The Jericho Mile (1979, Michael Mann)

The Jericho Mile plays a little like a truncated mini-series. The first hour of the film introduces the characters, the ground situation, and does an entire arc for six characters. There’s a minimal subplot about prison psychologist Geoffrey Lewis trying to convince seemingly super-fast-running inmate Peter Strauss to open up in therapy. Lewis then gets the idea to have Strauss run against some college runners; the subplot involves warden Billy Green Bush and track coach Ed Lauter, but it’s all just set up for the second half.

The first hour is all about Strauss and best friend Richard Lawson. Strauss is the quiet, obsessively working out white guy, Lawson’s the affable Black guy. They stay away from the Nazis (Brian Dennehy, Burton Gilliam, and Richard Moll), and they stay away from the Black Liberation Army guys (Roger E. Mosley and Ji-Tu Cumbuka). They’re just friends, and it’s a beautiful arc. Both Lawson and Strauss get epic monologues, with director Mann showcasing the performances. Mile’s technically uneven for a TV movie—there’s clearly different film stock, and the sound’s terrible—but Mann, Strauss, and Lawson were definitely approaching the film as an acting showcase. It’s almost stagy, but never in a bad way, just Mann spotlighting the acting well.

Lawson needs to bump up a visit from his wife and newborn baby, and only Dennehy can get it done, which pisses off Mosley. It feels like a short story, but immediately after, there’s this sports movie about Strauss’s Olympic possibilities uniting the prison behind him. The first hour directly informs the second half—Strauss’s reasons for trying to compete, for example—but there’s also all the ground situation to build on. Mann opens the film with a five-minute montage of life on the prison yard. Mosley’s pumping iron, Dennehy’s holding court, Miguel Pinero and the Mexican gang are playing handball, Lawson and Strauss are running. There’s this great prison newspaper sports page narrative device to kick off Lewis’s interest in Strauss (only not really because Strauss was on his radar already). It goes nowhere in the second half, which is weird, but Mile runs out of track in the third act, so it’s not a surprise….

Anyway.

The wide-reaching character development arcs in the second half all build off material Mann subtly baked into the film. Mile’s exceptionally well-directed. It’s a shame Rexford L. Metz’s photography and, especially, Michael Hilkene and James E. Webb’s sound isn’t better because it ought to be a sublime viewing experience. Mann directs it; budget and circumstance don’t allow it.

The problems all come as the big race approaches. It’s a sports movie, after all, there’s got to be a big race. There are some existing problems, like Bush busting ass as the warden and never being good enough. The part’s written like a reformer with political ambitions, but Bush plays it without motivation and then makes some bombastic choices like he ought to be wearing a novelty hat. In one shot, Lauter appears just as confused by Bush’s behavior as I am.

And some of the performances aren’t as good as the best performances—Strauss and Lawson—but the movie’s all about showcasing those performances. Mosley, Dennehy, and Lewis are all solid as the main supporting players, but their parts are limited. They exist to react to Strauss and other events, to provide fisticuffs to delay the race.

Everything’s going along just fine until they need to resolve Strauss’s therapy arc, which they create right at the end of the second—it’s running and then, wham, great Strauss monologue—and then resolve two or three scenes later after the race. It’s so fast, and there’s none of the promised character development for lifer Strauss going outside the prison. Instead, it’s just the second part of his therapy breakthrough monologue.

It feels like they had three one-hour episodes; they kept the first one, then cut the second two hours down to one. The second act’s bumpy at times too, but Mann nails the sports movie, so it’s okay. But the finale’s just too messy.

Excellent performance from Strauss, a really good one from Lawson. Strauss gets better writing (script credit to Mann and Patrick J. Nolan).

Jimmie Haskell’s music is interesting. About a quarter is great, a quarter is bad, another quarter is just there, and then the rest is Sympathy for the Devil but in a non-copyright violation-y way. The movie’s theme music is Sympathy for the Devil, which is on the nose considering it’s about a sympathetic prison inmate.

Still. Jericho Mile’s beautifully directed, with some phenomenal performances and strong writing.

This post is part of the World Television Day Blogathon hosted by Sally of 18 Cinema Lane.

The Orville (2017) s03e10 – Future Unknown

“The Orville” has had great episodes and middling episodes this season; there haven’t been any bad episodes, and there haven’t been any just good episodes. It’s entirely fantastic, or it’s relatively bland (for “Orville,” so still well-written, acted, directed, just not a zowee).

This season finale—and current series finale—is a wowee zowee; directed by and script credited to creator and top-billed Seth MacFarlane, it does a phenomenal job of wrapping up the season’s outstanding story arcs (which in turn are the show’s outstanding story arcs). In addition, there are a few returning guest stars—Victor Garber’s got a brief scene towards the beginning of the episode; he’s the only admiral who comes back for the finale. One is a big surprise for a quick hello, and the other gets the episode’s second plot.

While the title, Future Unknown, kept having me waiting for Q to show up and whisk MacFarlane off to the past and the future to see what went wrong with the Enterprise after Picard retired, it’s not an homage to any “Trek.” It’s “Orville” being “Orville,” bringing back Giorgia Whigham from the first season. She lived on the planet where people up and down voted each other as a societal thing; it was one of “Orville”’s great early episodes. Now she’s sick of living on such a crappy planet when there’s a bright universe out there, so she calls up Orville and asks for asylum.

First officer Adrianne Palicki–in my dreams, they’re setting her up for the center seat in a sequel series where MacFarlane zooms it in most of the season like one of the admirals—takes it upon herself to acclimate Whigham to the “future.” In doing so, Palicki gives the audience a more thorough history lesson of the future than the show usually allows. Whigham’s the perfect stand-in for the audience while also being a great character. She also looks surprisingly similar to Season Three regular Anne Winters; so much so I had to look them up.

But the main plot once again involves killer alien robot Mark Jackson and his lady love, the ship’s doctor, Penny Johnson Jerald. After witnessing Peter Macon’s vow renewal ceremony with mate Chad L. Coleman (a tremendous, unique sequence), Jackson decides it’s time he and Jerald tie the knot, only she’s not sure she wants to marry a killer alien robot. Then Jackson’s bros tell him maybe he should play the field a bit before settling down.

It’s a wonderful, romantic, touching episode. MacFarlane’s shown exceptional, probably inimitable range this season as a director, and Unknown’s no different. Great performances from everyone, particularly (of course) Jerald, Jackson, Palicki, Macon, Scott Grimes, J. Lee, and Whigham. Coleman’s got some great comic moments. The only crew members without significant arcs are MacFarlane and Jessica Szohr. Maybe next time for Szohr.

Everyone involved has made something exceptional with “The Orville,” “New Horizons,” and old; it’s supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

Though I am wondering if the dress whites are supposed to be so ugly, like a nod to Star Trek: The Motion Picture.

Regardless….

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

The Orville (2017) s03e07 – From Unknown Graves

I’m not sure if this episode’s the best “Orville” of the season, but it’s definitely the best constructed. The script—credit to David A. Goodman, who’s written “Orville” in previous seasons; this episode’s his first “New Horizons”—is magnificent in every respect. There are four perfectly balanced plots. First, the Orville is on a diplomatic mission to a matriarchal society, so captain Seth MacFarlane and first officer Adrianne Palicki cook up a scheme to appear more palatable to the potential allies. The female crew will assume all the leadership and command roles; the male crew will be red shirts with no responsibility. At least when the diplomats are present.

Except that main plot comes after the episode’s cold open—a suburban alien family getting their first home robot… a Kaylon. The family’s experiences with the Kaylon “assistant” will pop up throughout the episode, tying into the second main plot—MacFarlane discovers a scientist (Eliza Taylor) who has reprogrammed a Kaylon to feel emotions. They come on board the Orville so MacFarlane can report the development to Starfleet Command. Or Union Central. Whatever.

Christopher Larkin plays the emotive Kaylon, who is full of regret about his species trying to irradiate all the humans and their other biological friends. Larkin will be a touchstone for various ongoing, Kaylon-related plot lines; specifically, Penny Johnson Jerald and reformed but still unemotional Kaylon Mark Jackson’s romance, and then Anne Winters hating all Kaylons for killing her best friend (and all those other people). I can’t believe what Goodman and MacFarlane (who directs) achieve with those resolutions. They have percolated since the season premiere, with Winters’s hatred of Jackson creating palpable tension through many of her scenes on the show overall. The episode works through all of it, slowly, deliberately, carefully. MacFarlane gives all the actors time to process; sometimes, it seems like he’s being slow instead of patient, but then every time the actor delivers on the moment, and it’s exceptional.

I don’t know if it’s the best episode—there’s another big contender—but it’s definitely the best use of “The Orville”’s new format for streaming. Seventy-ish minute episodes, but still with commercial breaks; the commercial breaks here work beautifully to relieve tension or adjust narrative perspectives. It’s an outstanding episode, start to finish.

The final subplot involves J. Lee and Jessica Szohr’s burgeoning romance, which the show’s been building up for a while. It’s played mostly for laughs, fully utilizing Szhor’s deadpanning abilities and Lee’s incredible likability. It’s a lot of fun in an otherwise mostly serious episode.

John Debney’s score stands out this episode, and not only because it often sounds like he’s doing a Star Wars riff (so much so I thought it was Joel McNeely, who’s also composed Star Wars stuff). The score provides a lot of support for the action; MacFarlane, as director, leans on it just right.

Great acting from Jerald and some terrific turns from Palicki, Jackson, and Winters. MacFarlane gets a little more to do than usual in support of Palicki; they have some excellent character relationship moments.

The ending takes sentimentality by the arm, dances a steamy tango, then leaves it behind on the way to more profound, sincere emotion. It’s a spectacular episode.

The Orville (2017) s03e05 – A Tale of Two Topas

Until now, “The Orville: New Horizons” has never felt aware of its own literal limitations. It’s the last season (for now, they keep saying, for now), and A Tale of Two Topas feels like show creator and episode credited writer and director Seth MacFarlane getting something done before the show’s over.

All they need to do is have alien babies age much faster than expected, just like MacFarlane’s captain’s half-alien child, who gets a mention at the beginning of the episode. But that alien child isn’t the subject of this episode; instead, it’s Peter Macon and Chad L. Coleman’s “son” Topa (played by Imani Pullum).

In the first season of “Orville,” Macon and Coleman had the baby and decided to surgically alter their female baby into a male one. Their race, the Moclan, are an all-male species who hate females in general and the rare female Moclan the most. Topa's now at least a tween—aging a decade while flying around the galaxy for a few years on the Orville. The timeline irregularities don’t matter because it’s a remarkable episode; as it all wraps up, it’s hard to imagine MacFarlane’s ever going to be able to surpass it as a director. It’s astoundingly good and needs to be; the episode’s a series of big swings, starting with Adrianne Palicki being the focus for the first third or so.

The episode runs seventy minutes; there’s time for various character spotlights, including Macon and, to a lesser degree, Coleman (who’s been the show’s resident asshole since the forced gender reassignment episode, which, again, was really early on).

Pullum’s interested in joining Starfleet—Union Point, whatever—and Palicki becomes his mentor. Except Pullum’s having some severe gender dysphoria without any context for it. Dad Coleman, who was also born female and had the surgery as a baby, would rather Pullum kill himself a boy than ever know he was born a girl. Dad Macon disagrees but culturally can’t complain. Macon’s acting is phenomenal this episode and even more impressive given the static alien makeup he’s wearing.

Palicki’s got a concerned third-party arc, leading to Macon and Coleman’s arc, before moving on to an unexpected complication. There’s only so much autonomy a person can have when the Union’s got to keep its allies happy, even if its allies are a bunch of religious bigots.

The episode’s main subplot—besides reformed killer robot Mark Jackson’s continued social problems with the crew (who haven’t forgiven the killer robot business)—involves an archeological dig on an alien planet. It provides a nice backdrop for the main action, which eventually requires doctor Penny Johnson Jerald too.

Great performances from Pullum, Macon, Palicki, and Coleman in the main arc, then Jerald and Jackson in the asides. MacFarlane gives himself a little to do later in the episode, and he’s real good too, but it’s not his episode, and he knows it.

It’s superb work.

Also notable is Andrew Cottee’s score. At the beginning, it sounds very Joel McNeely (so John Williams) but only for the Indiana Jones and the Alien Temple intro; once Pullum’s story takes the stage, it’s this emotive combination of lush tragic and romantic music; easy best music of the season.

And the best episode of the season, too, obviously.

The Orville (2017) s03e01 – Electric Sheep

“The Orville”’s back, with a bewildering addition of a subtitle: “New Horizons.” First, why? Second, it’s the show’s presumed final season; adding “New” to the title suggests they’re trying to get more people watching, so again, why? Finally, this episode’s a direct sequel to events in the previous season; not the season finale either, it’s about resentments stewing amongst the crew since halfway through the second season.

The new title has zero impact on the show (the opening titles are the same otherwise), it’s just odd.

The show also started as a Fox TV broadcast program and becomes a Hulu streaming show this season; there are the telltale commercial break fades to black, which are the only time the episode’s ever clunks. Because, holy cow, is “The Orville” back.

It’s a long episode—seventy minutes, so basically a two parter combined, subplots subtracted—written and directed by show creator Seth MacFarlane. Based on the space action sequences set to Kevin Kaska’s music, Disney ought to at least let MacFarlane direct a Star War, if not write it as well. While “Orville”’s much more like “Star Trek” in its approach to characters, humanism, and quality, the action sequences this episode—thanks to Kaska's score—feel like they’re out of Return of the Jedi or even Empire. Always in very good ways.

The episode opens an action sequence flashback to an alien battle, ending with ship’s doctor’s son, BJ Tanner, remembering how his mom’s alien robot ex-boyfriend and their family friend, Mark Jackson, betrayed everyone. Jackson’s race of alien robots tried to destroy humanity last season, resulting in thousands of dead Federation officers—sorry, sorry, Union—before he changed his mind and saved the day. The action then cuts to new cast member Anne Winters being cruel to an unemotionally unconfused Jackson in the mess hall.

The entire episode’s going to be about how the crew is dealing with Jackson being back on board, back on the bridge, when there’s so much unresolved, justified animus.

It’s an enormous swing from MacFarlane—as writer and director, as top-billed captain of the Orville he gives himself almost nothing to do—and it’s a resounding success. MacFarlene leverages “Orville”’s secret weapon, ship’s doctor Penny Johnson Jerald. While the episode starts focusing on Tanner and Winters being angry about Jackson, it gracefully becomes Jerald’s episode for a while, with significant functional contributions from J. Lee.

Besides Winters joining the cast—she’s the new helmsman, since Jackson’s buddies destroyed her last ship and killed almost everyone onboard, including her best friend—the other big subplot is the Orville getting a zippy fighter jet version of a shuttlecraft, giving MacFarlene another chance to flex the space action.

MacFarlene also leans in on the “Kirk looking at the Enterprise for forty-five minutes” trope, with multiple lovely, lengthy sequences of the ship in space flight. Given how much effort they put into the episode, I’m kind of surprised they didn’t think to fix the commercial breaks.

It’s an outstanding episode, with the long run time breaking the traditional act structure for a forty-five minute show and allowing for numerous deeply emotional beats. Winters gets a layered arc, Jerald gets one starting fifteen minutes in or whatever, Tanner, J. Lee, lots of great arcs throughout. Maybe next time they’ll get to the “New Horizons” (or just ended with the subtitle reveal), but “Orville”’s off to an incredibly strong, surprisingly ambitious start.

Frankie and Johnny (1991, Garry Marshall)

Besides the sex scene, set to Rickie Lee Jones singing, “It Must Be Love” (which means Al Pacino sings it later as he gleefully reminisces), Frankie and Johnny avoids revealing too much about the private tenderness between Pacino and romantic interest Michelle Pfeiffer. At one point, he says something to her as their first date is wrapping up, and it convinces her to invite him back to her apartment. We don’t get to hear it; we just watch Pacino gesticulate exuberantly as the music swells, and Pfeiffer just can’t resist him any longer.

Pfeiffer is a New York City waitress who’s had only bad relationships, some very, very bad and others still pretty bad. Pacino’s the new grill cook who focuses on her after discovering she’s Frankie to his Johnny, finding more and more coincidences to suggest they should be together. Pfeiffer remains unconvinced. The film covers their courtship—with detours—before examining whether or not they can actually function as a couple, what with Pacino being obnoxiously extroverted at times and Pfeiffer being guarded.

The film’s got its share of problems. First and foremost, the film presents anything but married with children as abnormal. To some degree, it works as an exaggeration of the societal expectations on Pfeiffer, who starts the film back home visiting and standing up as godmother at a christening, with mom K Callan passive-aggressively whining about not having grandchildren. But it’s still reductive, especially for unmarried, ostensibly lonely waitress Jane Morris. Though that characterization also indicates another problem—director Marshall only knows how to direct so much of the film. When it comes time for Pfeiffer and Pacino to capital A act in close-ups and have hard talks, Marshall gets uncomfortable and either hurries away to montage or throws in a joke.

The jokes aren’t bad—they often involve Nathan Lane, who’s fantastic as Pfeiffer’s neighbor and best friend. He’s gay and has just started dating Sean O’Bryan, something Pfeiffer finds out when she gets back from her visit home, meaning we never get to see Pfeiffer and Lane as friends without him in her life less. Another thing Marshall could’ve leaned in on more.

But for the third act, the only time the stage adaptation (Terrence McNally wrote the screenplay from his play) gets to be stagy, as Pacino and Pfeiffer hash it all out, Marshall runs away from both actors. After opening with Pfeiffer (and a quick clip of Pacino getting out), the film’s heavy on him for the first two acts. After all, Pacino’s got the additional getting-out-of-prison story arc and Pfeiffer’s entirely reactive to him. But in the third act, Pfeiffer’s got to shut down his bravado and charm and stake out the space for her performance. McNally’s script makes the room for Pfeiffer, Pacino arguably makes the room for Pfeiffer, but Marshall doesn’t know how to do it. He doesn’t force more Pacino into the scenes, and avoiding him too makes it weirder.

There’s also the odd issue the only thing cinematographer Dante Spinotti doesn’t shoot brilliantly is sunrise in the city. Spinotti’s exterior street scenes, day and night, are fantastic. His interior restaurant scenes are extraordinary; the talking heads scenes between Pfeiffer and Pacino are gorgeously lighted. But he’s too saccharine in the finish. It’s a disconnect, with Marshall’s unsureness compounding the problem.

But the film’s problems don’t surmount the careful, deliberate, marvelous performances. While Pacino’s bombastic and naturally draws attention, Pfeiffer’s observation of the world around her is even more transfixing. Pacino gets to showboat; Pfeiffer just gets to watch and process that showboating for herself (and the film). It’s an incredible narrative device: even though Pacino’s new to the restaurant and the cast, making him the natural perspective, the film actually uses Pfeiffer’s experience of his arrival. We get to know the cast not through Pacino meeting them (well, except Kate Nelligan, sort of), but in Pfeiffer watching it.

It’s a really nice move, and Marshall does pull it off well. Outside the finale, Marshall mostly knows how to direct to showcase his stars, and, given their excellent performances, it works out.

Nelligan’s another waitress at the restaurant who decides she’s going to hook up with Pacino if Pfeiffer doesn’t get her dibs in soon. Nelligan’s also part of the problematic “married or die” aspect (I mean, so’s Lane), but she gets the time and space to act through it. The supporting cast at the restaurant is all good and often lovable. Besides Morris, there’s restaurant owner Hector Elizondo, Glenn Plummer, and Fernando López. In addition, there are some charming regular customers, like Phil Leeds—another layer of the film is how Pfeiffer, Nelligan, and Morris act as de facto part-time caretakers for their aging customer base.

Frankie and Johnny takes place in a nicer than not world, but it’s all very textured thanks to McNally’s script and Marshall’s enthusiasm for supporting actors.

Pfeiffer and Pacino are the show, though. The film’s about them, specifically their performances; everything else is just there to support them. Well, except in the third act when Marshall needs to step up and doesn’t. They’re great. Problems, potholes, and hiccups aside, it’s a wonderful job from them both (Pfeiffer’s better, just saying).

Lovely Marvin Hamlisch score too.

Legends of Tomorrow (2016) s07e11 – Rage Against the Machines

One of “Legends of Tomorrow”’s greatest strengths—which I don’t think started until the second season—is finding these absurd, literally comic book relationships between characters and then having actors ably essay them. For example, Olivia Swann has a subplot this episode where she’s being overprotective of Amy Louise Pemberton and showing it through rudeness to Pemberton. It starts as an aside—Swann’s seemingly unconscious of her behavior, so Adam Tsekhman confronts her about it. Tsekhman’s worried about girlfriend (not sure if they’re official actually, but close enough) Pemberton and thinks Swann’s doing it because Pemberton’s basically Swann’s child. Albeit one created through magic and possessing the intellect and memories of a time-traveling supercomputer.

It’s fantastical and ludicrous, and all three actors do a superb job with it. It’s not about finding the mundane humanity in the extraordinary; it’s about humanity scaling up to extraordinary. It’s very cool and “Legends” is very good at it.

The main plot still has the Legends trying to reclaim their time ship. Though it’s more like claim because it’s an evil universe version (sort of). They just don’t know the Robo-Legends are happy to kill every single thing in their way, which forces captain Caity Lotz to reassess and then reassess again after the next tragedy. And then again after the next tragedy. It’s a good episode for Lotz, who has to work through helplessness and futility, mostly on her own, because she’s keeping the futile aspect of it all from the team. Including wife Jes Macallan, who directs the episode and gets injured out onscreen early to give her that time.

Instead, Lotz has to rely on Matt Ryan and Nick Zano for support, with Ryan concocting the eventual plan (though, really, anyone could’ve done it, just gives him something to do). And since everyone else is busy, it teams Zano and Lotz, the series’s longest-running regulars at this point. Some of the time, however, Zano’s playing his Robo-version, which has some obvious and desperate Terminator jokes; Zano’s able to make them work. They’re just silly enough, and he’s just funny enough.

Shayan Sobhian gets a bunch to do as he’s got to infiltrate the evil version of the ship, though he quickly enlists Tala Ashe and Swann’s help. Ashe gets an absolutely phenomenal scene opposite “herself,” having a slapstick fight while no one can figure out which version to help. There’s a strange narrative gaffe—the human Ashe needs to hack a computer, but she’s just a social media megastar, not a hacker, so there are difficulties. She could’ve just brought in her alternate timeline self, who’s literally a hacker. But it’s okay. Ashe is great.

The episode still doesn’t move things along as much as I’d have liked, but I’ve since discovered there are only thirteen episodes this season. They only have a couple more, which means they’re in fine shape. Well, outside the show not having been renewed yet.

The cliffhanger’s excellent too. A little convenient but emotionally rending nonetheless.

Lost in Space (2018) s01e02 – Diamonds in the Sky

This episode feels a little bit like “Pilot: Part Two” since it introduces Parker Posey to the series. The soft cliffhanger last episode had her assuming a false identity and getting onto an escape spaceship with mechanics Ignacio Serricchio and AnnaMaria Demara. As the bigger spaceship was under attack from a killer robot before all the ships—including the escape vessels—get sucked into a black hole.

The regular cast will find out all that spaceship information, though not all of it for everyone (and not the specifics). For instance, Maxwell Jenkins will discover his pet Terminator (they even play catch at one point) attacked the ship and killed a bunch of people. But the robot’s changed so Jenkins is going to keep it to himself. Molly Parker and Toby Stephens find out they’re way off course—in another galaxy—though it’s more Parker finds out and has to tell Stephens about it. There’s quite a bit about who’s in charge, Parker or Stephens, and the show tries hard to make Stephens a reasonable leader but… then he does something dumb and callous, whereas Parker’s never callous even when she makes a mistake.

Parker, Stephens, and Jenkins are off investigating other crashed ships—one of their fellow colonist vessels and then the alien robot’s ship. Back at their ship, Taylor Russell and Mina Sundwall are in charge of slowing freeing said ship from an underwater ice lake. Except Sundwall is worried about an approaching storm front and wants to get their RV out of storage while Russell wants to follow the rules.

Under threat from the same storm is Serricchio and Posey. They’ve survived their crash and are trying to find other survivors. Except we, the audience, know there’s something shady about Posey and it seems like Serricchio might be in danger. Except Serricchio is a working class hero and he’s not going to let a little straightedge lady like Posey cramp his style. It’s an interesting way to do character development, having Posey discover the sympathetic truths under Serricchio’s bravado while she’s still a danger to him. Posey mostly plays it restrained, letting Serricchio run the scenes, only with her character developing underneath it. It’s good banter and sci-fi action survival stuff. Serricchio’s so sympathetic he makes Posey seem less dangerous.

While the whole cast gets something to do—although Russell ends up with less and less as the episode goes on—introducing Posey is the point and it’s successfully done. The family drama is all building—the conflicts between sisters, parents, then Jenkins and everyone but his killer robot—there’s no time for relief here, not when the storm is imminent and the planet has diamond-sharp sand that storm will be kicking up.

Again, it feels very much like the conclusion to the pilot movie for the show. The board is set, the pieces’s rules and responsibilities define, time for the game to start.

Lost in Space (2018) s01e01 – Impact

I must confess I didn’t remember my “Lost in Space” enough to know they had three kids. I thought Taylor Russell was added for the new show. I also don’t think I’ve ever seen the original series, just the movie. But there are three kids.

Besides Russell, who’s the Doogie Howser teen doctor, there’s Mina Sundwall, who’s the annoying middle child, and Maxwell Jenkins, who’s the unspectacular youngest. The episode opens with the family sitting around the proverbial dinner table—albeit on an interstellar spacecraft hurtling to an Offworld colony in another star system—playing Go Fish. We find out Jenkins doesn’t cover his cards, and Sundwall takes advantage. We also find out Russell isn’t happy with dad Toby Stephens. Also, they’re crashing and trying to stay calm as they do it.

The episode has a series of flashbacks filling in the backstory, which has an asteroid hitting Earth and basically making it a shithole in a few years, so all the capable smart people are going to go colonize another planet. Luckily, mom Molly Parker, Russell, and Sundwall are all very, very smart and capable people. Dad Stephens was in the Marines on Earth, and everyone’s mad at him about something, even though the first time we see them in flashback, they’re all pleased with dad. Presumably, being in the Marines means he gets to go Offworld with them.

Jenkins, it turns out, wasn’t good enough to cut it for the mission, and Parker had his record hacked to bring him along. So when he’s feeling inadequate, it’s because he’s actually inadequate. Luckily, he will tame a killer robot before the episode’s over, so he’s a lot more useful.

But since I didn’t remember Russell’s character was a series staple, I thought when they were threatening to kill her terribly, they might do it. What a way to do a tough new “Lost in Space” and immediately kill one of the kids. “Lost in Space”’s future is nice looking (except for the really crappy UX on the computers), but the society is really messed up.

Anyway.

Russell spends most of the episode in a life-threatening situation, with Jenkins also getting into one in the second act. Stephens’s questionable dad skills will be involved with both situations, leading to a lot of drama with Parker. Then we find out she was kind of ready to just divorce him when he decided to tag along on their interstellar relocation.

It helps the cast is mostly likable—well, mainly Parker and Russell are likable, while Jenkins is sympathetic. Sundwall gets the least character and but the most personality. And then Stephens is shifty and questionably competent.

Neil Marshall directs, usually emphasizing character drama and the resulting development (a plus since the special effects are iffy at times); he’s thoughtful about how he puts the children in danger, though the sequence where Jenkins is taming the robot ratchets up the intensity a tad much for the pay-off. The first half of the episode seems more budget conscious (limited sets) before the second half opens things up. It scales nicely.

The last flashback reveal introduces Parker Posey’s “Doctor Smith” (in a way you don’t have to know anything about the series or even the accompanying Bill Mumy cameo) in addition to giving the audience a bunch more information than the characters about the crashed spaceships and the robot. It’s a good hook for next time.

Doom Patrol (2019) s03e07 – Bird Patrol

Wow, late forties Communist paranoia doesn’t age well. It’s okay for a plot point, but showcasing how Michelle Gomez goes down the rabbit hole does an incredible job setting up her villain arc. It’s the big reveal on her; she’s just an American numbskull. Though the character’s Scottish, so she’s a Scot affecting American idiocy. It’s kind of great? It’s not dramatic at all; basically, she’s just going to be a betrayer, and we’ll get to watch that realization play out on people’s faces, but there’s only one related action set-piece, and it’s the cliffhanger. Otherwise, it’s all just watching Gomez hurt people. One after the other, as it becomes more and more evident, she’s lost her humanity to fear and hate.

Not sure how the show’s going to explain Gomez getting her memory back in the present as the audience learns about it through the flashbacks–well, linear flashbacks but April Bowlby’s ostensibly experiencing it in real-time though not as much this episode. Gomez is the star in the flashbacks, with Bowlby now just one of the Sisterhood of Dada.

The show’s actually getting through the Sisterhood of Dada stuff really fast. The subplots are all still dawdling—nicely dawdling, but still—and the Dada stuff is racing. Especially given this episode’s cliffhanger. We get one big reveal, then another, then another, then the cliffhanger.

The subplots have Brendan Fraser and Riley Shanahan back at daughter Bethany Anne Lind’s to babysit, even though it’s clear his malfunctions are continuing. Matt Bomer’s actually got a big early episode revelation with his giant zit subplot. And then Bomer’s the one in the present interacting with Gomez the most when she’s still cool. Diane Guerrero’s got more internal drama with Skye Roberts and company. It’s the most forced subplot, maybe because Guerrero doesn’t engage with anyone out in the world about it.

The most significant subplot is Joivan Wade, who’s going through with a synthetic skin treatment. Through either luck or contrivance, when dad Phil Morris (who doesn’t appear but Karen Obilom does have a lovely scene, albeit remotely) turned Wade into Cyborg, he made it easy to uninstall all the mechanicals and replace them with artificial skin. Okay, maybe not the biggest subplot, but the most dramatic. Wade losing his tech is more impactful (so far) than Fraser being inept at playing grandpa, Guerrero’s turmoil, and then Bomer’s thing.

Lots of good acting—Gomez, Bowlby, the flashback guest stars.

Though I did think the season had thirteen episodes, and it’s got ten, which means we’re heading into the wrap-up, and I didn’t realize it. Still, the show’s in excellent shape.