Lady Bird (2017, Greta Gerwig)

Lady Bird is a loving tribute to Sacramento, California, specifically growing up there as a teenager, from the perspective of a main character who hates Sacramento. Writer and director Gerwig opens the film with a travelogue of Sacramento streets and locations, a device she repeats sparingly (only significantly in the fantastic finale); Lady Bird is set in the fall of 2002; Gerwig and cinematographer Sam Levy shoot it in a grainy, succulent style. It looks seventies; only it’s very, very 2002 (and 2003). It’s particularly particular when Gerwig does an absurdist—but grounded—comedy aside.

It’s a gorgeous film, start to finish, and Gerwig’s enthralled with her subjects, whether setting, scenery, or character.

Despite an exceptionally on-point opening quote and irregular narration from lead Saoirse Ronan (and despite her being the Lady Bird of the title), the film is not a character study. Especially not of Ronan. Laurie Metcalf gets scenes from a character study, which ends up just making Gerwig’s big swing of a finale even more successful. Ronan is the daughter, Metcalf is the mom. Lady Bird is all about the two of them missing each other, hating each other, loving each other. From the start.

Before the Sacramento montage, which turns into a Catholic high school ground situation montage, Gerwig and Metcalf are on their way back from a college visit. They’re bonding over the Grapes of Wrath on audio cassette (2002), and then one of them says just the wrong thing, and the other one gets pissed off, and they argue and ruin their moment. As the film progresses, Gerwig’s going to reveal the depth of their emotionally rending relationship, layering in the details from conversations between the two, but also just comments from the supporting cast. Because Gerwig and Metcalf’s relationship is at the core of the family dynamics; dad Tracy Letts plays peacekeeper, while brother Jordan Rodrigues and his live-in girlfriend Marielle Scott watch from the sidelines. Everyone’s got a slightly different perspective on it, whereas Ronan just thinks Metcalf can’t stand her.

Which isn’t wrong.

The family drama is backdrop. In the foreground, it’s Ronan’s senior year of high school. She goes to a ritzy Catholic school on a scholarship. Her best friend is another scholarship kid, Beanie Feldstein. Their friendship is one of the film’s tectonic plates, and they’re fantastic together. Lois Smith is the nun in charge. She encourages Ronan to try theater, which leads to her meeting Lucas Hedges, her first love. Except then they all go to a Thanksgiving concert, and Ronan gets a look at moody boy Timothée Chalamet, and things start getting complicated.

Chalamet runs with an entirely different crowd—the rich and popular one—while being a tragically hip, soulful, Goth anarchist who sits through everything performatively reading A People’s History of the United States. Chalamet simultaneously looks twelve and thirty-eight; when he’s going, everything stops and stares—Ronan, Gerwig, the viewer. He’s captivating. And such a perfect little jackass.

But it’s not like Hedges doesn’t come with problems, and Ronan’s never met anyone like Chalamet. She’s not in college yet, where she’ll discover he’s just a trope, albeit with some substantial motivation with his own home life. Besides Ronan, the most family we get is from Feldstein and Hedges, but it’s there for all of the kids. Metcalf’s very aware she’s living working class in expensive circles, something she tries to impart to Ronan without success.

Things get worse when Letts loses his job, especially since it adds to the things he keeps from or downplays with Ronan. The character relationships are delicate and precise, with Gerwig and editor Nick Houy making all the right cuts.

The film’s technically superlative. Gerwig’s direction, Levy’s photography, Hoey’s cutting, Jon Brion’s music (though the soundtrack is more important, and—in what can only be described as a baller move—Gerwig has the stones to turn liking a Dave Matthews song into a plot point), and then April Napier’s costumes. But the film’s all about Ronan’s performance.

Watching Lady Bird is watching Ronan to see what she’s going to do next. The same thing happens with Metcalf, which is such an outstanding echo—but Ronan’s in the spotlight. Gerwig throws a lot at her but then—especially in the second act—skips significant dramatic moments, so Ronan doesn’t have a steady character development arc. Instead, Gerwig uses skip-aheads to adjust the narrative distance, finding a different angle to inspect Ronan’s performance. Ronan’s full-stop great, but Gerwig hinges the entire thing on her being able to do the development arc in summary; Gerwig’s incredibly trusting and fully rewarded for it.

Ronan, Metcalf, and Chalamet are the best performances, but there aren’t any slouches. Letts, Feldstein, and Hedges are all great too. Smith’s awesome, as is Stephen McKinley Henderson as the theater teacher priest.

Lady Bird’s one of a kind from its first story beat (in the prologue) and then, over and over, one of a kind. It’s even magical at times. Gerwig, Ronan, and Metcalf do incomparable work.

It’s so damn good.

This post is part of the Fake Teenager Festivus hosted by Rebecca of Taking Up Room.

Legends of Tomorrow (2016) s07e08 – Paranoid Android

Every once in a while, “Legends of Tomorrow” will do an episode reminding Caity Lotz isn’t just top-billed on the show or the captain (now co-captain) of the time ship; she’s also really the star. This episode is done from the perspective of the (presumably) android Lotz introduced in last episode’s cliffhanger. Rogue Waverider AI Gideon has created (presumably) android duplicates of the “Legends” to hunt down the human versions and stop them from screwing up history by helping people.

The episode’s got opening titles setting up the new, evil team, and then there are appearance changes as well. Lotz is bustier in her android version, and Nick Zano has hilariously big arms because evil Gideon has a sense of humor. The other big change is Adam Tsekhman doesn’t appear in the episode, but his character’s alien form does. And this version likes eating people more than Tsekhman’s.

The team feeds the alien the innocent people history demands they kill, and history demands they kill a lot of people. Their mission this episode is to clean up after the Chernobyl disaster. Not the actual disaster, but the disaster of the good Legends saving a bunch of people. So Shayan Sobhian and Lisseth Chavez delight in irradiating terrified people to death while Lotz wonders if good guys should act differently.

When Lotz’s revised mission is to force Soviet general Ego Mikitas to lie to the citizenry about the Chernobyl threat being averted, he directly challenges her self-identification as the hero. A little investigating later, Lotz realizes there’s something else going on, and she especially can’t trust team doctor Jes Macallan.

After the recap and the conclusion of the cliffhanger, the episode starts with Macallan mysteriously resurrecting dead teammates. Everyone notices it—Sobhian and Chavez don’t care thanks to bigger guns—and Lotz can convince Tala Ashe to think differently.

It gives Ashe something more to do? She and Lotz don’t get to team up much anymore, and Ashe has been playing a different version of her character for a couple seasons, so bringing her back to the norm and then doing a Stepford riff on it has a lot of layers for Ashe to work with. Plus, there’s a lot of humor to the new characterization; it’s a dark episode, so the gags help. Zano’s goofy arms are worth at least a smile every time (and they’ve got an excellent spoof commercial tying into another DC property).

The finale’s depressing and raises some questions about how time travel adventuring shows work in general—but for a done-in-one concept episode. Lotz gets to do a good arc.

Legends of Tomorrow (2016) s06e15 – The Fungus Amongus

“Legends” ends this season with a cast change-up—ten main characters were too many, so they’re reducing to eight. One of the goodbyes is more surprising than the other, though only one of them gets anywhere near the attention it deserves. The other receives a rush job. Can’t really get into details without spoiling. There’s also a little bit of next season set-up, but barely any. Certainly not like coming back to find you broke time or unleashed demons or aliens. It’s a mellow finish, which is appropriate because it’s a rollercoaster.

Last episode ended on three big cliffhangers. One of them turns out to be fine immediately. The other two get wrapped together in the solution, which has the team trying to save Earth from invading aliens by going into the future to find a not-yet-evil version of Raffi Barsoumian to help them. Meanwhile, they’re also trying to figure out how to help ailing Lisseth Chavez and recovering from Matt Ryan betraying the team to get his magic back.

So the episode’s got to find time to resolve evil Barsoumian turning off Earth’s “keep the aliens away” defense system, Chavez’s relationship with her newly rediscovered and alive in 1920s Texas mom Alexandra Castillo, Dominic Purcell’s relationship with babies mama Aliyah O’Brien, Ryan and Tala Ashe’s relationship, and Caity Lotz and Ava Sharpe’s nuptials.

Starting with Shayan Sobhian’s return to a broken time and spaceship, it’s pretty clear Ashe and Ryan aren’t going to get the emphasis. Ryan’s arc is in its epilogue stages, but for all the hard stuff for Ashe, the show just puts her in her room and closes the door. Even after she gets some attention, it’s so slight and so pointless a scene… they could’ve just left it out. It’s just too much going on at once, and I’m all of a sudden worried it means Ashe might be one of the next cast members to go.

Lotz and Macallan have some nice scenes together, with Adam Tsekhman and Nick Zano stepping up to help out with pre-wedding jitters. Since neither of them have arcs to resolve, they’re just support, and it’s an uncompleted nice. The way the plot shakes out, Sobhian goes from doing a bunch at the beginning of the episode to very little by the end. No arc for him either.

Barsoumian’s fantastic as the not-yet-evil version of himself (he’s just a really fun egomaniac to have around).

David Geddes’s direction is more middling than not, and when he does find some good insight into a scene, he’s got to rush through it. Just because it’s a time travel show doesn’t mean there’s not a set runtime. The episode could’ve used another ten minutes.

Some charming work from Olivia Swann for her making friends arc, though they hopefully give her better-looking magic powers by next season.

There’s also a really big, really sappy moment, and it works because it’s “Legends” and “Legends” always manages to find sincerity in its absurd, silly, epic contrivances. It’s a perfectly solid season finale. Outside Geddes’s direction, all my gripes are because the show just doesn’t have time and space to fully utilize its cast. There are worse problems to have.

And it’s the first time in ages we’re going into a new season with no idea what to expect. Maybe first time ever?

Legends of Tomorrow (2016) s06e03 – The Ex-Factor

If there’s a cohort who hears the Buzzcocks’ Ever Fallen in Love (With Someone You Shouldn't've) and think it’s a cover of the Fine Young Cannibals song until they remember the FYC song was the cover… I am in that cohort. The episode opens with Matt Ryan and Tala Ashe having a booty call (because they’re not really dating, no emotions, he’s a hellblazer, she’s an influencer, after all) and he plays her the song so he can talk about punk rock to her. It’s a very good scene, even before Shayan Sobhian (Ashe’s brother) has to come in to call them back to the time traveling space ship for a mission. Someone on the writing staff—Grainne Godfree and Tyron B. Carter get the credit—has some music thoughts for Ryan to spout and they’re good thoughts. Plus it’s a cute way of showing him trying to date, not just play grab ass.

The crisis this episode is an alien robot arriving in Sobhian and Ashe’s future and killing Ashe’s ex-boyfriend, the host of the only show keeping network TV alive, an “American Idol”-type thing with some Eurovision thrown in. Or maybe “Idol”’s gotten more elaborate since I last watched it (whatever happened to George Huff).

Anyway.

The Legends are able to get back to the future before the alien (voiced by Andrew Morgado, but whoever does the suit work deserves a credit too) kills the ex-boyfriend (Ryan Bell, who’s always in a helmet too, actually). The only way to defeat the alien is for Ashe to get into the competition, which just happens to coincide with her needing to reestablish her brand after her season-long “Legends” adventuring. She also decides to trot Ryan out as her new beau—a London street magician—while telling her mom (Mitra Lohrasb) it’s just a fling. Without having told Ryan she expressly thinks of him in those terms.

Drama.

And effective drama. Ryan and Ashe are really cute together. Nice scene with Lohrasb too. “Legends” does a particularly nice job finding the humanity in the fantastical this episode.

Meanwhile, Jes Macallan has captaining troubles because Dominic Purcell is in a snit over Caity Lotz still being gone and new team member Lisseth Chavez is counseling Macallan to confront Purcell. It’s an okay subplot, purely functional compared to the A plot.

Off on the unknown planet, Lotz and Adam Tsekhman are trying to survive armed pursuers (nice reveal and call back on them too) while Lotz suffers from some kind of alien infection. It’s a busy, good episode.

Even if Nick Zano’s still just around. Though he does get a nice Die Hard reference in. “Legends” doesn’t often get to do near future riffs for laughs, so handful of good “Taco Bell won the franchise wars”-esque gags are welcome.

Michael Hayes (1997) s01e11 – Retribution

In addition to the omnipresent Christmas theme, the episode also showcases a bunch of new second unit location shooting of New York—including, possibly, even David Caruso and guest star Helen Slater on location there. Maybe they filled in somewhere else. It’s fairly convincing, especially since every other time there’s a suggested street scene it doesn’t happen, instead cutting right to interiors.

The Christmas stuff—decorations everywhere, constant diegetic and non-diegetic sound—is a little much until the episode resolution, where it becomes a wonderful, reassuring, albeit depressing cushion for the action. It’s a different kind of episode—Gardner Stern gets solo writing credit—because for the first time, Caruso’s got an equal. Slater’s an assistant district attorney who he wants to swap cases with so he can get mob boss Seth Jaffe, but they have a dating history. We’ve rarely gotten to see Caruso as outwardly self-reflective as in this episode and even then… not to this degree. It initially seems like they’re spinning their wheels with Slater’s presence in the plot, but it really works out by the end.

The A plot is the Jaffe case, which has first Castulo Guerra wearing a wire, then Richard C. Sarafian. It’s a decent guest star turn for Sarafian. It’s not too deep a role, he’s playing a caricature (even after some character reveals), but it’s decent. Slater overshadows him—the episode’s got a bunch of guest stars, including Gregg Henry hanging out to talk Caruso’s permanent appointment to his U.S. Attorney job, which barely gets any attention—and it feels imbalanced until the end.

But the supporting regulars—Ruben Santiago-Hudson, Rebecca Rigg, Peter Outerbridge—they all do the A plot. The B plot is Hillary Danner’s ableist, classist arc about a wanna-be cult leader (Sherman Howard) who uses religious freedom to con women into prostitution. Sincerely held religious belief after all. It’s a bad subplot, however, because Stern’s script is shitty to the victims—Jenna Byrne and Michelle Beaudoin, who it presents as too stupid or too uneducated to realize Howard’s exploiting them. Part of the plot is Danner getting called on the classism, but it doesn’t add up to anything. Maybe there’s a disconnect between Stern’s script, Danner, and Fred Gerber’s direction, maybe it’s just a bad story arc.

Lots of good acting from Caruso, who’s on display—Slater is convinced there’s something behind the choir boy and seems to have the receipts, whereas everyone else in the show just gets the choir boy. Drawing attention to the lack of projected personality—the show even opens with Henry trying to get Caruso to make a statement on personal beliefs about abortion and gets shut down with a “it’s the law” (Caruso as old man Rorschach as Judge Dredd, though one assumes his “CSI: Miami” money keeps him having to work)—it just ends up showing, thanks to Slater’s subtle influence on their scenes, the humanity in the performance.

It’s good. The episode seems like a bit of a misfire throughout—none of the problems of a John Romano episode, but also not the heights of a Haggis or Anne Keanney one—but the end really delivers.

Hopefully they’re able to keep Slater around.

Michael Hayes (1997) s01e06 – Heroes

Paul Haggis has a co-writer credit on the script, which seems to mean—among other things—Hillary Danner is going to get some things to do and Ruben Santiago-Hudson’s going to be good because the writing for him is better. Santiago-Hudson has less to do than last episode, when the writing wasn’t Haggis and was bad, but he’s much better while doing the less. Though the scene where he teases David Caruso about going on a date is weird. Danner’s part is to go off, do work, find results, bring them to Caruso, which ends up being better than Rebecca Rigg, who just sits around with Caruso and spit-balls because she’s the only person smarter than him.

The episode’s a riff on Ransom (the remake not original) with dirtbag FBI agent (dirtbag even for FBI agent, also note how much they code him as working class) Larry Joshua maybe or maybe not framing mail carrier Brad William Henke for a kidnapping of a child. Henke says he rescued the kid on his route, Joshua says he grabbed him and let him go. Henke and his lawyer—a fantastic Amy Aquino—are suing for ten million; Caruso and company are stuck defending Joshua.

The episode doesn’t go full kidnapped child exploitative with the original case, instead contriving a reason to put Caruso’s nephew—Jimmy Galeota, who’s his regular medium grade annoying, nothing more, nothing less—in danger of a child predator. It also tries to show Caruso as the most progressive one in the office about Joshua being a bad cop, though if he’s guilty and Henke’s completely innocent and a real hero, it’s wrong Henke wants damages. Vindication fine; damages no. It’s also unclear what’s supposed to happen to Joshua other than Caruso not having to deal with him. The show’s maybe two steps away from being at least somewhat self-aware. There are a lot of “it was still the nineties” caveats, though it would’ve certainly been better on dirtbag FBI agents than TV would be for years to come. It’s pre-9/11, after all.

Galeota’s got a subplot about loan sharks showing up looking for dad David Cubitt, who shows up for a couple scenes for the first time in a while. Mary B. Ward’s got a couple too. Nothing much of consequence happens in either of them, except Caruso letting Cubitt commit three or four crimes in his effort to be a better bad. There’s a magical bad dad toxic masculinity scene where Cubitt implies Galeota’s pride in him is why he’s got to be a criminal and put he and Ward in danger from aforementioned loan sharks.

The script’s a little more sensational and less procedural than it ought to be—its issues are fundamental—but it’s a decent episode. Caruso’s quite good most of the time, especially in his reactions (somewhere the script’s also strong). Even if some of his reactions are reactionary. And Joshua’s a very effective antagonist guest star, which is more important than him being good in an impossible—for numerous reasons—part.

Michael Hayes (1997) s01e03 – True Blue

So, given the episode uses footage from the pilot—the pilot, not the “Prequel” episode they made after they brought on Paul Haggis to save the show, but the original, Haggis-less pilot—to kill off Dina Meyer, who was in stable condition after being shot last episode… it makes sense she’d be less than interested in coming back in that pilot do-over. Even though it turns out she and David Caruso were dating long enough for him to be her sole beneficiary on her life insurance—also, holy crap, it’s a Robert Musgrave cameo because someone on “Michael Hayes” loved Bottle Rocket, or so I’m telling myself.

Caruso spends the episode sad about Meyer’s death and talking around it with various cast members because he’s a soulful white man but he’s a man and he’s just going to stare off into space and then leave the room whenever anyone asks if he’s feeling okay. Caruso’s really good at it. He’s excellent the entire episode—a nice change from last time—even during expository dumps (so long as you can embrace the righteous white male savior) and the rest of the cast does a good job keeping pace. Except Ruben Santiago-Hudson, whose single expression is really getting in the way of his performance. Santiago-Hudson gets looped even when he really shouldn’t, like when wife Tembi Locke explains he can’t turn in dirty cop Julio Oscar Mechoso because Mechoso’s got a wife and three kids (just like they do).

We’ve already heard from the New York District Attorney Stanley Anderson (sadly not a visible Rudy analog) you can’t go after dirty cops because then all of the cases they perjured themselves in will get overturned and an occasional criminal will go free with all the people they framed and then what’ll you do; the episode does an excellent job laying out the nonsense excuses for police corruption, which is just the cops just robbing people—including stores—not murdering or raping anyone because even “liberal” Hollywood didn’t realize how it was always the worst.

The episode’s about Caruso having to take down a dirty precinct because D.A. Anderson too chummy with assistant police commissioner Dan Lauria to do anything about police corruption. While Lauria’s a fine cameo, the episode neglects to acknowledge they killed off the actual police commissioner last episode, who was also entirely corrupt so maybe the problem doesn’t start at the bottom. Former cop now U.S. Attorney investigator Santiago-Hudson goes to pal Mechoso for help, only to soon find out Mechoso’s not being truthful about his lack of involvement. Meanwhile, Caruso’s got to break the case while mourning for Meyer and dealing with his family troubles. Recently released ex-con brother David Cubitt still hasn’t gone to see wife Mary B. Ward or son Jimmy Galeota; Ward shows up at Caruso’s doorstep, expecting Cubitt to be there too (Cubitt’s crashing at Caruso’s apartment, which is far less ginormous than in the pilot episode). Only Cubitt’s not so she and Caruso hang out, going from water to wine to ginger ale.

Ward’s good this episode. She’s been shaky before and the character’s not great (Caruso’s back to telling her to take Cubitt back, after telling her to dump him in the pilot, but telling her to take him back in the pre-pilot, clearly Haggis is Team Take Back), but she and Caruso’s scenes are very well-acted, very well-timed. And episode director Fred Gerber gets how to shoot the actors to emphasize their performances, especially Caruso, who’s very restrained chewy. Chew the scenery with your mouth closed, David. It works out quite well and this episode’s easily the series best.

Not to say they should’ve made it the pilot but… who knows. Maybe.

Mechoso’s only okay as the cop. He ought to be better. But he does try. It doesn’t help Santiago-Hudson’s so flat in their scenes together.

Rebecca Rigg shows up for a scene to make jokes about sex workers with other female lawyer Hillary Danner—I’d forgotten nineties male-written feminism—she’s good in the scene but disappears once they decide the best way to crack the cast is toxic masculinity. Danner gets to do all of the legal work in the episode, spending all of it sitting in a conference room by herself. Not the best use of the only two workplace female regular (sorry, special guest stars because SAG chicanery), especially since Jodi Long gets a bunch of good material. She’s Caruso’s new assistant; she came with the promotion and quickly tires of his anti-blue blood decorating complaints.

There’s a very peculiar postscript bookend with the Meyer storyline—oh, that reused footage doesn’t have her talking so they don’t even credit her (because then they’d have to pay her)—giving the episode a nice, odd close, and some impromptu character development for Caruso.

It’s a little bumpy, but it’s a solid episode with some outstanding acting from Caruso.

Extras (2005) s01e04 – Les Dennis

The episode starts with Ricky Gervais visiting agent Stephen Merchant—who may or may not have a new hair cut, which may or may not be silly—and then they go off to a theater to get Gervais a proper acting job. Well, the genie in a production of “Aladdin.” But he’s got lines.

There’s a lot of jokes at Gervais’s expense about his weight and appearance. Not so much about his acting ability, which the show has until this point implied is shitty. They meet Les Dennis, who’s a British TV host and standup comic or something. Apparently it’s odd episodes where Gervais is trying to target non-British audiences, even ones where it’s UK-only.

I mean, when “Extras” aired in 2006 or whatever… there was barely even YouTube. How would you find out about Les Dennis? Left with the show’s impression of him he’s a very sad guy who’s dating a younger woman, Nicky Ladanowski, who’s going to take him for his money. He’s not funny anymore and he whines a lot. The episode is about fifteen minutes of him whining to Gervais, whose character has become downright cuddly by episode four. Gone are most of his previous obnoxious traits.

He does still make fun of Ashley Jensen for not being smart, but it’s pretty much just that one joke. The rest of the time he’s just listening to the whining. Meanwhile, Jensen—who doesn’t appear for so long into the episode I had started panicking she wouldn’t appear; the prospect of “Extras” without her is a daunting one—anyway, she’s got a subplot with Rebecca Gethings and Gerard Kelly. Gethings is one of the dancers, Kelly is her dad and the “Aladdin” producer. He’s gay—Gervais and Jensen are sure—but he’s got a daughter and they don’t understand.

Instead of it being he’s bi or something, it turns out he’s long in the closet with a suffering wife at home and so on. But, you know, it’s funny.

Because Jensen goes to a party at the house and very strange hijinks.

There’s a level of competency to the episode but it’s not very good. Even for “Extras.”

Extras (2005) s01e03 – Kate Winslet

I can’t imagine Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant had to take notes “Extras” but thankfully some little angel plopped between their shoulders and whispered the right things in their ears for some course correction.

No more is Ashley Jensen marriage and man hungry, now she’s got a regular man, John Kirk. So then Jensen’s subplot instead gets to be she’s not into talking dirty on the phone, which Kirk expects from his ladies, so of course she’s fretting about it because despite being a regular she’s got no character.

Neither does Ricky Gervais, so it’s not like the show’s playing favorites. Merchant’s agent is back. He’s got so little character that lack of character is part of the joke.

Merchant’s pretty funny though.

And Gervais.

Gervais and Merchant also seem to have realized by giving most of the extreme stuff to the guest star—in this episode, Kate Winslet—they get to make Gervais more sympathetic and the celebrity seem even less like a rational human being. Albeit a hilarious less than rational human being. Because Winslet’s fantastic. Just superb. She’s a foul-mouthed, foul-minded, racist bigot who doesn’t learn from any of her mistakes, which somehow makes her less than Gervais in the end.

There’s a subplot involving actress Charlotte Palmer, who Gervais is interested in… romantically. Gervais’s character having any romantic interests whatsoever is kind of new so… whatever. It’s funny. Especially since she’s a Catholic and he’s an atheist.

But then it turns out her sister, Francesca Martinez, has cerebral palsy, which means Gervais is of course going to make fun of her. To her sister. And it’s not going to go well.

The show plays a little loose with one of its punchlines, dragging it out for effect when it doesn’t make any sense as far as the character. Gervais has a pretty solid scene in a Catholic prayer group where they slowly realize he’s an unbeliever.

What’s weird about the atheism subplot is Gervais comes off as a prick about it. Gervais is, off-screen, a somewhat prominent atheist. It’s like he wanted to double-down on mansplained atheism or something.

Still. Really funny stuff. Good for easy, privileged belly laughs.

Extras (2005) s01e02 – Ross Kemp & Vinnie Jones

This episode introduces co-creator, co-writer, and co-director Stephen Merchant in an acting role, presumably a regular. He’s Ricky Gervais’s agent. Gervais is mad because he can get any parts whereas Merchant is mad Gervais can’t get any parts; no one wants Gervais is the idea. Certainly not on the movie he’s working on, a period piece starring Ross Kemp.

Who’s Ross Kemp? He’s a British TV action star, which is apparently a category of acting pursuit….

Gervais sucks up to Kemp, who’s fixated on his ability to beat up other men. He wants to be a real-life “hard man,” like Vinnie Jones, who was a footballer, and is filming a movie across the alley.

Shaun Pye, who I thought was the best thing in the show last episode for his thirty second opening scene, is back again with a lot more to do. And he’s definitely the best thing. Because Gervais’s character is too ill-defined when it comes to his experience of the absurdity around him. It initially appears he’s above the movie star nonsense, but then it seems like he’s abjectly credulous, which puts him below it, making it less about a commentary and more about positioning the show for laughs from punching up and down.

For example, Ashley Jensen’s subplot. She’s man-hungry once again and sets her sights on actor Raymond Coulthard. Their entire arc involves Jensen thinking she’s too stupid for posh Coulthard and Coulthard being the perfect guy… until just the right moment to wound Jensen the most. It’s a thing to do I guess. Not really a flex just… a waste of Jensen’s time and everyone else’s.

Coulthard played young Scrooge in Muppet Christmas Carol, in case you’re having trouble placing him.

It’s got some okay laughs but not very many. It’s nowhere near as funny as last episode, not even once Gervais fumbles his way into escalating tensions with Jones (on Kemp’s behalf).

Clearly the guest stars matter.