Pumpkin Ranks Episodes of Television

16. The Newsroom - We Just Decided To (S01E01)

Nominated by: Delseban

''What I (Think I) Know - Not the Canadian one, but the recent Aaron Sorkin show. I hear it's preachy.''

The episode starts by setting up a few straw men to knock down. News anchor Will McAvoy is at a panel discussion with a liberal and a conservative pundit, drifting off as they shout over each other, and deflecting any questions addressed to him. An audience member asks, "why America is the greatest country in the world", and Will is pushed into giving an honest answer. To follow is a patronising, paternalistic rant that starts ugly, and becomes increasingly scattershot as it goes on. He derides the rest of the panel for their glib answers, and gives a long list of statistics refuting the claim (ie. 7th in literacy, 27th in math). Then he curmudgeonly exclaims that this is the "Worst. Period. Generation. Period. Ever. Period." Here I wait for the punchline. Maybe he fell asleep, and none of this is actually happening. Instead, the music starts to swell, and he launches into some ridiculous idealisation of the past. We stood up for what was right, cared about our neighbours, acted like men, etc. and all because we were "informed by great men." All this is shown as a triumphant moment of integrity, but I can't understand why. Obnoxious and stereotypical as the pundits were, they argued actual issues with someone with opposing views. Instead, we're presented with a charismatic but out of touch man lecturing a silent crowd with context-less numbers, and appeals to emotion. There's not a great deal if difference between what Will and the pundits say, except he applies it to the past, giving it an illusion of untouchability. This, as the show argues, is a good thing. Will is one of these "great men", here to deliver the monolithic truth. How did they do the news well in the past? They just decided to.

This is then followed by the longest title sequence ever. I hope they cut this down after the 72-minute long pilot.

Will returns to the office to find that his executive producer and the majority of his staff has left for a different show. Will, we learn, has a reputation as "the Jay Leno of news anchors", popular because he doesn't offend anyone, and that brand is damaged by the outburst. Will's boss hires Mackenzie as his new EP, a journalist Will has some unexplained personal history with. They argue about the direction of the show, and by argue I mean speechify. It's long and repetitive but the gist of is that people are stupid, journalism is noble, and they need to give people the truth, ratings be damned. The conclusion they come to, again, hinges on there being a singular truth from an authoritative source. Understandably, there are a lot of pot shots at the internet throughout, as the dissemination of ideas obviously runs counter to those ideals. I don't agree, but I get the premise.

Then a crazy thing happens. A news alert comes in about an explosion at an oil rig in the Gulf of Mexico. Text pops up on the screen, "April 20, 2010". It's a cross between clumsy exposition, and the Statue of Liberty on the beach. It was 2010 all along! Like the outburst in the beginning, the deck is stacked so heavily in Newsroom's favour. It's a show about the way forward for news reporting, set two years in the past (aired June 24, 2012). It's really goofy watching it rip into the Haliburton spokesperson, and sneer at the BP statement with such relish. It's funny when Will's show is depicted as the only one asking the serious questions, when it only manages it by knowing the answers. It's basically news fanfiction.

Also, Will erroneously calls the Indian guy Punjab, assumes he works in IT, and never apologizes for it, with the joke being about political correctness gone mad. He finally bothers to learn his assistant's name by the end and its treated as a touching moment rather than basic human decency. I can go into detail, but this has gone on too long already without saying anything positive.

Will I Watch More - I don't need to agree with a show's message to find it compelling, but this is too much of an echo chamber. Not only is it preachy, it's preachy about the inherent nobility of its own preachiness. It's just exhausting. It's the pilot so it will probably get better in terms of execution, but nothing about it appeals to me so far.

15. Psych - Dual Spires (S05E12)

Nominated by: ArkOfTurus

''What I (Think I) Know - I've never seen a USA show, but from what I understand, it's a mad libs-ian pipeline of formulaic, reasonably watchable shows. Essentially, everything I know about USA I learned from Ryan Davis: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DtxM3RoHqDg''

Anyways, this is the one about the detective who pretends to be a psychic. I had that mixed up for the longest time though, and thought it was about a psychic who pretends to not be psychic while using his psychic powers to solve crime. Sort of Columbo as a metafictional improv game, where Lt. Columbo gets to watch the first half of the episode and has to improvise the rest of it while maintaining the illusion of logical deduction. Does that exist? Am I thinking of The Mentalist?

As the title of the episode suggests, this is an homage to Twin Peaks. The episode opens with detectives Shawn and Gus sitting in their office discussing silent window shades, when they receive an email from underthenail.com inviting them to the small town of Dual Spires for a Cinnamon Festival. Less than two minutes in, and there are already three Twin Peaks references I've spotted, and the rest of the episode more-or-less maintains that density. Like Twin Peaks, Dual Spires is a small town full of secrets. Shortly after they arrive, the body of Paula Merral is found by the lake in similar circumstances to Laura Palmer's. From there, it's a conventional detective story. They interrogate people, follow some false leads, find clues, and figure out who the killer is at the end. I can talk about the plot, but the more pressing matter is its connections to Twin Peaks, as that's mostly where it falls apart.

The episode shoe-horns in a staggering amount of Twin Peaks references, and does a good job of approximating its style in places, but it's a very shallow engagement, and is often quite contrived. The most inorganic example being Sherilyn Fenn's character introducing herself by saying "I'm Maudette Hornsby. Isn't cherry the best?" in reference to the cherry knot scene. It's a brief non-sequitur, much like the shots of ceiling fans or Leo the owl mascot, but nothing's done with them, and they aspires to no more than a nod of recognition. They're references for reference sake. Despite both involving murder mysteries, there's really not a lot that makes the two shows a natural pairing. Psych is a procession of meaningful clues that satisfyingly leads to the solution. It's actually kind of cool on a re-watch to see how well everything holds together as all the details are there if you know what to look for. While for Twin Peaks, "Who Killed Laura Palmer?" was always besides the point. "Dual Spires" has some fun with the soap operatic excesses of Twin Peaks, but so did Twin Peaks, and there it was in service of more than cute in-jokes. There's not a lot to be said when parodying something that's already a self-conscious genre mash-up.

I'm not trying to be overly precious about Twin Peaks, either. It's an ill fit. but Psych isn't that show, nor is it trying to be. A Twin Peaks-like small town is not a bad set-up, but the actual plot feels secondary to the need to squeeze in one more reference. There's a running joke in this episode where Shawn continues to make pop culture references that no one in Dual Spires understands because they don't have TV, movies, or the internet. Eventually he asks what they have seen, and is told that the town gathers for Everwood reruns once a week. He then proceeds to reference Everwood with the most tenuous of connections to what anyone else is saying. It's almost self-critique. Like the episode, there's no consideration as to why these references are being made.

Lastly, and I'm wary about making this point after one episode, but does Shawn make a lot of racial jokes in a "it's okay, my best friend is black" kind of way? Stuff like "it's like Driving Miss Daisy, except you get to be Miss Daisy", which isn't even a very good joke. The gag about Gus being the only black person Dual Spires has ever seen might have worked better if it didn't also seem like Gus is the only black person Shawn has ever seen. I'm not saying he shouldn't make jokes about race, but it's kind of one-sided.

Will I Watch More - I imagine a standard episode wouldn't be trying to make as many Twin Peaks references as possible. It would probably be closer to the stuff that did work, like the "did she say hi back?" joke and some of the banter. It looks like a decently fun show, if a little reliant on reference-based humour. Shawn annoys me, though. I probably won't seek out any more of this.

'''14. The Amazing Race - It's Okay, Run Them Over! (S05E11)'''

Nominated by: Raka_Putra

''What I (Think I) Know - It's a reality show where teams of two race around the world, which sounds cool. It's probably more structured than the Wacky Races / It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World scenario I'm imaging though.''

This write-up's going to be a bit more play-by-play, since there's not much of an overarching plot. The teams are Colin/Christie (Dating), Chip/Kim (Married Parents), Linda/Karen (Bowling Moms), and Brandon/Nicole (Dating/Models). Colin/Christie are dominating the competition and really smug about it which makes them good villains, Linda/Karen are adorable, and the other two teams are kind of just there. The episode begins in New Zealand, and the first objective is to drive to the Westhaven Marina. Christie goes on about how much the other teams suck, while Colin goes on about how good the two of them are. The moms get lost and quickly go to pieces over navigation, but they patch it up in the next scene. Chip/Kim delivers the "not here to make friends" cliche, but are genial about it. Later in the episode when they use the Yield on Colin/Christie, they seem genuinely remorseful. I don't remember what Brandon/Nicole said or did. These first conversations are very representative of what these teams are like for the entire episode.

When they get to the marina, one member from each team has to climb a 75 ft. ladder and walk across a girder below the bridge. It gets repetitive here as we have to watch all four teams complete the mission, including the part where they read the mission details, and take the boat out to the bridge. Colin is worth watching, because he does it with no trouble at all it. I think he's even trying to look dignified when he jumps off by keeping his hands on his head so they don't flail. Linda is worth watching because she is incredibly scared, and it feels triumphant when she pulls it off. The other two teams are somewhere between these two extremes.

They then have to fly to Manila in the Philippines. Colin/Christie are already on a plane, while the other three teams meet at the terminal. The three teams bond over the bridge mission a bit, and it's a good moment. Forget the competition, they all just did something incredible. Chip gives Linda a hug because he's so impressed, which is a little condescending, but nice. The three teams are friendly with each other, while Colin/Christie are on their own still talking about how much they're dominating. It sets up the twist nicely when Colin/Christie miss their connection and end up on the exact same flight as the other teams.

When they arrive at Manila, they get into the first of three taxi rides in this episode. These taxi rides are rough, and the biggest obstacle for me watching this show. I find the backseat driving stressful, especially when it's mostly people yelling "faster". The next mission is to decorate a jeepney, a form of public transportation in the Philippines. Chip/Kim yield Colin/Christie here. The moms crush it, which is satisfying, while Chip/Kim are the slowest which makes it very awkward as Colin/Christie stare daggers at them. I should talk about Brandon/Nicole too since I've barely mentioned them so far. They tend to be kind of dumb ("How do you know how to do this? "Left? What does left mean?") and are pretty easy-going, believing that the race is  in God's hands. It makes them a bit less yell-y during those cab rides, so I like them.

Colin/Christie are now in last place, buckling under the pressure, and sniping at each other constantly. The next taxi ride is super stressful, and includes the phrase that named the episode, shouted by Christie, who then honks the jeepney's horn before Colin warns her that it's going to get them kicked off. The next mission is a choice between steering an ox plough to find the next clue, or herding 1000 ducks from one pen to another. Everyone chooses the plough. The first three teams pull it off easily enough, but Colin/Christie struggle and it's the funniest thing in the episode. They're the only team who doesn't figure out to  have one person guide the ox while the other holds the plough. Christies is standing around telling Colin to do it properly while Colin yells stuff like "My ox is broken!" This culminates with a whimpering Colin saying, "Oh my God... I hate you" and it's hilarious. They finally complete it, and this is followed by one more stressful taxi ride to the finish line. Final results:

1. Chip/Kim

2. Linda/Karen

3. Brandon/Nicole

4. Colin/Christie

Colin/Christie will begin with no money next time, but no one is eliminated.

Will I Watch More - So this write-up was mostly plot summary. I didn't really have any specific point to latch on to. A lot of stuff happened, then it happened a few more times. A lot of dialogue involved yelling at cabbies to go faster or wondering aloud the relative position of everyone in the race. I would probably be more inclined to watch an Amazing Race highlight reel. If I keep watching this season though, I'd be happy with any of the teams winning, even Colin/Christie now that they're the underdog.

13. Star Trek: The Next Generation -Starship Mine (S06E18)

Nominated by: ahirsch101

''What I (Think I) Know - TNG was certainly on a lot, but I don't think I ever paid attention because I was too young, and it looked kind of drab. Nonetheless, I could name all the characters, and have a general understanding of Star Trek through osmosis. Franchise-wise, I have seen some Original Series reruns, and movies 2, 3, 4, 6 and the first of the reboot.''

To be completely reductive, it's Die Hard on a space ship. Now, Die Hard on X is a common set-up, and it's not actually that similar beyond the broad strokes, so it wouldn't be particularly helpful to put too fine a point on this connection... but I'm going to do it anyway.

As the episode begins, we're told that the Enterprise needs to undergo a routine baryon sweep to remove accumulated baryon particles. The sweep is lethal for organic matter, so the ship must be evacuated for the duration. In the mean time, the staff is dreading having to attend the reception of Commander Hutchinson, who is a bore. At the party, Picard learns that they have horse riding on the base and goes back to the Enterprise to get his saddle before the sweep starts. There, he is attacked by a maintenance worker, and the Die Hard plot begins. The maintenance crew are actually criminals, looking to steal trilithium resin from the warp engines. Like in Die Hard, the group is mistaken for terrorist, but turn out to be thieves. Picard and Kelsey, the leader of the thieves, play cat-and-mouse much like John McClane and Hans Gruber, except with a lot more captures and escapes. The episode involves Picard picking off the thieves one by one armed with a crossbow, and whatever traps he can make.

The idea, I imagine, is to make an action-oriented episode, and a Die Hard model is effective for a non-action-oriented protagonist. This allows Picard to become an action hero by circumstance by backing him into a corner. Picard cannot easily become McClane, and the episode acknowledges this by going out of its way to keep him from killing anyone directly. In one of the few scenes that mirror Die Hard, Picard has a laser welder pointed at one of Kelsey's henchmen, who asserts that as a Starfleet officer, Picard won't kill him. McClane quips, "That's what my captain keeps telling me", then kills everyone. Picard stuns the henchmen, which supposedly proves him correct, except with the baryon sweep coming, he as good as killed him. Picard defeats the rest of Kelsey's people in similar manners, with the only concession to its wrongness being looks of remorse. It doesn't entirely work, but the idea of taking the character out of his element is solid.

The problem though, is that in a Die Hard scenario, Picard isn't John McClane, but Joseph Takagi. McClane is a renegade because he has no jurisdiction, and is so disconnected from any machinations that he spends the entire movie referring to Hans's group generically as "bad guys". Picard is a Starfleet captain, defending a Starfleet vessel from perceived terrorists. For him to go the McClane route is problematic, and a missed opportunity. This episode undersells the potential of a terrorist or would-be terrorist attack targeting the Enterprise. Hans pretends to be a terrorist as a decoy, while Kelsey never makes the claim, but Picard assumes she is because the resin is only good as a weapon, and it does not occur to him that she could be selling it. Hans confronts Takagi for corporate imperialism, which can easily be retrofitted for Starfleet, yet Picard is never confronted on such ideological grounds.

The connection with Die Hard is also worth considering in terms of Star Trek's relationship with capitalism. Star Trek's post-capitalist utopia is, optimistically or naively,  predicated on people being altruistic, so practicing capitalism as Kelsey does becomes a fringe activity, and its problems become a personal flaw rather than a systemic flaw. When Hans turns out to be a thief, it's a matter of the Nakatomi Corporation being confronted by its own values taken to its limits. As Ellis says, "You use a gun. I use a fountain pen. What's the difference?" Kelsey is similarly driven by profit, and displays a short-sighted disregard for safety precautions and human life. These can work as hallmarks of capitalism, but without being systematized, its critique is dulled compared to Die Hard. Capitalism is attacked because it goes against the rules, not because they are the rules.

Will I Watch More - I'm not actually knocking this episode for not being my idea of Star Trek meets Die Hard, that would be silly. I'm also not qualified to really discuss Star Trek, so I don't know what the **** I was doing up there. This episode got me re-watching Die Hard, and I got caught up in a thing.

I feel like I have less to say when taking this episode on its own terms, though. Data learning to do small talk by copying Hutchinson is a lot of fun, the subplot with the crew being held hostage is underwhelming, and Picard being crafty and resourceful is pretty entertaining. Die Hard aside, it's really about Picard's deep connection to the Enterprise. There's a scene near the beginning where Picard takes one last, slow survey of the bridge, smiles, then leaves as the maintenance crew shows up. It's oddly sentimental for a routine procedure, but it sets up the episode nicely, as Picard succeeds by his intimate knowledge of the ship, like where to get materials for makeshift explosives, and where the safest spot would be from the baryon sweep. It's not what Star Trek should be regularly, but it's a bit of variety in a long-running show with a fairly open-ended format.

I've always wanted to get into Star Trek, so I will watch more, but after I watch all of the Original Series.

12. Arrow - Unfinished Business (S01E19)

Nominated by: Snake5555555555

What I (Think I) Know - It's a live action super hero show on the CW based on Green Arrow and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

''Honestly, I have a hard enough time caring about supposedly good live action superhero material. The only modern superhero movies I've seen are Spider-Man 3, Iron Man, The Dark Knight, and The Dark Knight Rises.''

Where's his moustache and goatee? Why isn't he an angry leftist? Why is he Batman?

So this isn't what I want from a Green Arrow series at all, which is fair enough, since I never wanted a Green Arrow series anyway. Let's move past that to what it is, which is, well, mostly a mess of clichés, and a trite "realistic" depiction of superheroes. By intention, it's a Nolan-esque grimungritty take on the character, where he's basically Batman. Almost everything takes place at night, he does a dumb gravelly voice while in costume, and he talks about how important The City is. This is reminiscent of  Smallville, Arrow's predecessor, which also had their Green Arrow written as Batman. Smallville, of which I've seen 2 episodes, was a Superman origin story that lasted for 10 years, folding in a lot of DCU continuity, without ever allowing Clark Kent to become Superman. Case in point, Green Arrow was operational before Superman existed. Instead, Clark is referred to by the terrible moniker of the Red-Blue Blur, and later The Blur. Instead of the iconic costume, he wore a red leather jacket over a blue shirt. Between the Nolan films and the CW shows, DC's live action output is notably shy about its own iconography. Smallville can be partially excused since it began in 2001, so the "no tights, no flight" decision was made in a different climate, but superhero movies are massive right now. Yet Ollie is referred to as The Hood rather than Green Arrow, and wears smeared eye make-up rather than a domino mask. The Hood isn't much of a superhero either. There are hints that the show is developing him into one, but right now he's just a killer who, for extra sadism, uses a bow and arrow rather than a gun. I fear this is going the way of Smallville. Are we going to have to wait until the finale before he fires his first boxing glove arrow? Of course, 10 years of killing would be harder to forgive than Clark's 10 years of mopiness. I'm getting ahead of myself, let's talk about this episode.

"Unfinished Business" opens in Ollie's night club called Verdant, with a large 'V' or arrow for a logo. Maybe he wants to get caught. A drug called Vertigo has recently resurfaced even though The Hood put its creator, The Count, away in a psychiatric hospital. Detective Quentin Lance suspect Tommy, Ollie's friend and business partner/employee, of being involved. He will spend most of the episode pursuing seemingly damning evidence against Tommy Merlyn, while Quentin's daughter Laurel assumes it's only because he doesn't approve of their relationship. Meanwhile, Ollie looks for the Count who reportedly escaped. There is also a subplot where Diggle is tracking down his brother's killer, Deadshot, which leads to tension between him and Ollie as he isn't there to back Ollie up. The conflict comes to a boiling point, when they both call each other out for pursuing personal vendettas, as Ollie has a grudge against the Count because his own sister almost died on Vertigo. The episode mainly focuses on what a bad friend Ollie has been to Tommy and Diggle, with the former relationship now irreparable. Ollie distrusts Tommy because of his past wrongdoings and associations. Tommy distrusts Ollie because he's now a judgemental killer. Tommy ends up quitting, since Ollie isn't going to support him and trust that he changed in the same way that Tommy is working to understand and cover for Ollie's newfound vigilantism. The only character to acknowledge how wrong it is to appoint yourself executioner for the city has left, and joined a sinister looking John Barrowman. Well, he is named after a supervillain, after all.

Ollie's investigation leads him back to the psychiatric hospital, where he believes The Count is operating out of, and only staged an escape. This time, Ollie vows to put him down for good, but he arrives to find him strapped to a chair and unresponsive. An orderly comes up behind him and knocks him out, and it turns out the doctor reverse-engineered Vertigo by looking at The Count's biopsy. The doctor drugs Ollie, Diggle comes to the rescue and kills the orderly with a defibrillator, followed by a spectacular quip ("Clear"). It's not just the line, but the out-of-breath, straight-faced delivery of it, as if it was something that had to be said. Definitely the highlight of the episode. Anyways, The doctor and Ollie end up in a narrow hallway, where he taunts that in his current state, Ollie wouldn't be able to aim a single arrow, to which Ollie responds by loading up three arrows at once and the middle one hits. It would be pretty impressive if he wasn't at point blank range anyway. Ollie puts on his hood with a look of determination, and goes off to confront a delirious Count, but decides to spare him.

The moral of the story is that people can change. Ollie's refusal to accept that drives Tommy away. Quentin promises his daughter that he will change and learn to let things go, even though he was just doing his job, and actually did have strong evidence against Tommy. Ollie's decision to spare the brain-dead Count shows growth, because the old Ollie would have put him down for good. The old Ollie, of course, being the one in the preceding scene where he kills the doctor without a moment of remorse. As further proof of his growth he puts aside his own vendetta, to join in Diggle's vendetta, as he decides they should go after Deadshot. It's not so much baby steps, as having your cake and eating it, too.

There are also flashbacks throughout the episode to Ollie on the island learning to use the bow for the first time. It's entirely disposable, consisting of a "wax on, wax off" lesson, and Chinese proverbs. Ollie is made to slap a bowl of water and doesn't see the point. It doesn't quite have the same impact, since Daniel-san can be convinced that he's been tricked into performing menial chores, but when does water ever need to be slapped? Either way, by the end of the day(?), he has developed enough strength to use the bow.

Will I Watch More - Sorry for the delay. It's a combination of being sick and not wanting to watch Arrow. This is mostly just boring and unoriginal. I don't like the tone, the aesthetic, none of the characters are interesting, and none of the actors have any charisma. Why did I rank this above the last two? Was I hedging against my natural aversion to live action superheroes?

11. Burn Notice - Friendly Fire (S03E11)

Nominated by: Murphiroth

''What I (Think I) Know - What I said about Psych still applies. This is what I know about the USA Network: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DtxM3RoHqDg''

''This is the one about a burned spy, which I believe means he's blacklisted. Bruce Campbell's in it!''

The link above turns out to be very accurate. Someone from Bruce Campbell's past does show up. There are many "when you're a spy" style voiceovers. Nolan North can totally be in this. It's not exactly good, but there's some pulpy fun to be had. The flow, based on this episode, involves Michael Weston, a skilled spy with limited resources (except in explosives, seemingly), adopting a persona and improvising his way into a position where a more coordinated effort can be cobbled together.

In "Friendly Fire", a former acquaintance of Sam's (Bruce Campbell's character) shows up needing help with a case. Every new character in this show is formally announced with a freeze frame and subtitles with their name and description following a scene where we learn that information through dialogue. The text reads, "Mack. Sam's Old Friend", then Sam punches him in the face, followed by another freeze frame with "Mack: Sam's Former Friend". It's funny here, but kind of stilted when there's no gag. Other stylistic flourishes include establishing shots with random freeze frames, and slow-motion scenes. The former fits well with a show involving spies and surveillance, as they resemble snapshots from a camera, but used so often that I start to wonder if the episode ran short. The latter just doesn't look very good.

Anyways, Mack is tracking down Rincon, child predator and cop killer, who is currently hiding out in a gang-protected barrio. Sam and Fi turn up, and the neighbourhood, thinking they're cops, is instantly on alert and sends out warnings, so Rincon runs. Fi tries to throw them off by stealing a car to prove they're not cops, which is pretty funny, but they need a better plan. Michael plans to get the local gang leader, Omar, to help them look, and he does it by becoming the amazingly over-the-top "Louis". Louis is a mysterious man in a black and red suit who talks tough in a raspy voice through gritted teeth, and sets off explosions by snapping his fingers (they're actually planted by Sam and Fi who are listening in from a distance). Omar, depicted as a noble gang leader who's truly looking out for his neighbourhood, mockingly likens him to the Devil on first meeting.

It's important to note here that Jeffrey Donovan, who plays Michael Weston, is terrible. He has the same squinty-eyed, mouth-slightly-agape expression in just about every scene. He doesn't modulate his voice much, and he slurs his words. He is the spy game's Napoleon Dynamite. To make matters even weirder, in a few scenes, and in most of the voiceovers, he is super clear, except at those points he's doing nothing but enunciate, and it sounds like he's reading off a card. His limited range may seem like an odd choice for a character who's required to be a chameleon, but, arguably, it works. There is an appeal to a show with this premise but with an actor who can pull off different characters every episode, but it wouldn't be Burn Notice. Michael has to intimidate Omar with only two people backing him up, and a very thin caricature, which adds to how precarious the situation is. The gang members don't even buy into his act. There first meeting has a great exchange where Louis indulges in some cryptic, badass speech, and Omar responds by explaining the real problems he's dealing with and how he has no time to play with any "Devil". The over-the-top character isn't fitting into the story, and the act clearly isn't working, but Louis instantly launches into more of the same. His facial expression doesn't betray him; he only has the one. It's not about the quality of the act, but the sheer persistence of it.

As they follow Omar, they learn that Rincon is under the protection of Vega, a rival gang leader played by Danny Trejo. Omar gives Michael Rincon's location, but Vega finds out and sets up an ambush. A fire fight occurs as Sam, Mack, and Michael rappel down the side of a building. Omar and Michael decide to work together with a Trojan horse plan, using some cool spy know-how. Omar will bring Michael to Vega in handcuffs with one polystyrene link, and a listening device in the pin lock. Vega wouldn't allow Omar to bring any of his people in with him, so outside, an ice cream cart is rigged with explosives, and the bottom side of several fruit stands are reinforced with steel belted tires for cover. Towards the very end, Louis smiles and widens his eyes, which looks sinister not only for the unnatural way he does it, but because it's the first time his face changes. Perhaps they were deliberate acting choices the whole time.

Will I Watch More - It has it's charm, and the action is well done. It probably wouldn't sustain me through 100s of episodes once the formula sets in, and I don't think I would find Jeffrey Donovan's acting amusing all the time, but maybe.

10. Supernatural - Changing Channels (S05E08)

Nominated by: Mega Mana

What I (Think I) Know - I believe the term is wincest?

In this episode, The Trickster traps Sam and Dean in a series of TV show parodies, where they have to survive for 24 hours by playing their roles in each scenario. The Trickster turns out to be the archangel Gabriel escaped from heaven, and his real message with this plot is for them to play their roles in Armageddon as vessels for Lucifer and Michael. Gabriel explains that it wasn't coincidence that Sam and Dean has to do this, but their destiny, and draws the connection between the Winchesters and the angels. Dean/Michael, loyal to an absent father, and Sam/Lucifer, the rebellious younger brother. Gabriel is hiding as The Trickster because he can't stand watching his family destroy each other. He wants Sam and Dean to play their roles and get it over with, as it is inevitable anyway. The episode ends with them wondering if Gabriel is right, not knowing what to do next, and wishing they were back in a TV show.

The targets include a schlocky sitcom, Grey's Anatomy, a Japanese game show, a herpes commercial, CSI Miami, and Knight Rider. These are all obvious targets, and most of the commentary is very predictable. The CSI Miami section consists of sunglasses gags and annoyance over the oversaturation of police procedurals, the sitcom section is about laugh tracks and over-the-top sitcom acting, etc. They're well done imitations and pretty funny, but a bit smug. It mocks bad sitcoms, while Sam's comedy is all one-note, twitchy exasperation. Dean says that wearing sunglasses at night is for "no-talent douchebags", while affecting a comically deep, macho voice as a permanent character choice. It makes fun of Grey's Anatomy's melodrama, when Supernatural is melodramatic as ****. It's not appreciably better than what it mocks; it just has a shield of self-reference. These parodies are mostly interesting for their thematic ties to the story arc. Gabriel wants Sam and Dean to stop running from their destiny, so in Dr. Sexy MD, Sam is repeatedly getting slapped and called a brilliant coward because he's afraid to operate again, and afraid to love. In the sitcom plot, Dean is putting off doing his research. The best of these is the Japanese game show, which has the host asking them questions attacking the integrity of their relationship. He asks Sam, "What was the name of the demon that you chose over your own brother?" and asks Dean, "Would your mother and father still be alive if your brother was never born?" Their struggle to confront each other about these issues is represented by the questions being unanswerable because they're in Japanese. Sam fails to answer and gets hit in the nuts, while Dean presses the buzzer and finds himself answering 'yes' in Japanese. There is unspoken and unresolved tension between them, as Sam does not acknowledge his act of betrayal, and on some level, Dean resents Sam's very existence. Of course, I don't know what events these questions are referring to, but I'm proceeding with the write-up under the assumption that they're big deals.

Gabriel cites, "As it is in heaven, so it must be on Earth". Like Lucifer and Michael, Sam and Dean must fight, and one brother must kill the other. Conversely, As it is on Earth, so it must be in heaven. It's not a statement about destiny, but how the epic is being used to serve the personal. Gabriel re-contextualizes the angels as a squabbling family, and the apocalypse as not a war, but Sunday dinner. God is turned into an absentee father, and Gabriel is a latchkey kid raised on too much television and looks to it for answers. As a retreat into childhood, he looks for salvation in '80s nostalgia. The brothers defeat Gabriel when Sam turns into KITT, and earlier in the episode, a woman is rescued from an abusive husband by the Lou Ferrigno Hulk. This episode is ultimately about growing up and learning to fight your own battles. As Dean tells Gabriel, it's not about some destiny, but about Gabriel being too afraid to stand up to his family.

Dean comes right up to the problem, but fall short of applying it to Sam and him. The entire conflict is about them, and everything else is an extended metaphor. Meta-fictionally, their roles are not as vessels, but as characters in a show about the relationship between two brothers. The end is not signalled by angels going to war, but by their relationship becoming irreconcilable. Apocalypse is a non-issue if you don't care about the characters, so the show needs to give their conflict the proper respect and time. Hence, becoming a vessel for Michael and Lucifer is the threat of losing the sense of these characters by co-opting their development, and turning them into empty shells playing a role.

Will I Watch More - It was pretty funny, and clever. It would be more clever if it didn't feel the need to explain everything to the extent it did, though. I also hate parodies of bad sitcoms as a comedy trope, but I can excuse that since this isn't a full-on comedy. It was okay, but I'm not particularly interested in watching more.

9. Adventure Time - Thank You (S03E17)

Nominated by: tazzyboyishere

''What I (Think I) Know - It's some massive geek phenomenon. I don't know... looks kind of twee.''

How much of a Scrooge would I seem like if I said, "**** this whimsical ukulele bull****"? I don't hate it, but the theme song is my least favourite thing about an episode that largely finds a good balance of being cute without being cloying.

The plot is very simple, and mostly wordless outside of Jake and Finn's subplot. A Snow Golem is running errands when he's attacked by a group of Fire Wolves. Afterwards, a Fire Wolf Pup follows him home, despite the Snow Golem's best efforts to shake it off. He realizes that it's not going to survive the night on its own, so he brings it into his house. He feeds it, plays with it, lulls it to sleep and they bond over time. The next morning, he braves travelling to the Fire Wolves home, half melting in the process, and returns the Pup to its family, who remains hostile. The Snow Golem returns home and sighs. Then the Fire Wolves come up behind him, and the Pup leaps on him and starts licking his face. The Snow Golem is laughing and playing with the pup, while melting into a puddle.

Meanwhile in the background, Jake and Finn are trying to get their sandwiches back from the Ice King, who is wearing invincible ice armor. We get snippets of it throughout the episode when the Snow Golem passes by, and runs away to avoid them. Finn and Jake eventually break through the armor, and at the end, are seen eating sandwiches while sitting on the Ice King, at which point they notice the main plot. They observe how the Snow Golem and the Fire Wolves are getting along, despite being natural enemies. Finn gives the Ice King a peck the cheek, and the Ice King says "Thank you".

I love episodes that focus on secondary characters. It's interesting to see how a work functions without its protagonists, it's great for anything concerned with worldbuilding, and for exploring alternate perspectives on characters and themes. In this episode, the gentle, heart-warming main plot features an unnamed Snow Golem, who lives nearby to where Jake, Finn, and the Ice King's altercation is taking place. It's about the journey of getting along with someone who you're predisposed to avoid or dislike, by stepping out of your comfort zone, and allowing yourself  to be vulnerable. The emotional sacrifice is mirrored by physical sacrifice, as the Snow Golem constantly changes shape to show how people have to be flexible for relationships to work. He shifts the snow around his body to entertain the Pup, and he half-melts while taking it home. It's not clear whether spending time with the Pup is going to kill the Snow Golem as the episode ends with him as a puddle but still with a face and functioning arms. In my mind, this only means that there's a limit on how long they can be together each time, and he can always re-freeze after, but maybe I'm just being optimistic.

There's a great contrast between the main and subplot, as the Snow Golem embarks on a selfless, life-threatening quest to help the Pup, while Finn, Jake, and the Ice King are going to war over something as trivial as stolen sandwiches. The intersecting moment, when the lesson is learned, is subtly played. They don't have the full context of what happened between the Snow Golem and the Fire Wolves, so a lot of the scene involves them observing in silence. They make relevant observations, but no explicit link is drawn between what they're seeing and their own situation. The Ice King starts in that direction then swerves: "You know, maybe we can all learn a thing or two from those sandwiches". It feels like they're actually processing what they witness, and the revelation comes from introspection  as much as it is externally triggered. They end up on the same page, so Finn's simple gesture of reconciliation is instantly understood, without having to discuss it. Looking back at the episode, the sandwich fight is more analogous to the main plot than it seemed. The first interaction is a squandered opportunity for empathy. The Ice King tells Jake and Finn that, if they were him, they would steal the sandwiches too. They all come to the conclusion that, if the situation were reversed, it would still end up in a fight. The Ice King spends the episode wearing invincible ice armor, which is the opposite of the mutable Snow Golem. They spend the entire episode in these prescribed roles, fighting a war of attrition because neither side is willing to be vulnerable.

The episode is also very visually creative. The Snow Golem, being made entirely of snow, animates in fun ways. For example, the episode starts with him smacking down on a bird/alarm clock which goes right through his hand, and readjusting his eye that fell lop-sided. He then washes his non-existent hair, and toys with moulding the top of his head into a pair of horns, but decides against it. The entire episode is full of fun details and body language. Being mostly wordless, there's some good use of music too, like when the jaunty tune accompanying the Snow Golem's stroll is interrupted by something akin to videogame battle music when focus is temporarily shifted to the sandwich fight.

Will I Watch More - I feel like I might have even ranked it too low after doing the write-up. I dismissed it before because it's a children's cartoon for grown geeks, and it generates a large quantity of tumblr gifs. I guess I have to put my snobbery aside and watch it.

8. Lost - The Constant (S04E05)

Nominated by: My Immortal

''What (I Think) I Know - It's  a process of endless deferral, answering questions with more questions, and demanding more attention while offering less reward. I can't remember exactly which episode, but I stopped watching Lost somewhere in the middle of season 2. Charlie kidnapping a baby is the last thing I remember, if that narrows it down. At the time, it felt like the strong character drama of season 1 was being subsumed by the myth arc. I heard it gets better, but I never checked back in. ''

''These days, Lost usually comes up in reference to how terrible the finale is. I have a general idea of how it ends, but without seeing the execution in context, I can't say if they pull it off. Probably not, but it's a very ambitious show.''

In "The Constant", the sci-fi elements and the emotional arc work in concert, creating a satisfying whole rather than a tease. Time travel is used as a metaphor for regret. The biggest regret of Desmond's life is losing Penny, and it runs through his head as vividly as if he was there and then. He becomes fixated, unable to move on from the moment. The episode begins with Sayid and Desmond in a helicopter heading towards a freighter, where they hope to find some answers. To get there, they have to follow a specific trajectory through a storm cloud, which Daniel Faraday (scruffy NPH), wrote down for the pilot. Faraday explains to Jack that his perception of how long the helicopter's been gone is not necessarily how long it's actually been gone, and there is evidence that time is accelerated through the storm cloud. As they enter the cloud, Desmond starts to think that he's in 1996, which is when he broke up with Penny and joined the military. His consciousness is jumping back and forth between his body then and his body in 2004. There is constant mirroring between the two time periods, representing the simultaneity of time rather than a linear progression. Time is accelerated in the storm cloud in 2004, and in 1996, Desmond is running drills in double time as punishment for getting up late. Time is revealed to be subjective, and a narrative imposition.

Desmond's narrative impositions has him breaking down eight years into two moments. In 1996, he loses Penny, and in 2004, he gets her back. Despite taking place in two time periods, events basically move in real time. When his consciousness is in one place, he's immobile in the other. Desmond talks to Faraday on the radio in 2004, who gives him the formula for time travel, and instructs him to give it to Faraday in 1996. Faraday in 1996, explains that Desmond needs to find a constant, so he gets Penny's number, and calls her in 2004. Events in 2004 precipitates actions in 1996 and vice versa, creating a time loop. This is not how linear time works, where causality is a concern, but it is exactly how memory works. The past does not actually exist beyond our interaction with it in the present, and any chronology is an imposition. Events become linked through narrative, so we can organize our identity. By jumping between the two time periods, there is no concrete present moment, and it becomes whichever period Desmond happens to be occupying. Memory is linked with time throughout the episode. The pilot has a cheat sheet as a memory aid to navigate the time-altering storm cloud. The time loop appears to maintain its integrity by simply having Faraday and Desmond forget that they met.

The episode culminates in Desmond calling Penny on the freighter on Christmas Eve, in a very well done, emotional scene. '04 Desmond dials the number, and we cut to '96 Desmond, but without the usual match cut. The two Desmonds are now free to live without sharing a consciousness. '96 Desmond smiles, as if the emotion reverberates through the timeline. Penny answers the phone, and the conversation proceeds with faster and faster cuts, mimicking the process of them reconnecting. They start to finish each other's thought, saying the same thing in rapid succession, ending with both of them saying "I love you" simultaneously. The power source runs out despite Sayid's best effort. Desmond looks at him, genuinely touched, and thanks him. Everyone involved took a leap of faith towards a seemingly irrational plan. The constant is not a time travel concept, but the ability to trust someone wholeheartedly.

However, I'm going to ruin the moment, and say that it is actually a very good question when Desmond asks Faraday if the constant can be a person, because people are not constant. People change, and there is a major flaw in having someone inform your identity to the point where you can't even stick to a time and place without them. Penny is reduced into the idea of Penny, and there is no interest in who she's been in these eight years. And now, I'm going to pointlessly and infuriatingly speculate about Lost long after it ended, and based on next to no information, in an attempt to have the genuine Lost experience. The constant is the price to be paid for time travel, and it's a more vampiric relationship than its the optimistic portrayal. It is co-opting someone else's identity to sure up your own. Penny's story is never told, and she becomes the motivation in someone else's narrative. In time travel terms, it's conscripting someone to the dedicated role of explaining someone else's time paradoxes so they can move on. At the end of the episode, we learn that Desmond is Faraday's constant, and we spent the episode with Desmond in an endless time loop in a way that allows Faraday to learn about time travel. Desmond is constant, remaining in his 1996 mindset, unable to grow while he's in the loop, just as Penny would be when Desmond conscripts her. The only way to be free from the tyranny of time, is by imposing it on someone else instead.

Will I Watch More - I think I missed the boat on Lost, and I'm not sure I'd have the patience for it anyway. It's somewhat intriguing, but mostly daunting.

7. American Dad - Bully For Steve (S06E16)

Nominated by: Chinballz

''What I (Think I) Know - I remember this starting out pretty bad, and getting progressively better. I didn't watch it regularly, but I caught the occasional re-run when it came on after Futurama back when I had Teletoon.''

Is Family Guy a useful reference point for this show anymore? I don't know how much shared personnel the two shows have at this point, nor do I really know what Family Guy is these days having not seen an episode since probably season 6. There are things in this episode that feel like thoughtful improvements on what Family Guy does, particularly in how it handles its absurd non-sequiturs. It has the equivalent of cutaway gags, but they're used sparingly, and allowed to just happen without the unnecessary preamble. Of course, saying it's better than Family Guy would just be damning with faint praise, when this episode is actually good on its own.

In this episode, Stan observes that Steve avoids confrontation, and tries to force him to stand up for himself by dressing up as a school bully and beating Steve up. The episode is full of tangents and throwaway gags, but it's anchored by a real investment in the characters and how they relate to one another. No matter how ridiculous their actions get, the episode maintains an internal consistency. The conflict has a payoff, rather than only being a platform for gags.

The structure is not qualitatively superior to what Family Guy does. Ultimately, it  comes down to better writing. For example, The Young Ones is all non-sequiturs, stereotypical characters, and has no logical progression to anything happening. However. it's properly surreal and anarchic, while Family Guy relies on shock value, bog-standard offensive jokes, or the same gags they've done before repeated wholesale. The cutaway gag exemplifies this, as a standard set-up  involves someone making a laboured analogy during conversation as a way to cue up the cutaway gag. There is a clear choice made to sacrifice focus on the way characters are interacting and responding to on-going events in favour of a standalone, unrelated gag. If the gag is strong then it wouldn't matter at all, but if it's not, there's nothing to fall back on.

In contrast, American Dad allows its more absurd jokes to interact with the narrative, allowing for a weirder show with some weight, and better pacing. The best part of the episode is an overlong gag, where we follow an old lady as she goes to the deli, before Stan tackles her to the ground and pulls off her mask, revealing that it was Steve the whole time. It's a very slow-paced and meticulously detailed sequence, involving stuff like the old lady giving a look of disapproval after checking the sodium content on a pack of crackers. It's a funny sequence that's made funnier as an example of the extreme, unnecessary lengths that Steve would go in order to avoid conflict. Even a relatively weak gag, like the school janitor turning into a werewolf, is improved by not having to be cued and having a character react to it. Gags are allowed to function on their own, but also work as set-up.

The conflict is resolved by Steve hiring Stan's school bully, Stelio Kontos, to fight for him which pays off both the earlier anecdote about Stelio, and the crate of oranges analogy forming the basis of Stan's plan. Stan reasons that the great thing about bullies is that they don't go away, and explains how Stelio made him who he is today. Hypocritically, Stan's bullying problem was resolved when Stelio moved away, so his plan to bully Steve really has no basis. The resolution turns Stan's lesson back on himself, and he witnesses the flaws firsthand. Stan also based his plan on a hypothetical situation where Steve would one day have to haul a crate of oranges up a steep hill for his dying mother. Steve suggests paying someone to do it, and is vindicated when he pays Stelio to fight for him. It's an effective ending because it's very specific to the situation, and uses all the pieces provided. At one point, there is an inkling towards a more general narrative about the cyclical nature of bullying, but it's not pursued. Stan isn't a real bully, and Steve doesn't actually need to fight him. It's a contrived scenario with one intended answer that Stan hopes will guide Steve in the world at large. Steve comes at it from the other end, by bringing the world at large in to handle the contrived scenario. The solution emphasizes how the conflict was based on ideological differences the whole time.

Roger has an inconsequential subplot where he's trying to be a crime scene photographer, and shows up a few times when someone gets injured. I remember the character being overbearing, but I don't know if I just caught a string of Roger-centric episodes. Here, he's just part of the ensemble, and has a few good scenes.

There is also a weak subplot involving Hayley going out with Reginald, the talking Koala. It's very light on jokes, presumably relying on the inherent humour of an animal behaving like a human. The pun "Koala-ty time" is made. It's terrible.

Will I Watch More - I know jokes don't come off very well when described in tedious detail, but I did enjoy it. It has good characters that play off each other well. I might look into it some more.

6. The West Wing - Two Cathedrals (S02E22)

Nominated by: scarletspeed7 (and TheArkOfTurus)

What I (Think I) Know - Ark actually nominated it first and with higher priority, but scarlet had one eligible nomination while Ark had two, so I went ahead and took this and Ark's third choice.

Anyways, it's the walking and talking show, cited for how audiences don't need to fully understand a show to enjoy it.

In this episode, everything's on fire. The public found out that the president lied about having MS, the party is asking if he will run for re-election while considering alternatives, Mrs. Landingham died, 53 people are trapped in an embassy in Haiti, a tropical storm is coming, and there's asbestos in the East Room. The episode mainly deals with Mrs. Landingham's funeral, and the question of re-election. The president is dealing with the ongoing situation between flashbacks to Jed in school with his father as the headmaster, and meeting Mrs. Landingham, his new secretary, for the first time. These flashbacks serve as part of his grieving process, but also shows his political awakening and the impact Mrs. Landingham had on him. Through this process, he comes to a decision about his next move, and the episode ends with a press conference where he announces whether or not he will run.

First of all, walking and talking is fantastic. It gives every conversation a feeling of urgency. The show would often skip the event and go straight to the reaction, which gives the show a very fast pace. It doesn't matter if you know what's going on, just know that it's being dealt with promptly by people who understand perfectly well. Th,is episode doesn't focus on the staff much, but they're all good at their job, and loyal to the president. Much like The Newsroom, it's an idealistic show, except it's the inherent goodness of government rather than journalism. The institution is strong, and the people in charge are all competent and working in your best interest. Like The Newsroom, it has problems with its unchecked arrogance and staunch belief in the guidance of "great men". The execution though, is worlds better. The big speeches work as character moments, and not just hostile patronization.

While everyone is whizzing around doing their jobs, the president is struggling to hold it together. Everything's happening at once, and he doesn't even have time to grieve. He spends most of the episode in a daze, focusing on minor details like whether or not it's unusual for there to be a tropical storm in May, and how the storm wind keeps blowing the door open in the Oval Office. He circles around the problem, unable to face the storm head-on. Near the end of the episode, he will stand in the baptismal rain, and emerge ready to run for re-election. His guilt and sorrow results in a dramatic monologue at the halfway point, in an emptied National Cathedral after the funeral. He calls God a "son of a *****" and a "feckless thug." He accuses Him of being vindictive, and punishing him for lying about MS by taking Mrs. Landingham. He lists the good he's done in politics, then personal achievements, and asks why it wasn't enough. He ends by snubbing a cigarette out, and telling God that he gets Hoynes, who is being considered for the candidacy, meaning that Jed isn't going to run for re-election because God doesn't deserve him. Even as a crisis of faith from a broken man, it's troublingly egotistical. Whether or not Jed is right to lie about MS is irrelevant, since the argument is that he's above reproach, and God should stop getting in his way.

Some context is required though, as the speech is about Jed's father more than it is about God. The cigarette he snubs out is in defiance of his father, who in an earlier flashback, finds a cigarette butt in the church, and tells Jed to tell his friends that no one is to smoke in church. Throughout the episode, there are flashbacks to young Jed, who does not want any special treatment just because his father is the headmaster. Jed enters his father's office,  hoping to talk about the wage gap that Mrs. Landingham came to him about. His father is reading an article Jed wrote criticizing a professor for banning certain books from the library. His father slaps him and belittles him for being a smartass, and Jed realizes that he is under his father's rule, and will never be treated fairly as a student. He declines to mention the wage gap, and walks out of the office. In both past and present, Jed feels powerless, and at the mercy of a petty tyrant. He is not being evaluated by the quality of his actions or argument, but by an arbitrary power structure.

Moments before the press conference, Jed is alone in the Oval Office, and Mrs. Landingham shows up as a physical representation of his conscience. Fortunately, Jed understands that God is not out to get him, and that he has issues with his father. Conscience-Landingham tells Jed to stop using her as an excuse for not running, and calls Jed's father a prick. Like the church monologue before it, it's really one man alone in a room feeding his own ego. She quizzes him on all the problems facing the country, and concludes that's it's respectable for him to not run if he doesn't want to, but not if it's because he's scared to. Jed stands in the rain, washes his sin away, and leaves for the press conference with steely determination. He's the only one who can solve these problems, and the only way he can do it is at the very top.

There was never actually any doubt that Jed will run, since there would be no show otherwise. Here he reasserts himself at the centre of the show's universe, just as he assumed he was during the church monologue. The storm, which he previously took as part of God's punishment, now provides a dramatic backdrop for his heroic march. The asbestos that relocated the press conference to the State Department allows for a dramatic moment as the president's car passes the National Cathedral just as a janitor picks up the cigarette butt he left. Jed is in complete control, which he demonstrates on the podium. He declines to start with an easy question from a medical reporter, and gets straight to the re-election question. He knows before even calling on the reporter what the question will be, but he nonetheless asks her to repeat herself for clarification because there was some noise in the room. He plays with the crowd, and sets his own pace. Jed puts his hands in his pocket, looks off to the side, smiles, then the episode fades to black. We learned in an earlier flashback that that sequence of gestures means he's made a decision.

It's been an episode of Jed talking himself out of and back into the job he's solely qualified for. However, maybe he shouldn't run when he has MS, the party is against it, and any attempt to talk policy would be sidelined by his presence. Maybe he should consult some of his staff, rather than himself twice. The decision would have been the same regardless, so perhaps this is the most honest approach, but it's a bit of a leap in logic from somewhat coming to terms with his father issues to being fit to run the country.

Will I Watch More - It's very good in every technical aspect, so I should probably check it out some more. It's not really my thing though.

5. The Shield - Pilot (S01E01)

Nominated by: SirDiemsma

What I (Think I) Know - Morally ambiguous dirty cop show.

A pilot episode has to establish a show's premise, characters, and tone, while telling a story with those things at the same time. It is rarely a show's best offering, and lends itself to stilted exposition and having too much happening at once. There is some of that in "Pilot", but for the most part, it's very elegant. Vic's Strike Team are planning a drug bust, Dutch & Claudette are on a case about a kidnapped girl, Aceveda recruits Terry to help build a case against Vic, and Danielle & Julien are investigating some slashed tires. A lot is happening, but it's all used to foreground character development, and introduce longstanding conflicts. There is enough story to move things along, but the cases are not the focus.

The episode starts by juxtaposing scenes of Vic's team chasing down a drug dealer, with scenes of Aceveda giving a press conference about the dropping crime rate, which sets up the central conflict of the episode. Vic is a corrupt cop, and we see this as he uses excessive force and pockets the drugs after they catch the perp. Aceveda wants to take down Vic for political gain, but Vic  is charismatic, well-liked by the higher-ups, and he gets results. The dropping crime rate is dependent on Vic's practices. Aceveda asks the crowd with a proud smile, "Any questions?" right after a scene where Vic pulls down the perp's pants, pull off the drugs taped to his crotch, and marches him down the alley without any pants on, and the juxtaposition has Aceveda condoning the very thing he's fighting against while unaware. A dominant theme in this episode is the decision to turn a blind eye to the heavy cost of safety. This is best shown when Dutch and Claudette needs to get the suspect to tell them where the little girl is, and they're running out of time. Aceveda grudgingly tells Vic that he needs him. Vic goes in to torture the suspect, and Aceveda turns off the surveillance monitor right as Vic is about to smack the suspect with a phone book as an attempt to absolve himself. Vic walks out after some time with the location, and no one knows what to say to him. They disagree with his methods, but he just saved a little girl.

As Vic describes himself, "Good cop and bad cop left for the day. I'm a different kind of cop". The show trades on moral ambiguity, which is a struggle for the characters themselves, and the audience. Vic commands attention by charisma, but there's no one that you're clearly supposed to root for. He does not easily reduce into broad statements about whether or not the end justify the means or  how absolute power corrupts absolutely. Both definitely come up, but the character is reasonable complex and self-contradictory, forcing the audience to deal both the character's flaws and virtues. We don't get as much focus on the other characters, but they're all quite interesting. Dutch, in particular, is an odd mix of sadistic and pathetic, and I'd be interested to see where they take him.

It's a good pilot so far, but what puts it over the top is the ending. The episode sets up a scenario where Terry infiltrates the Strike Team in order to bring down Vic Mackey, then subverts it at the last moment by having Vic shoot Terry dead, look at the camera (and where the body is), and shakes his head, as if addressing the  audience and saying that it's not that kind of show. In a moment of dark humour, Terry's life flashes before his eyes, which is composed of the few scenes he had in this first episode. The lame attempts to soften the character previously, like telling the guy in the crackhouse to get the kids some crayons and keep them away from the drugs, or giving money to the prostitute to buy soup, now feel like bad jokes after the cop kill. There's a dark sense of humour throughout, which compliments the grungy look of its shaky camera and ambient lighting.

It's worth contrasting this final scene with the previous looks to camera that take place in the interrogation room. A crackhead kills his wife and sells his daughter, and he asks why no one stopped him when he realizes what he's done. Claudette looks at the surveillance camera in the top corner as a way of relaying the question upwards, as Aceveda watches from the monitor room. The pedophile, entirely confident in his safety, talks directly to the camera and asks whoever's in charge to charge or release him, and that he's ready for his lawyer. Both looks display a reliance on the system for answers, and they're both directed upwards at authority. When Vic goes in for torture, the pedophile glances at the camera and reminds him that people are watching, and Vic stands up, pauses, and notably does not look back. Vic is outside the system, which watches but cannot intervene. When Vic exits after his interrogation the camera zooms in to show that the interrogation room on the second floor and he walks downstairs to meet the rest of the detectives, which further shows how fragile and remote the system is. Aceveda in the monitor room looks down from an illusory position, and his only agency is whether to watch the torture or not. In the final scene, Vic asserts his gravity over the show, and as the real authority.

However, it's not as tyrannical as it sounds. The Strike Team looks like they're in charge as they strut out of the office while Kid Rock plays, but their powerlessness is shown in a montage as they drive the van to their bust. They drive past the prostitute Vic helps earlier, who's back on the street. Danielle has a blind date, and she reluctantly puts away her gun, opens the door, and goes to put the gun back into her purse. Here, Vic feels more like a symptom of the city than its ruler, and is ultimately unable to fight the tide.

Will I Watch More - It's hard to say how it would turn out based on a pilot, but I'll keep watching. There are some traps it could fall into, like making it too much about the pleasure of seeing Vic be badass, or botching the increasingly common convention of implicating the audience for enjoying its power fantasy, but I'm at least interested.

4. Batman: The Animated Series - Perchance to Dream (S01E30)

Nominated by: 637212128342972

''What I (Think I) Know - I watched this show as a kid, and I... may have actually seen this episode. The clock tower fight, and the last line are vaguely familiar. Either way, I don't remember very well, so here it is anyways.''

The idea that Bruce Wayne, and not Batman, is the mask is one of the most tired truisms in superhero comics, and was always a gross oversimplification of the character. He's not a billionaire playboy, but he's not really the night, either. Identity is a performance, and we all behave differently depending on context. More importantly for this story, neither side makes sense without the other, and Batman's fight would have no purpose without Bruce Wayne. "Perchance to Dream" examines Bruce's self-identify by delving into his psyche, and imagining a world where his parents never died, and he never became Batman.

The episode opens with Batman chasing down some crooks, when he suddenly gets hit with a flash of light and a piece of machinery dropping on his head, knocking him unconscious. Bruce wakes up in his bed in Twilight Zone-esque fashion, where the world is changed and he alone remembers reality. Bruce is understandably in a manic state with a lot eyes twitching, head clutching, and running out of rooms as he reconciles the situation. Everything he knows is a lie, and his very identity is thrown into question.

To complicate matters further, Batman stills exists in the dream. However, it makes sense that Bruce's psyche would create Batman even in the absence of the catalyst that created him. Batman is a symbol, and part of Bruce's self-justification for his mission is that Gotham always needs a Batman, hence Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Jean-Paul Valley, Terry McGinnis, etc. However, this isn't any Batman, but Bruce Wayne himself, with the same voice and appearance. In a moment of self-worship, Bruce sees Batman in action and finds himself unexpectedly impressed. He asks who Batman is in disbelief, because while he knows, he almost can't believe it. This demonstrates how Bruce is alienated from his own creation, which has become bigger than him. He finds himself as the human frailty holding back an ontological force of good.

Bruce feels like he's living someone else's life, and seeks Dr. Leslie Thompkins for help. She suggests that Bruce finds his own life meaningless, and he unconsciously associated himself with Batman, whose every deed has great value, to compensate. Leslie is talking about the dream world, but Batman was always a coping mechanism. After helplessly watching his parents gunned down before him, Bruce needed to find his agency, believe in justice, and a single person's ability make a difference. Bruce has been living a fantasy long before the dream he's in. He knows better than anyone that Batman is a construction, yet he needs Batman to be real more than anyone. In the dream, he let's go of Batman and decides to live and be happy. His parents are alive, and he doesn't need his coping mechanism.

However, in true Twilight Zone fashion, there's a twist that punctures the utopia. In the dream, Bruce is dyslexic:

http://img1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20080713175342/dcanimated/images/8/8d/Can't_read.jpg

"But it's not fair! There was time at last!"

Bruce doesn't understand why, but he's sure that Batman is behind his troubles. Of course, Bruce Wayne is Batman, and he can't just turn that part of himself off. He observes that he can't read and figures out that he must be in a dream, because... something about right-brain, left-brain. We see Bruce slowly turn into Batman, as he goes to confront him on nebulous grounds. Bruce gets into a blue sports car resembling the Batmobile, and purchases a grappling hook so he can scale the clock tower, and comes face-to-face with the Bruce-less Batman. Kevin Conroy gives this version of Batman an extra menacing, even mocking, tone, as befitting an idea meeting the creator it outgrew. Bruce holds Batman by the collar, accuses him of being responsible, and desperately asks for an explanation. Bruce isn't wrong, as Batman does not make sense in this perfect world, and is a constant reminder that it's all a dream. Bruce pulls off Batman's mask revealing the Mad Hatter, who has him strapped to a mind control device designed to create an ideal world for Batman, so he never comes back. The imaginary Mad Hatter insists that just because it's a dream doesn't mean it isn't real. Identity is a construction, anyway. As this is Bruce's ideal world, the way it falls apart can be read as part of the dream. As with the creation of Batman, Bruce needs solutions and he needs villains to punch. Bruce takes himself out of the dream by jumping off the tower, and falls towards the camera, which fades to Batman, in the real world, waking up and removing the mind control device. The two identities become one, and the ideal world is sacrificed so that Batman may live. It's ridiculous that the Mad Hatter would have an unconscious Batman yet never bother to remove the cowl, but it's important to see that Batman is the one dreaming. Batman's perfect world is one where doesn't exist, but it's impossible to imagine a world without a subject position. Commissioner Gordon comes to haul the Mad Hatter away, and asks Batman if he knows what the device is. In a very tragic and touching moment, a dejected Batman says it's "the stuff dreams are made of" as he walks away.

Will I Watch More - Well, I have seen more. Like I said, possibly even this episode, and I just forgot.

Will I Re-watch More - Yeah, probably.

3. Moral Orel - Numb (S03E01)

Nominated by: jcgamer107

''What I (Think I) Know - I caught an episode or two early on, which was some pretty decent religious satire, but nothing outstanding. I've heard it gets way better and darker, though.''

The episode starts by zooming in from space to Moralton in the generically-named Middle American state of Statesota. From there, it zooms in on Orel's parents' bedroom, where they sleep in separate beds with a partition between them. The first half The Mountain Goats' "No Children" plays over this:

I hope that our few remaining friends 

Give up on trying to save us 

I hope we come out with a fail-safe plot 

To piss off the dumb few that forgave us 

I hope the fences we mended 

Fall down beneath their own weight 

And I hope we hang on past the last exit 

I hope it's already too late 

And I hope the junkyard a few blocks from here 

Someday burns down 

And I hope the rising black smoke carries me far away 

And I never come back to this town again in my life 

I hope I lie 

And tell everyone you were a good wife 

And I hope you die 

I hope we both die

"Numb" is centred on Bloberta, who is trapped in a failed marriage full of resentment. The episode also gestures towards a general statement about the hypocrisy of suburban life and its repression through the institutions of religion, marriage, and the nuclear family. Statesota is meant to represent a large swathe of the country, and in the episode, we see a brief glimpse of another housewife, who looks nearly identical to Bloberta, with a similar child, shut up in a similar house. 'Suburban life is isolating and repressed' is not exactly a novel theme, but it's done well here, and avoids being heavy-handed. It's unrelentingly bleak, but also very funny. It's reminiscent of a Todd Solondz movie in that regard. We are all, no matter how depraved the means, seeking the same human connection.

After the song, Clay is leaving on a hunting trip with Orel, and he's casually tossing away 'unnecessary' gear like a compass and a first aid kit in a more obvious set-up for a comedy plot. The focus, however, is on Bloberta watching them listlessly from the window, followed by a match cut to her operating a dildo in bed with the same blank expression. She opens a hidden photo album, and we learn that she had an affair with the coach, and Shapey, her younger son, is actually his. This is followed by a funny sequence where Bloberta flips back and forth between her son and his photo, and realizes that she's got the wrong kid after a previous play date, and calls the Posabules to switch back. In the song "No Children", it's not clear whether or not the couple actually have children. Children, or the lack of children, can both be interpreted as possible sources of resentment. For the show, Shapey's illegitimacy may be contributing factor. More likely though, children are alibis for deeper issues the couple refuses to deal with. Certainly, it's hard to pretend that Bloberta and Clay are staying together for the children when they can go months with the wrong one. She gets Shapey back but without losing Block Posabule, which doesn't affect her much, as it makes no real difference whether she's neglecting one child or two. Block and Shapey, incidentally, are the only ones to establish a meaningful connection in this episode, but they achieve it by sharing the same three-word vocabulary.

Bloberta tries to get back together with the Coach, but he refuses, and they both acknowledge that he was only using her to get close to Clay. She propositions the Reverend, but he climaxes just from her describing it, then tells her to leave. She is unable to find a reciprocal relationship, and it becomes clearer why she, and the speaker in the song, stay in doomed relationships. The song talks about mutual destruction, but at least they feel something, and there's nothing out there. On her search, Bloberta's gaze also lingers on a few posters. In the bar, there's a poster of a church with the phrase, "time to hit the sauce, toasting him upon the cross", and in the doctor's office, there's a poster promoting how to "keep your family's hearts happy with nutritiously fatty foods". There's a lifting of the veil as all the repression reaches its limits, and she sees the hypocrisy of the institutions that run her life. She has to present happiness and fulfilment, when she is numb on the inside.

After failing to connect, Bloberta tries to use a power drill as a dildo, and hurts herself. She sees Doctor Potterswheel, who is sexually aroused by injuries. He prescribes painkillers, encourages her to continue her habits, and promises to raise the dosage when necessary. She comes back with increasingly severe injuries, until once where she takes Potterswheel's handkerchief home with her, and finds that she is able orgasm with just that and thinking about Potterswheel, who she thought genuinely cared about her. She returns with no injuries, and he loses all interest, unwilling to even look at her. It was only ever about the injuries. Love is how people counteract the substitutability and standardization of life displayed earlier in the episode, but none of the relationships Bloberta tries to establish end up being about her in any way.

The episode ends with a sequence from Clay's perspective, which is the highlight of an already great episode. He stumbles through the house drunk after finding Potterswheel's handkerchief to confront Bloberta. The second half of "No Children" plays:

I hope I cut myself shaving tomorrow

I hope it bleeds all day long

Our friends say it's darkest before the sun rises

We're pretty sure they're all wrong

I hope it stays dark forever

I hope the worst isn't over

And I hope you blink before I do

And I hope I never get sober

And I hope when you think of me years down the line

You can't find one good thing to say

And I'd hope that if I found the strength to walk out

You'd stay the hell out of my way

I am drowning

There is no sign of land

You are coming down with me

Hand in unlovable hand

And I hope you die

I hope we both die

He passes his two younger kids, neither his, playing with power tools. He pauses outside of Orel's room as Orel asks his mom why she's with dad, considering how he changes when he drinks. There is inkling that they stay together for Orel, as she somewhat tries to shield him from the truth. She cheerily tries to explains that his dad doesn't change, but it's his true nature coming out. It's a semantic distinction at best, and arguably more damning. It implies that he was always like this, she never loved him, or at least that the situation is so untenable that it doesn't matter. She breaks down as soon as she exits Orel's room, sees Clay, steels herself, and walks away. They lay awake in their separate beds, without a word exchanged. There is no illusion about the situation anymore.

Will I Watch More - Absolutely.

2. My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic - Lesson Zero (S02E03)

Nominated by: GenesisTwilight

''What I (Think I) Know - I saw a few episodes during the first season to see what the fuss was about, and it was enjoyable, if a bit limited by its "moral of the story" structure. ''

And here's an episode addressing that exact concern. Twilight Sparkle, in the course of completing her daily errands, realizes that she has yet to write a letter to Princess Celestia about what she learned about friendship that week, and time is running out. She panics, believing that if she doesn't learn that lesson by the end of the day, she'll be reprimanded for being tardy, and sent back to magic kindergarten. Diegetically, it's a trivial problem, and is in fact, based on the lack of real conflict. Extra-diegetically, it's possibly as catastrophic as she is imagining. Her letter to Princess Celestia is how every episode up to this point has ended, so the lack of a lesson threatens the show itself. Spike tries to reason with her and talk her down, but she only insists that she has to do it without being able to expand on why. She's not entirely unreasonable, as that's all she's ever known. The episode takes the show apart and interrogates its basic premise. Through a confluence of form and content, it imparts the single most important friendship lesson, and comes away better than ever.

The first third of the episode, before the realization, appears to set-up a lesson for Twilight along the lines of "don't sweat the small stuff too much lest you lose the big picture". The cold open has her completing a checklist for what she needs to create a checklist, followed by a checklist where item one is to create a checklist. She then goes to pick up cupcakes from the bakery and receives an extra one, causing an icing imbalance due to the more tightly-packed box. She redistributes the icing until each cupcake ends up with a tiny dollop in the middle. The episode could have proceeded with Twilight learning to be less of a control freak, and it would have been intuitive. Even after the plot changes direction, it can still be read as a uniquely Twilight problem, where she will come away with a better understanding of herself. She is myopically focused on how she thinks events are supposed to proceed, she has a need to be needed, and she refuses to listen to anyone else. As the episode goes longer and longer without the expected lesson being learned however, a sense of unease sets in and the structure of the show breaks down.

At this point, Twilight essentially turns into a writer for the show in search of an ending. She goes around to her friends, masochistically hoping they have problems for her to solve. She finds Rarity crying about the "Worst. Possible. Thing", and we see the first sign of the dark path Twilight is on as her eyes gleam with excitement from hearing about it. As it turns out, Rarity just lost her ribbon, which she then finds. She moves on to Rainbow Dash, who is destroying Applejack's barn, and concocts a scenario in her mind where the two are in a conflict, in an attempt to build a traditional Friendship is Magic plot. She soon learns that Rainbow Dash is just helping Applejack tear down the old barn so she can put up a new one, and there is absolutely no problem there. It gets worst from there as Twilight sees Fluttershy fighting a bear, and selfishly laments that Fluttershy had to learn to conquer her fears on her own on this day of all days. Unbeknownst to Twilight, Fluttershy was actually giving it a massage. Twilight's lessons are all based on a very narrow interpretation of her friends, shoe-horned into a generic lesson she can make up without understanding the situation. Rainbow Dash must be violently lashing out, Fluttershy must be scared of something. This is what the show can become at its worse, and what this episode seeks to foreclose on.

Twilight's obsession gradually gets worse throughout the episode. It goes from normal Twilight Sparkle to this:

http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/thewaterbandit/11947064/86621/86621_original.jpg

and eventually this:

http://img2.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20120804223735/mlp/images/1/12/Twilight_Sparkle_with_a_bird's_nest_on_her_head_S2E03.png

Her mind warps to the point where she decides that if she can't find a friendship problem, she'll make a friendship problem, and she enchants her doll, causing the whole town to fight over it. Princess Celestia has to intervene, and Twilight's worse fears come to fruition, as she is now in big trouble. However, she is not entirely at fault here, and this brings us to the lesson that eluded her the whole time.

The episode is called "Lesson Zero", which is as fundamental as it can get. It's not the first lesson, but the means by which people can even start to learn about friendship. Earlier in the episode, around the time of that first picture, Twilight tells her friends about her problem, and they brush her off. They tell her that it's not a big deal, she should stop sweating the small stuff, and just enjoy the picnic. Despite how trivial it sounds to them, Twilight was clearly in real, albeit comedic, distress and they all see the consequences by the end. Lesson Zero is one of empathy and respect. Before anything else, it needs to be acknowledged that people experience the world differently, and their feelings and motivations are not always intuitive for anyone else. The main cast learns this by the end of the episode, but it's also reflected through the structure of the episode. The structure had to break down, because the show is acknowledging that having the same pony expound a lesson in the same way at the end of every episode is, despite the best intentions, prescriptive and limited. Twilight cannot hope to represent every perspective in the audience, nor could anyone. Lesson Zero reminds us of this fact. Princess Celestia tasks all of the main cast to write her letters when, and only when, they learn a friendship lesson. This is a game-changer, and a great expansion of what the show can do.

Will I Watch More - Can you be a casual Friendship is Magic viewer? I enjoyed this, but not enough to join a subculture. The tone of the show means I'll probably get sick of it at some point, but this was very good. Yeah, I'll watch more.

1. Louie - Eddie (S02E09)

Nominated by: iiicon

''What I (Think I) Know - I've actually seen the entire first season, really liked it, and always intended to watch more. I'm going into this already thinking the show is wonderfully picaresque, surreal, honest, and funny. I have more context than I want going in, but whatever - it's a year later, show's can change between seasons, and they're informal rules anyway.''

This is an interesting double bill with "Lesson Zero". After observing how imperfect relationships always are and how empathy helps, "Eddie" pipes in with "well, what if someone asks you to look them in the eye and tell them that they have one good reason to live?" In this episode, Louie is leaving after his set when he finds his old friend Eddie, played by Doug Stanhope, waiting for him. Eddie is a comedian who started at the same time as Louie, but whereas Louie built a career, Eddie is a road hack living in his car. They spend some time together, then Eddie tells Louie that he's planning on killing himself.

Doug Stanhope is basically playing the character as himself here, or at least, as his stage persona manifest. Like Stanhope on stage, Eddie is a heavy drinker, drug user, enjoys chaos, and hates artifice. Of course, this is true of the real Stanhope to an extent as well. Most comedians play an abstracted version of themselves on stage, just as Louie and Eddie in this show are abstractions of real people. In contrast to Eddie, the real Stanhope became a homeowner, and is somewhat happy. He's been saying for years that he's sick of stand-up, because he's content enough to not want to spend his time thinking up things to get upset about. There is precedence in Louie for comedians playing themselves, so it's significant to note that Stanhope isn't doing so explicitly. Instead, the similarities contribute to a sense of familiarity, before ultimately showing that Louie is working from an idea of Eddie, and doesn't really know him or thought about him in the years since they've drifted apart. Just as Stanhope isn't who he presents himself as on stage, Eddie does not necessarily conform to the narrative Louie forms in this episode.

At first glance, Eddie is Stanhope without the success and recognition. After the two meet, Louie flashes back to their first meeting when they were both just starting out, pauses, then quickly tells Eddie that it's good to see him again. The flashback imposes a narrative where Eddie is Louie's friend who never "made it". Louie is aware of the gulf in their success but tries his best to hide it. Eddie wants these well-constructed ideas in our heads out in the open where they can be confronted. He spends the episode being unreasonably hostile to provoke genuine responses from people. A comedian at the club asks Eddie if he works in LA, and he launches into a diatribe about how phony New York and LA are, and how real comics work the road. When the comedian leaves, he smiles sheepishly to let Louie know that he's joking. A similar altercation happens later with the clerk at the liquor store.

In a flashback, Eddie tells Louie that the audience sucks, not him (a Stanhope sentiment) and that he's funny, and should never let someone else tell him what he is. This is followed by a match cut from young Eddie taking a drink to old Eddie doing the same to imply that his life stagnated; his career hasn't progressed, and he's holding onto the same principles. Later, they go to an open mic, and it turns out that Eddie is a good comic, he really does play in these terrible places by choice, and he was not lying during his diatribe earlier. Whether this choice is based on romantic idealism, fear of failure, or something else isn't clear, but it complicates the idea that Eddie is jealous as suggested by another flashback where Eddie is hostile towards Louie getting a gig on Letterman. At this point, Louie isn't sure what their relationship is anymore. Eddie mocks him for drinking water to keep his skin tight for the camera, and Louie calls him out on railing against a basic life sustenance. Then when Eddie accuses him of never going to Brooklyn, he tells a story about how he used to live there and watched the Twin Towers burn, as a bid for authenticity. He is torn between finding Eddie to be a joke, and proving to him that he didn't sell out. Eddie deflates him at every turn, because he doesn't believe in external validation.

The last eight minutes or so of the episode is incredible. Eddie explains that he has nothing and nobody, and he no longer wants anything or anybody. For him, it's a sign that he should just end it. He downplays the gravity of the situation, smiling and joking through the speech as he has throughout the episode as if this was the natural conclusion. In a way it is, because Eddie has been feeding into the narrative of a failed comedian with nothing to live for the entire episode. In his first line, Eddie addresses the elephant in the room, and talks about how well Louie is doing, and how he can barely afford a motel room most of the time. He makes indirect references to suicide by bringing up how he's done after this gig, and how Louie will never see him again. It's almost like he's egging Louie on. He asks Louie to look him in the eye and give him one good reason he has to live. Louie responds with a grand speech full of unfocused platitudes. He's throwing everything he can out there to convince his friend not to kill himself. Life sucks for everyone, it's bigger than you, etc. Eddie laughs at him for wanting to talk down this loser who he never thought about in order to feel better about himself, and tells him that this isn't about him. Louie constructed Eddie out of flashbacks, and by projecting his own values. Louie accuses Eddie of laying all of this on him when they're interrupted by a couple arguing as they walk past, and he catches how self-serving it is to make someone else's suicide about himself. The show is called Louie, and it's bookended by Louie's stand-up giving him the first and last word. This was always going to be about his response to the situation, but if his big speech worked it would have cheapened the character of Eddie. The couple steals focus for a second as a reminder that the world continues to move outside of this conversation. It's an ongoing problem, and wrapping up the story is not the same as solving it. Louie sincerely hopes that Eddie doesn't kill himself, then he struggles to think of what else to say, mulling over every sentence, even something as minor as "Good luck in Maine, okay?" No matter what he says here, he will always wonder if he said the right things, and if he did enough. The episode sputters to a non-conclusion, and Eddie exits the story with his fate left ambiguous. This is followed by another bit of stand-up, as regular operations resume. Eddie is too big for the episode to handle, so it can only try to move on.

Will I Watch More - Why did I sleep on this for so long? Yes, absolutely.