervantes coming over for Immortimas Day dinner; even though she hates the Doom Patrol, she desperately wants their approval, too. Once she arrives, there’s a great “I am Spartacus” scene at the table as people decide whether they want to stay or not.

But it’s not a musical number.

And outside Madeline Zima deciding opposite Diane Guerrero because Guerrero doesn’t like her back (romantically), there’s not much relevant character development from the episode. The characters get their appropriate numbers—Zima and Guerrero have a duet about liking each other even if they haven’t shared, Fraser gets to sing about the joys of the flesh, Joivan Wade gets a big Disney hero song number complete with spinning and raised arms, April Bowlby and Michelle Gomez sing about their very complicated friendship, Bomer and Ramamurthy have the singing that goes along with the dance number, and Abi Monterey gets to sing about belonging somewhere.

Everyone’s perfectly happy in the fake reality until Gomez wakes up and decides she doesn’t want to sing all her dialogue. So, she starts bringing the team back online so they can confront Cervantes.

There’s some excellent acting from Gomez this episode, and Zima does a fantastic job. Plus, it’s fun to see Fraser and Guerrero get to goof in real time.

The musical trappings sometimes seem more like a flex than a necessity. But only sometimes; other times, the episode does indeed show why the musical numbers are precisely what’s needed.

Maybe if the ending had landed with more oomph, or if director Omar Madha had a different touch, it’d be more successful. It’s a good episode with some solid highlights, but it never lets loose. “Doom Patrol” doesn’t often feel too short; Immortimas feels too short.

Grantchester (2014) s08e02

Maybe the first three-quarters of this episode is the best “Grantchester”’s been in ages. And “Grantchester”’s a perfectly good show, they just really figure out a way to knock it out of the park here. Last episode laid out the new normal—vicar Tom Brittney married to Charlotte Ritchie, playing stepdad to Isaac Highams—and then saw Brittney run down some pedestrian while out zooming on his motorcycle.

This episode’s got Robson Green trying to protect Brittney best he can, with sidekick Bradley Hall low-key trying to sabotage in an effort to suck up to big boss Michael D. Xavier. Last season, Brittney had an indiscreet relationship with Xavier’s fiancée, breaking up the engagement, and Xavier’s holding a grudge.

So when it seems like Brittney was going nearly eighty miles an hour when he hit the guy, Xavier’s thrilled, Green’s mortified, and Brittney’s screwed.

Pretty quickly the episode gins up a way to get Al Weaver into the story (in this case, into the story means into a jail cell to talk to Brittney). Behind Green’s back, Hall goes to roust Weaver’s halfway house. Along with giving Weaver and Brittney a great scene, the subplot gets Hall in deep water with office secretary Melissa Johns, who doesn’t like it when he’s shitty.

For a relatively substantial portion of the episode, it feels like a backdoor pilot for Hall and Johns to carry. If Johns is around, Hall can not come off like a weasel, and there’s a charm to it. Unfortunately, even as Hall gets a bit more character development this episode, it doesn’t appear he’s any less of a weasel than he seems. He’s just a different kind of weasel.

When the episode’s at its best, Green is trying to do what he sees as his job—solving a crime, whereas Hall and Xavier just want to get a result. Juxtaposed is Brittney’s guilt arc, which has some major high points but then fizzles for the conclusion. During that fizzle, Green’s investigation arc is similarly bubbly. The episode throws in one too many twists.

Excellent performances from Weaver, Green, and Brittney this episode. Tessa Peake-Jones, Kacey Ainsworth, and Nick Brimble are all super-peripheral, none really getting much to do other than remind everyone they’re regulars, and also Highams’s got supervision. Ritchie does a voice spot, which may or may not end up being more filler.

But most of the episode’s outstanding, and the rest’s pretty good.

The Marvels (2023, Nia DaCosta)

The Marvels is a sequel to Captain Marvel, starring Brie Larson, which came out four years before but takes place thirty years before. It’s also a sequel to the TV shows “WandaVision,” which introduced Teyonah Parris (though her character appeared as a little kid in Captain), and “Ms. Marvel,” which introduced Iman Vellani as a teenage hero who idolizes Larson.

Through celeritous convenience and contrivance, Marvels gets the three together, along with Samuel L. Jackson (who also starred in Captain, CGI de-aged, and is back here in a combination comedic relief and exposition provider role) and Vellani’s family, also coming back from the “Ms. Marvel” show. Marvels spotlights mom Zenobia Shroff and dad Mohan Kapur the most, but does give older brother Saagar Shaikh some great comedic bits. Shaikh’s wife is mysteriously absent like they filmed Marvels before all of “Ms.”

It doesn’t matter, of course, because the point’s getting the trio together. Fangirl but still professional superhero Vellani, government scientific investigator turned reluctant metahuman Harris, and intergalactic world-saver (and world destroyer) Larson, who’s not really aware of how her celebrity works on her home planet. Thanks to villain Zawe Ashton, Vellani, Harris, and Larson find their powers intertwined; if one uses their power, they change locations—across the galaxy—with another. While the film does an excellent montage sequence with the three learning how to use the “Marvels leaping” to their advantage (the movie doesn’t make that joke; I made that joke, blame me), it never explains the rules.

Marvels opens with Ashton and her sidekick Daniel Ings (who supposedly has a name in the movie, but I don’t think so) finding an ancient space artifact—a bangle like the one from “Ms. Marvel,” now streaming exclusively on Disney Plus. It never occurred to Ashton one of the bangles would end up on a desolate planetoid, and the other would just be on planet Earth in Pakistan. One of Marvels’s subtlest recurring plot points is how little people look at things from the other person’s perspective. See, Ashton might not have been in Captain Marvel, but only because they didn’t know they would need to have a character mad at Larson for what she did at the end of that movie.

Thirty years ago in story time. In between, there was half the universe disappearing and coming back, which features into Parris’s backstory but no one else’s. It presumably would have also affected Ashton’s scheme. Ashton’s scheme is unclear for a while. When we find out exactly what she’s got planned, it’s maybe Marvels’s biggest plot contrivance. The film runs a nimble 105 minutes, with profoundly precise cutting by Catrin Hedström and Evan Schiff. Director DaCosta likes doing some nice sci-fi establishing shots, too—lots of space superhero grandeur on display, but she never holds the shot too long. Marvels is clearly on a schedule, and DaCosta doesn’t miss any stops.

Things get a little clunky in the second act, which has Jackson dealing with a grim and gritty tribbles “Star Trek” episode. At the same time, Parris and Vellani discover Larson’s space adventures are a lot weirder (and more “Doctor Who,” frankly) than they were expecting.

But then the third act’s a powerhouse. Even as the film ignores plot thread after plot thread—I’m not sure any of the outstanding ones get resolved, the movie instead just floors it, relying on Vellani, Parris, and Larson to get the finale through. And it works just right, even though the film’s got three cameos from elsewhere in the franchise, with one deep—but modern—cut and then another deep and surprising one. They’re all effective—though only the surprising one doesn’t require franchise literacy. It can stand alone, whereas the first two only make sense if you’re up on the lore.

But there’s not much lore otherwise. It’s like the screenwriters—director DaCosta, Megan McDonnell, and Elissa Karasik—all realized there’s just no way to do a straight sequel to Captain Marvel so they might as well treat it as a legacy crossover sequel. With Vellani’s family playing such a large part (besides them, the only other regular characters are Leila Farzad and Abraham Popoola as Jackson’s flunkies), it feels a little like a legacy sequel, a little like “Ms. Marvel Goes to the Movies,” and then… well, no, just those two things. It does feel like there were cuts, whether filmed material or just cut from the script and while some of them were undoubtedly delightful, Marvels works better as a leaner picture.

Larson, Parris, and Vellani are trying to save the universe, after all; they’re going to be in a rush to get it done.

Vellani’s delightful, Larson and Parris are both good—Larson gets the least to do of the three; she’s the stoic one. Jackson’s always funny, even when he’s stretching the bit; Shroff, Kapur, and Shaikh are great. Ashton’s fine. Could she be better? Sure. Does the movie need her to be better? Nah. She’s a good foil, but not too good of one because it’s not about anyone and their nemesis; it’s about people and their… friends, family, country-people? None of the terms really work, but it’s about people who care about one another working together (which makes Jackson’s secret space military organization even weirder since they’re just a bunch of lovable nerds).

Anyway.

The Marvels is a great time.

Also, if you like cats, you’ll have an even better one.

Unless you want the thread resolved, of course. No time for tidying up here, just warping ahead.

Sorry, wrong franchise.

All Creatures Great and Small (2020) s04e02 – Carpe Diem

Okay, now “All Creatures” feels like it’s back. Carpe Diem is a regular, episodic entry, with Samuel West hiring a professional bookkeeper to get the practice ship-shape—did he hire Neve McIntosh because he was flirting with her at a dance and not able to ask her out so instead he offered her a job? Unclear. Something’s going on with West this episode; he’s definitely missing his brother (will Callum Woodhouse be back this season? I refuse to Google), but we never find out how exactly. It’s not in the episode’s purview.

The A-plot involves McIntosh coming in and messing with the practice so they can make more money. The B-plot is West and aging farmer James Bolam’s aging cow. There’s also some family planning discussions for Nicholas Ralph and Rachel Shenton, who spend the episode oscillating between West and McIntosh, sometimes participating, sometimes just observing. West’s got a lot of hijinks, whether it’s bulling through the china shop, mooning over McIntosh, or ignoring Ralph’s complaints about her.

Ralph and Shenton get a vet case of their own—Paul Bazely’s adorable ferret—except Bazely’s broke (and an immigrant) and McIntosh hates rodents and the rodent-appearing, and the separate dramas all weave nicely together. The script, credited to Helen Raynor, is gentle to a fault. The show really doesn’t want to talk about the war, with multiple characters assuming it’ll all be over soon. So there’s a big air of dread hanging over it, which the script doesn’t acknowledge.

The show even cuts away when Anna Madeley and Will Thorp go out to the movies (the show was able to get permission to use Hollywood movie posters, but not the British movie the characters are discussing.

Director Hay gets in some very nice landscape shots and the elaborate slapstick (serious slapstick) opening.

It’s a very good episode. Though it bothers me I’m more scared about the war than some of the characters.

Doom Patrol (2019) s04e08 – Fame Patrol

And this, ladies, germs, zombie butts, is what is called an hour of television. Or, well, forty-two minutes of television. “Doom Patrol” once again knocks it out of the park, but then the ball ricochets and pings around the ballpark, going out of the park and then pinging back in and out until the cliffhanger.

The perfectly done cliffhanger.

Fame Patrol gives the characters an impossible episode to endure. While the supervillain either did or didn’t come back in the form of Charity Cervantes, last seen a few seasons ago when Michelle Gomez first showed up (I think in a season finale tag, right?), the Doom Patrol’s got more personal problems going on.

Everybody hates Robotman (Brendan Fraser speaks, Riley Shanahan steps) for giving up his immortality because Cervantes’s cult told him he could see his grandson grow up. Mind you… the episode opens revealing Cervantes has killed everyone but the Doom Patrol in her awakening, including her cult. It turns out to be a great episode for Fraser and Abi Monterey, who’s gotten back to her surrogate family when they need her the most—they’re all rapidly aging and will be dying soon.

She takes on Fraser as a project while her new friend, played by Madeline Zima, tries to help Diane Guerrero. Guerrero is experiencing rapid aging while being unable to connect with her other personalities. She’s also upset about the world ending, maybe. It’s an excellent episode for Zima and Guerrero, too. There’s potentially a pin in it for later, but I’m hopeful “Doom Patrol” won’t do the characters dirty.

While Zima doesn’t share too much with Guerrero, she’s experiencing profound loss on a couple levels similar to Guerrero’s. The aforementioned dead cultists included her father, a space warlord (Zima’s a space cop), and her creator (Lima’s a comic book character). She’s very confused and in a lot of pain. The episode gives Zima and Monterey a lot of space to flex in their performances, even though they’re the supporting players in their scenes. The script—credit to Tamara Becher-Wilkinson—is simply exquisite in the character interactions. Perfect music from Kevin Kiner and Clint Mansell, especially for the Zima and Guerrero scenes.

Matt Bomer (voicing, with Matthew Zuk doing the bodywork) goes off to his room to mope—after making the very deft observation, Cervantes seems more like one of the team than their nemesis—only for Sendhil Ramamurthy to show up, looking for help in his disintegrated state. It’s a nice plot arc; not quite the weight of the other two, but nice. Ramamurthy and Bomer are great together. Or Ramamurthy and Zak. Or is it just Ramamurthy because he’s acting opposite someone who’s not responding? Or do Zuk and Shanahan read the lines while they’re shooting?

Anyway.

The last grouping is April Bowlby, Gomez, and Joivan Wade. Like I said, if Wade doesn’t have a dedicated guest star to play with, they don’t have anywhere to put him. Part of the plot will involve his (magically induced) obliviousness. He and Bowlby do get a nice scene together where she gets to play mentor again.

But Bowlby, Gomez, and Wade have the broadest plot strokes. Bowlby can’t stand Cervantes and wants to nuke her from orbit before she has a chance to time monster out on everyone (again). Gomez thinks there’s something weird about Cervantes no one else can see. And then Wade’s just along for the ride.

It ends up being, of course, a fantastic ride.

Excellent direction from Bosede Williams. “Doom Patrol”’s not slowing down. I can’t wait to see what’s next.

Maybe some man-eating zombie butts. One can only hope.

Theater Camp (2023, Molly Gordon and Nick Lieberman)

Theater Camp is a mockumentary, but doesn’t really need to be one. The occasional title cards set some of the stage (no pun), but the documentarians don’t just not exist in the film—their subjects don’t even acknowledge they’re being filmed. And it’s about a bunch of theater kids and theater adults—and social media influencers—so you’d think someone would notice the camera crew. Co-directors Gordon and Lieberman (who “co-wrote” with cast members Noah Galvin and Ben Platt—Camp’s improvised) get some mileage out of the format in the first act, then don’t know what to do with it until the epilogue.

Mockumentaries can always do something in the epilogue if they want, thanks to the format.

But in the first act, the format lets the film introduce Amy Sedaris as an impassioned, perpetually broke theater summer camp owner who ends up in a coma during her spring fundraising tour. The film establishes her sidekick, played by Caroline Aaron, who will always be around in the movie but never have much to do except drop the occasional great one-liner. If there’s a scene about Aaron taking over the camp (or not), it didn’t make the final cut. Instead, Sedaris’s non-artistic son, played by Jimmy Tatro, takes over the camp. He’s a social media influencer planning to document his unexpected boss status.

He never documents his unexpected boss status. It’s like Camp forgot the bit until the third act. His influencer stuff comes back when evil rival camp owner—venture capitalist Patti Harrison—starts sniffing around the camp and flatters Tatro by watching his videos. Tatro was never into the arts, and, you know, content creators aren’t actually creative, so he doesn’t understand all the weird theater kids. Or the camp counselors. He only really bonds with Galvin, who plays the “third generation” stage manager; Galvin secretly has performing talent but has never exercised it.

Tatro’s plot is initially about running the camp into the ground because he’s a dope, only to have to try to save it once he makes one mistake too many. Along the way, he hires a new counselor (Ayo Edebiri), who the film pretends will matter and doesn’t. Thanks to the (intentionally) narratively choppy second act, Camp never has to do character arcs, which would be strange anyway since it focuses on the adults, but it should be about the kids. Question mark.

What’s so impressive about the film—thanks to editor Jon Philpot—is how well the thing flows. Even when the title cards are handling the audience, Camp’s got a great pace.

Besides Tatro’s camp owner in trouble plot, the main story is about Gordon and Pratt’s original musical. The camp does multiple musicals every summer (it’s so low budget we don’t see the others because they couldn’t afford the songs), and Gordon and Pratt’s is always the centerpiece. They grew up as besties going to camp together, only to become bestie camp counselors. Gordon’s been in love with Pratt forever, except he’s gay, which doesn’t matter since most characters are sans-sexual. The movie avoids going there at all, which is fine, but also, why bring it up in Gordon’s character’s ground situation? Especially given some of the later reveals, which the movie could’ve baked in early instead of dropping late for actual dramatic effect and not twists.

Anyway.

The adult cast is all okay or better. Since the movie makes fun of Gordon and Pratt so much, it’s hard to really “care” about them, especially when their actual emotional scenes are played for comedy. With them as the punchlines. It’s not unintentional, either. These sequences are usually beautifully cut by editor Philpot. It also limits their performances.

Gordon’s better than Pratt, though. Pratt seems to be protesting the idea he should have any meaningful scenes whatsoever, even when other characters try to drag them out of him. Ha ha, he’s a narcissist. So’s Tatro, and he’s a delight; easily the best adult performance.

Great, small turns from Nathan Lee Graham and Owen Thiele.

Galvin’s good, Aaron’s good, Edebiri’s good. The latter two just don’t get anything to do, and Galvin’s got to wait for the movie to gin up a way to get him involved. Sure, it does a great job with it, but it’s way late.

But what makes Theater Camp more than a competent, middling outing is the kids. In no particular order, Bailee Bonick, Donovan Colan, Luke Islam, Alexander Bello, Vivienne Sachs, Alan Kim, and Kyndra Sanchez hold it together. Jack Sobolewski, too, but—like Galvin—we’ve got to wait for him. The kids all have phenomenal timing, especially opposite the adults. It creates this lovely contrast in acting styles. The kids are eccentric but real; their counselors are eccentric but for a movie. None of the kids really get a showcase part. Sort of Sanchez, sort of Colan, but not really. They’re the Theater Camp players, but they’re essential.

Cinematographer Nate Hurtsellers does a nice job lighting (though the fake Super 8 is pointless unless it’s supposed to be a filter gimmick; though no one’s got a phone in Camp, not really). Gordon and Lieberman’s direction is good, which is sometimes disconcerting because the direction works, but the documentary conceit does not.

To be sure, Theater Camp could be better. But it’s still very impressive.

Grantchester (2014) s08e01

The mystery in “Grantchester”’s season premiere seems a tad simple. The episode’s got lots of foreshadowing—whether it’s the victim (warning: the episode kills a teenager, which is harsh), the suspects, or the season setup. I’d forgotten “Grantchester” saves the biggest twist for last, and the finale takes the proverbial cake away from the other established season subplots. Until the final scene, it seems like we’re in for a season involving Robson Green’s impending (and forced) retirement, newlyweds Tom Brittney and Charlotte Ritchie expecting a baby while Brittney learns to dad with step-son Isaac Highams, and then Al Weaver’s trying to start-up a halfway house amid NIMBY neighbors.

All of those subplots will doubtlessly continue, but none of them are going to be the main season plotline. It even ties into this episode’s mystery a little: the dangers of motorbiking.

While the people of “Grantchester” aren’t sure about having a bunch of young people, boys, girls, Blacks, whites, in motorcycle clubs, Brittney’s sure it’s a good idea. Local mechanic Shaun Dingwall agrees, turning his garage into a de facto clubhouse where the “gang” can fix up their bikes and hang out. In addition to Dingwall’s son, Elliot Norman, there’s Black (and deaf) orphan Jayden Reid, as well as “girls can bike too” Antonia Rita. Except, we’ll find out as the episode progresses, Rita’s about the only one who thinks girls should be allowed to bike. Especially in competition.

Everyone in “Grantchester” seems vaguely progressive until Rita talks about how Dingwall tells the kids how women competing would “lessen the sport.” More competition leads to less sportsmanship. Wokka wokka.

Brittney’s put together a charity race for the teen biker gangs, and—for a moment—the townspeople embrace the youth and their interests. It all goes wrong after the murder, of course, and the cliffhanger isn’t going to help things; but for a brief moment, Brittney’s convinced everyone to show some grace.

Though he’s having his own problems being graceful at home. Ritchie’s sensible atheism really doesn’t jibe with Brittney’s Anglicanism, especially not when she makes more sense than him.

The show’s gone from having, basically, a cast of four—Green, Weaver, vicarage housekeeper Tessa Peake-Jones (who doesn’t have a season subplot yet), and the hot young vicar (Brittney’s officially put in more time than James Norton at this point)—to twelve-ish. The show infamously doesn’t name Green and Kacey Ainsworth’s kids (other than Skye Lucia Degruttola, who got a subplot a few seasons ago), but they’re still around. With everyone paired off, there are plus ones, there are kids–so, big regular cast.

So big the initial season setup doesn’t even have time for a mystery.

The episode starts sturdy, a little predictable, sure, but in a victory lap sort of way. Then, the cliffhanger writes a big dramatic check for things going forward. This season’s not just going to be Green bucking against dipshit boss Michael D. Xavier and Brittney taking forever to listen to advice.

Can’t wait.

Though I’m sure Brittney will also take forever to listen to anyone else.

Doom Patrol (2019) s04e07 – Orqwith Patrol

Aka Thank Goodness Patrol. Sorry, just need to acknowledge how everyone was pretty sure MAX was going to delete the rest of “Doom Patrol” off the hard drive without dropping them.

Things pick back up where we left off–the team is in over their heads (again), and the end of the world is neigh (again), and they’re all too mad at each other to save it (again). It’s a glorious return, finally giving Joivan Wade a chance to air all of his character’s grievances in a strong scene. He’s teamed up with childhood friend grown-up Elijah R. Reed; they’re trapped in Orqwith with everyone else, but Reed doesn’t have any superpowers. Good thing drawings become reality in Orqwith.

Out of nowhere (well, almost), Wade blows up at Reed about how much being a superhero sucked, even if it led to Wade being a lousy friend too. Wade—sans cybernetics so long now you have to wonder if they’re coming back—doesn’t have exterior conflicts similar to his teammates, but he and Reed’s arc this episode perfectly showcases why he’s “Doom Patrol” material. It also shows how awkwardly the show is balanced. If it weren’t for Reed, Wade wouldn’t have anyone to team up with.

Diane Guerrero, Brendan Fraser (talking his part), and Riley Shanahan (walking the rest of that part) are also prisoners in Orqwith, except they’re on a different mission. Oh, right. Wade and Reed are trying to rescue Matt Bomer (voice) and Matthew Zuk (bandages). The episode’s got no room for Bomer’s moping, so they turn his rescue into a running joke. But the main stuff is Guerrero and Fraser bickering their way through newly revealed villain Daniel Annone’s Bond villain exposition dump, complete with an alternate-reality digression.

Guerrero needs Fraser to stay strong, except the only thing Fraser’s guaranteed not to do is stay strong.

Meanwhile, back on Earth, Michelle Gomez and April Bowlby are trying to remain calm while enraged at one another. It’s a character relationship episode for them, and it’s so good. Gomez wants to make things work so they can save their friends—she’s on a redemption kick, after all—but Bowlby wants to focus on how Gomez is redemption arcing because she wronged the team. Bowlby especially.

And they have too much to drink.

The cliffhanger finale’s got a deep-cut reveal, and—like the best “Patrol”—is tragically human.

Bosede Williams’s direction is good. Orqwith isn’t the most visually interesting alternate dimension, but Williams finds the drama in all the scenes. She gives all the actors a little more time, which really pays off. Some great Clint Mansell and Kevin Kiner music, as usual; the great thing about “Patrol”’s score is how the show often uses it as a contrast. So this episode, there’s a contrasting energy to Gomez and Bowlby’s arguments. It doesn’t worry about matching the style; rather the intensity of the moments.

So good.

“Doom Patrol”’s so, so good. Thank goodness it survived.

All Creatures Great and Small (2020) s04e01 – Broodiness

“All Creatures” returns with an Easter special. Because the show’s changed so much since last time—Callum Woodhouse is off in World War II (it’s 1940)—the episode’s less the start of a new season than a special, which is fine, just a peculiar start. Since last episode (a Christmas special, so just a handful of months later), the veterinary clinic has found a new normal, well integrating Rachel Shenton into the house as de facto bookkeeper. Things seem to be going well (enough), but it’s hard to tell because Samuel West has given up tobacco for Lent, and it’s almost over, and he’s jonesing for a pipe.

Meanwhile, Nicolas Ralph seems to be taking to co-ownership in the practice well, while Anna Madeley’s ready to get on with her life and divorce her long-absent husband. It’s unclear where things stand with Madeley and just pal Will Thorp; despite her getting a relatively big setup for her divorce subplot (which includes an intentional public shaming stage), the episode doesn’t reveal much about her experience. “All Creatures” continues to keep reveals about Madeley for special occasions. Not even Easter is special enough.

The episode starts with Ralph taking a leisurely drive back to town from country, with “Creatures” showing off the beauty of the English countryside, then almost hitting little kid Billy Hickey and his dog. Hickey’s going to be Ralph’s nemesis for the episode, a poor kid who Ralph profiles and decides is mistreating the dog, even as Shenton tells him to give Hickey a chance and not to be a dipshit. West’s got his own medical case about a ewe who rejects her lamb, and how West’s forgetting he’s not the only one going through things, and farmer Paul Hilton might have it rough, too.

Back at the house, Madeley and Shenton share a subplot about medical supplies while mostly playing support to the boys. West will give Madeley some support in writing her divorce statement, but it’s for the eventual benefit of his character arc. Shenton and West get some great scenes together as part of the episode’s antics. “All Creatures” spends the first quarter of the episode showing how life has changed since war began—men are just gone, with the town trying to continue in their absence—and it’s all very serious. Hickey’s a kid in an unsafe, if not dangerous, situation, and so his plot has a lot of serious.

Broodiness compensates with downright sitcom antics around the house, with West as the butt of the joke. It works out, especially juxtaposed against West’s subplot about the farmer. “All Creatures” manages to do a deft contrast of West and Ralph’s cases for the episode and how the duty of care relates to each. It’s a very nice, eventually rending morale.

“All Creatures” gives no indication of what it’ll be doing this season, but this first episode does reassure wherever they go, it’ll be more than worth the trip.

Speaking of… the drone shots. Not just when Ralph or West is driving around town, but for some of the establishing shots; they got themselves a drone, and they know how to use it. Nice directing from Andy Hay, great photography from Sara Deane.

It’s so nice to have “Creatures” back.

Polite Society (2023, Nida Manzoor)

Polite Society is the story of British-Pakistani teenager Priya Kansara. She goes to an expensive London private girl’s school, where she’s got two best buds—Seraphina Beh and Ella Bruccoleri—and a nemesis—Shona Babayemi. Complicating matters is Kansara’s passion for martial arts stunt work. It leads to lots of fighting, which quickly reveals Polite’s major conceit: Kansara’s living in a PG-13 martial arts action movie. Writer and director Manzoor makes no attempt to rationalize this reality, which is otherwise close to our own. It’s just a universe where everyone’s ready to kick ass. And has to kick ass, because there are supervillains.

Not costumed supervillains, just rich people supervillains (see, it’s like reality). They’re not trying to take over the world or, I don’t know, create a clone army, but there’s something very suss about them and Kansara certainly isn’t going to let her big sister, Ritu Arya, marry into that world.

Polite’s opening titles and most of the first act juxtapose Kansara and Arya. Kansara’s trying not to get into too much trouble while still having some self-respect in high school, while Arya’s licking her wounds as an art school dropout. While Kansara’s sure she’ll be a stuntwoman and Arya will be an artist, everyone else assumes Kansara will be a doctor and Arya will be a trophy wife. Including mom Shobu Kapoor, who’s trying to keep up with the Joneses in her friend circle, and unintentionally puts Arya into the crosshairs of queen bee Nimra Bucha.

Bucha’s trying to marry off super-stud son Akshay Khanna, who might charm all the moms and aunts, but Kansara sees right though to the mama’s boy underneath. Unfortunately… Arya doesn’t agree and, after a single date montage, she falls for dreamy Khanna. Act two kicks off with Kansara enlisting Beh and Bruccoleri to help her sabotage the relationship. She’s worried Arya’s not in her right mind (the art school thing) and everyone’s taking advantage of a setback to make her conform. Dad Jeff Mirza actually sums it up for Kansara during a great montage sequence.

But then things get worse—Arya’s buying into the fantasy (Khanna wants to whisk her off to Singapore to live in tropical luxury) while Kansara’s pretty sure it’s actually a nightmare. And then it turns out she’s literally not wrong.

It’s too bad Manzoor didn’t find some way to keep Arya active once she’d detached from Kansara’s plot line, but otherwise, Polite’s basically perfect. It’s funny, it’s got a fount of heart, it’s so smart. Manzoor's a perfectly solid director; she and cinematographer Ashley Connor shoot Panavision ratio, which is fine for the prosumer action movie vibe, but Manzoor’s rarely filling the frame. There’s an iffy effect or two, but they always come with some winning character moment, so it doesn’t matter and sometimes lends to the scene. Manzoor does a phenomenal job using the composite to showcase the performances. And Connor’s photography is good. Great is Robbie Morrison’s cutting. The editing is incredible.

Maybe the neatest thing about Manzoor’s script is the way she foreshadows the very distinct acts; Polite’s got different chapter titles, riffing on Jane Austen novels, and fighting games, but it’s also got major act breaks. They stand out because Kansara, Beh, and especially Bruccoleri examine everything regarding acts. When Kansara’s griping about Arya dating Khanna, Bruccoleri, and Beh explain, it’s just because Arya’s in the second act of her comeback. When it becomes clear the third act isn’t an art show but a wedding, they again discuss it in those terms. Manzoor’s got a really nice way of setting it up, and the self-awareness tips the hand a bit. Foreshadowing for later, more significant moves.

And the other thing about losing track of Arya (sorry, forgot where we were headed; Polite’s so well put-together it’s easy to get lost admiring)—it just means more Kansara, who does get to graduate to a more dangerous nemesis in Bucha, but also gets to have a big character development arc missing Arya.

All the performances are good or better. Kansara’s a charismatic, funny lead, Ayra’s got depth even as she Stepfords (which is such a weird and nice detail—the movie makes that comparison in scene), Khanna's a charming science stud and mama’s boy, and Bucha’s a fantastic baddie. Then the supporting cast—Kapoor, Mirza, Beh, Bruccoleri, and Babayemi—are all delightful. The more Polite asks of its cast, the more they deliver.

Polite Society’s badass.