Batman: Mask of the Phantasm

Batman: Mask of the Phantasm is now heralded as the first film in the DC Animated Universe (since everything must have a label for marketing purposes.) The project was started as a direct-to-video idea and clearly drew directly from the angle on the mythos laid down by Batman: The Animated Series, not least because most of the regulars of the crew on BTAS (Bruce Timm, Paul Dini, et al) were the leaders on Mask, too. But when the series became a hit, both commercially and critically, Warner decided that they could really make a splash by releasing it in the theater. It was a big gamble and it didn't really pay off, since the audience for BTAS was dedicated, but film was a very different (ahem) universe to television back in the day and Mask failed to make its money back until it was later released on home video, as originally intended. What turning it into a production intended for the (literal) big screen also meant was that it had a target date and one sooner than most animated features work with. A typical two-year production process was reduced to eight months. That meant a lot fewer notes and input from the studio which, in the end, probably made it a better story, since Timm and Co. had much more control over what turns it would take.

Of course, they also kinda had it mapped out for them, since Mask, um, borrows from Mike W. Barr's Batman: Year Two extensively; right down to the appearance of the primary villain (The Reaper in Barr's story; The Phantasm in the film.) There was initially some pushback from the studio, but Barr pointed out the extraordinary similarities of both plotline and visuals and they eventually conceded the creative license that had been taken. Like Steve Engelhart, Barr received an initial payment. Unlike Steve, that was followed by royalties, since those were easier to identify in the case of a film release, as opposed to a single episode of a series (again, different formats, different function.) And, right from the outset, you can see the difference in production value from the TV series, as well. The opening sequence that takes us through the skyscrapers of Gotham City was entirely computer-generated, a very rare thing at that time which had exploded into the public mindset six months earlier with the release of Jurassic Park. But even in the regular course of the animation, it's immediately obvious that more frames are in use and more time and attention was poured into the artwork. To the enormous credit of primary screenwriter Alan Burnett, he avoided the typical origin story nonsense and simply used those elements of Year Two that drive the young Bruce Wayne into making some crucial decisions about just how he would carry out this personal (caped) crusade. Burnett was latter joined by Paul Dini, Martin Pasko, and Michael Reaves on script duties and there's some debate about whose decision it was to include the Batman's primary nemesis, the Clown Prince of Crime, not only in the plot of the film, but also as a way to show his deeper connection with his opposite number as young Bruce is just getting started. Burnett initially didn't want to include any of the regular rogues' gallery, precisely to avoid weakening the story with a marketing angle and including the Joker is a very obvious sop to regular audiences but weaving that story into the not-quite-an-origin plot also brings them closer together and heightens that deeper understanding between both characters and audience. It also gave Mark Hamill the chance to do the performance of a lifetime, unhindered by TV's "children's programming" censors. It's without question his best appearance in the role and that's saying quite a bit.

Speaking of that lack of censorship, you didn't even need the sharper edge to the Ace of Knaves to realize that this story was created with a mature audience in mind. Not only was both the violence and the effects of that violence (an often overlooked aspect to much of American media) more prominent, with the lasting wounds, visible blood spatter, and the Joker losing a tooth at one point, but there's also the even greater taboo of American sensors: implicit sex! Bruce Wayne and Andrea Beaumont (a very capable Dana Delany) are shown kissing for lengthy periods and, at one point, retire to Bruce's bedchamber only to later emerge with him wearing only pajama bottoms and her wearing only the shirt he had on when they went there. That, of course, lends itself to the presentation of more complex characters (People have sex!) and, thus, a more complex story. There was a limit, though, as although the best use of the Jokervenom in the BTAS sphere was present, as we see Councilman Arthur Reeves laughing hysterically and in obvious agony, but the script stops short of the end of most encounters with that substance in the comics (aka death.) There are also some deeper emotional angles explored, as we watch Bruce struggle not only with losing the love of his life, but also with the implications of holding on to her and abandoning the mission of vengeance he swore on the lives of his parents. There's a great reference to that when Alfred speaks of how "vengeance blackens the soul", which is what he feels happened to Andrea and what he feared would happen to Bruce, who instead tempered that rage with the concept of justice, even if it restrained him from doing what he'd really like to.

That's not to say that everything was positive from a writing angle. In Batman: Year Two, Barr didn't have to explain how The Reaper acquired the technology he uses. It's just comics and things are sometimes like that. But not only did Andrea, who declared her desire for vengeance based on the mob ruining her family and leading to her father's death, show up with a fancy gauntlet weapon while ostensibly "broke", but also the ability to dissolve into self-generated mist and reappear elsewhere. That's a superpower whether it comes from fancy tech or a radioactive spider. There's no origin story for that stuff, which is good because that breaks the narrative and forces exposition, but it's also something of a plot hole when the driving force for much of the plot is that personal motivation that has everything to do with money (that her father owed and that the mob extracted.) On a smaller level, I fail to see what the rationale was for the Joker rigging the entire park to explode in the final action sequence. Granted, asking for a "rationale" from that character is usually a pointless endeavor, but this just seemed to be kind of a ham-handed deus ex machina to add threat to a situation that otherwise wouldn't have had as much. The counterpoint to adding elements is also reducing them. Much was made in act 1 about The Batman being suspected of killing off the mob. That whole angle blew away in the breeze, despite all of the revelatory moments being very personal ones between Bruce and Andrea. In the TV series, there would at least have been a brief mention of this resolution in a final scene, however treacly. But those are pretty minor flaws for what is, in the end, a solid story and among the better DC films that I've seen, although that bar is not set particularly high. The entire production was done with a great sense of style and that's exemplified no better than in The Batman's final swing from a building ledge, cloak billowing us into darkness and the end credits.

Batman: TAS, episode #65: The Worry Men

The Worry Men was the last episode produced of the first season and it's an odd one in many ways. There are many indications that this was the end of a cycle and that perhaps the well of ideas was running a bit low. Right from the beginning, we're aware that this is going to be one of the less "serious" episodes, based on the appearance of Veronica Vreeland (Marilu Henner), who last appeared as kind of a pseudo-villain/distraction in Birds of a Feather which, of course, is a Penguin episode and so won't generally be of the highest caliber. That follows along here in that the primary opponent is the Mad Hatter (Roddy McDowall) who, despite being the primary figure in one of the best-written episodes of the entire series (Perchance to Dream), has always been a bit of a hackneyed character, more of an emblem of just how crazy The Batman's opponents can be, rather than a significant threat.

That holds true here, as the basic premise is a bit of a gimmick, with chip-laden "worry men" somehow hypnotizing Gotham's wealthy into handing over their money to the Hatter. To execute the plan, he recruited a Mayan shaman (Roger Rose), who appears to be the main opponent early on and presents as more of a villain-of-the-week situation, lurking about on rooftops and threatening the rich people at Ronnie's party. To writer Paul Dini's credit, the shaman does use traditional Mayan weaponry to take on our hero in the first act, although The Batman refers to him as a Mayan "witch doctor", which is not at all in line with the usual intelligence that we associate with our guy. Alfred also unwittingly becomes an accomplice to the Hatter's scheme when he places a worry man under Bruce's pillow out of good intentions (road to Hell and all that.) This is an interesting aspect to Alfred's character that took a large jump forward in the 1980s and in the era of the production of the animated series, rooted in the perception of The Batman expressing his mental health problems by dressing as a bat and hanging out on rooftops. Alfred, formerly a character of resolute obedience to Bruce/Batman, becomes a bit more cynical about the whole venture and expresses sincere concern about his employer's health, mental and physical, in the comics, in the films that would begin with Tim Burton's Batman, and in BTAS. This is one of those moments where it comes to the fore and is mildly frustrating because it seems a bit too obvious.

When we do finally encounter the Hatter directly, the episode becomes a bit of a Rogues' Gallery mishmash, as we we end up encountering the Penguin, the Riddler, Harley Quinn, and the Joker, even if all of them are simply automatons set up as deathtraps by the Hatter. We can clearly see the end of a production cycle here. We also get a healthy dose of villain monologuing as the Hatter explains his entire plot, including a flashback to meeting Ronnie somewhere in Central America. But it's obvious that this script was slightly on the short side, as we spend a significant amount of seconds spotlighting moments that really have nothing to do with atmosphere or story, but simply action, such as the Hatter backing into a room and looking in multiple directions for the approach of The Batman. It feels padded. In the end, the Hatter is defeated rather routinely and there seem to be no lessons or impact to draw from the story. On top of that, the visual distortion of the Hatter's character kind of stuck out to me here. His teeth were the most notable feature at all times. They're prominent in his original design, but here it was somewhat over the top. The only other really interesting point of the episode was the brief appearance of Levar Burton of Star Trek: The Next Generation fame, playing a wealthy financier friend of Ronnie and Bruce's named Hayden Sloane.

So, kind of a weak ending to the production schedule, but that's how these things work sometimes. I'm going to follow this with a bit of an interlude piece before moving on to a critique of Batman: Mask of the Phantasm.

Batman: TAS, episode #64: Read My Lips

I don't think John Wagner and Alan Grant get enough credit for their contributions to comics and The Batman in specific, when the two were a regular writing team. After all, Wagner is the co-creator (with Carlos Ezquerra) of the legendary Judge Dredd for 2000 AD. When he and Grant teamed up in the 80s, they continued their partnership in the latter stages of that decade in Detective Comics, often with pencils by Norm Breyfogle, for a single year, but in that period developed some lasting creations. The villain star of Read My Lips, The Ventriloquist, is probably the greatest. The entire concept of the simpering Ventriloquist (George Dzundza) being bossed around by his dummy, Scarface (George Dzundza), who needs the former to exist, but who utterly dominates him, even when not being held, is fascinating. Admittedly, I have something of a childhood fascination with ventriloquist's dummies, having stayed awake one night at the age of nine to watch Magic, with Anthony Hopkins, who has a similar problem with his own wooden companion. Another upside of this episode is the return of Joe R. Lansdale to do the script, whom we hadn't seen since Perchance to Dream. 

With an opponent going by the name of 'Scarface', Lansdale spares no effort to ramp up the pseudo-30s theme of the series to the nth degree, as we not only get the gangsteriffic score during the robbery and chase scenes, but are also treated to the spinning newspaper effect to announce the goings-on in the world, similar to the sequences in the 1960s Batman TV series. If you're going to engage the theme, fully engage it. We also get the not-often-used in BTAS gag of The Batman leaving a conversation with Commissioner Gordon before the latter can even finish a sentence. The opening robbery scene is extremely slick and well-timed, which is a credit to both Scarface and director Boyd Kirkland. Everything feels comfortable and like a well-made gangster flick, even down to the scene where The Batman has to deal with street-level thugs by interrogating Rhino (Earl Boen) for information to try to trail the thieves ("You're breakin' my heart, Rhino!") The fact that he found Rhino by watching the tape of a "home video enthusiast" only to notice a tattoo on Rhino's arm with an exclamation ("A tattoo-!") that made it sound like such a thing was wholly unusual among Gotham's criminals is something we can just let slide. That's especially in the wake of some of the other excellent dialogue, especially from Scarface ("I want yer opinion, dummy, I'll pull yer string!") and when yelling at the Ventriloquist ("Don't put words in my mouth!")

The visual storytelling is equally well done here. When our hero slips into Scarface's bedroom, cloak flowing in a similar manner to the curtains in the breeze, we get an excellent example of his familiarity with the Gotham rooftops. He doesn't move. He simply flows. It's also a nice moment when he's evidently startled by the eyes opening on the dummy that he expects to simply be the inanimate object that it should be. It's notable that he takes a moment to close those staring, piercing eyes before continuing his investigation of the scene. I did think it was odd that they didn't take a moment to indicate that the difference in voice patterns that our hero had recorded and played on the Batcomputer was still the same person. Perhaps it was to emphasize the difference, rather than highlight the split personality disorder? On the one hand, showing that it was still the same person with two voices is creepy, but perhaps having two voices that couldn't even be compared at a base level is even more jarring. Alfred pays compliment to Grant and Wagner again when he points out "You've had your share of odd opponents, Master Bruce, but this one takes the biscuit!"

It's that focus on sound that provides another highlight to this episode. I've already cited the good use of music (just like last time) but the sound execution is excellent all over, most notably in regard to Scarface. The constant sounds of his eyes moving within his head and knocking his own head in emphasis are fantastic in providing that note of substantiveness that underlies the bizarre nature of what's happening between the Ventriloquist and his dummy (or vice-versa.) But the visuals aren't slacking, either, as there's a great still panel of The Batman in shadow in front of the Ventriloquist while fighting with Scarface's thugs. This panel is surrounded by an unusual approach to the action sequences, in which the fights are frequently interrupted by extreme close-ups of both our hero and the opponents, instead of the establishing shots that we frequently see in these moments. It's a more elaborate presentation of the action than we usually see. Also, the absurdity of being suspended above a bunch of mannequin arms carved to have talons is just one of those odd things that would only come from a horror writer (similar to the publisher-required altered scene in Salem's Lot with knives driven through floor tiles, instead of rats.) Unfortunately, one of those visuals is the victim of an editing problem, as the elaborate trap of the theft of platinum from a ship is marred by showing Scarface's thugs not having entered said ship, but with platinum already stacked on their boat. But that's all capped off by an excellent final scene, once again, in Arkham even if it is fairly predictable.

OK. Next is the last episode of season 1, finally, after four years... but, really, it's no worries, men.

Batman: TAS, episode #63: Fire from Olympus

A lot of things go into creating an animated presentation. Like anything, it begins with the writing, but then also depends on the art style of the studio doing the work, the pacing set by the director (just how many frames to a scene, etc.), and the sounds of characters (voices), events/effects, and the music that accompanies some or all of it. BTAS was hailed for its opening theme and for much of the musical work that accompanied its moody depiction of The Batman. This episode, Fire from Olympus, is no different and is among the best soundtracks of the entire series. While we open with the traditional noirish approach of a shopkeeper who knows too much being cornered in an alley, the music soon takes us to the fantastical realm of Maxie Zeus (Steve Susskind), former Greek shipping magnate (just a bit too on the nose...) and now local crimelord who imagines himself the reincarnation of the greatest of the ancient Greek gods. We're transported from our street-level noir to much more of a Doc Savage-style adventure, with the music to go with it, telling us how majestic our environs are and how fantastical all of the action is, even as the artwork in the presentation of The Batman stays close to the Neal Adams-inspired concepts first seen back in 1968. Indeed, so dark is the presentation of our hero that Maxie regularly refers to him as "my brother, Lord Hades."

The fact that they stuck to Neal's approach on the character makes sense in this respect, since Maxie is a Denny O'Neil creation from 1979, albeit long after Adams had left the character. He's also one of the goofier villains of the Batman gallery, highlighted by his appearance during the execrable Bane stories as being freed from Arkham Asylum along with the rest of the gang and promptly running himself into a tree. I'm not quite certain whether O'Neil had a higher calling for the character in mind or if it was just one of those villains you drop in to fill an issue. That was my first reaction to this episode, as well, given what I knew of Maxie, but it ends up being one of the more interesting episodes of the whole first season. There are so many nice (and sometimes odd) touches scattered throughout it that it lives in the memory longer than many others. Speaking of memory, it has to be said that, if you know Greek mythology, it's an odd juxtaposition to hear Clio (Bess Armstrong) bemoan the loss of her romantic attachment to Maxie when the original Clio, one of the three Muses and daughter of Mnemosyne, goddess of memory, was also daughter of Zeus... Not that that kind of thing was unusual among the gods, of course. It's also amusing to hear Maxie's astonishment that The Batman is, in fact, not his brother since "Batman is a mere mortal! What mortal could ascend to Olympus?" That, of course, is the entire reason that our hero is the most enduring character of DC's stable, in that he is "just" a mortal, with no superpowers attached, but is still able to function in the world of the superpowered and usually come out ahead of them.

There are a fair number of great visual notes contained in this episode, as well. When Jim Gordon and The Batman are watching the classified film about the Electronic Discharge Cannon (forgetting for the moment why a police commissioner would have access to such a thing) and the weapon fires, we see our hero step back from the screen in obvious disgust at the creation of such a weapon. Likewise, when The Batman first leaves Maxie's presence under the watchful "eyes" of the harpies' cannons (forgetting also why these harpies (creatures with half-bird and half-woman bodies) look like gargoyles, rather than harpies), he gives a dramatic toss of his cloak as he turns, which is an unusual motion for our main character, but possibly appropriate when dealing with someone who considers himself a god. That unusual use of costume extends to multiple scenes where the cowl collar, normally kept high around his throat, extends halfway down his chest, often concealing the famous chest emblem. But, again, it's the music that really drives things forward, with the grandiloquent sounds proclaiming not only the majesty of (neo) Zeus but also the theme of action story that underlies everything here. The music guides us through this dramatic foray in a way that escapes Clio's cynical assessment of it, when she complains to The Batman about Maxie: "He's not living in the real world anymore. Maybe you can relate to that...?" On that note, we also get a police blimp(!) included in the action for one of only a few times in the series, regardless of what the opening credits and regular backgrounds repeatedly show us.

All of that said, it isn't without a couple faults. One of the main ones is in the course of the story, where Clio is captured by Stavros (Nicholas Savalas), one of Maxie's goons, in the elevator right before a commercial break. When we return to the top of the Olympus, we then see Clio casually strolling right through a clearly marked 'Exit' door, apparently untroubled by recent events. Also, it seems like they couldn't resist borrowing one of the most-remembered motifs from Clash of the Titans, which is the chessboard that the gods observe while us mere mortals (and The Batman!) act out our lives on the ground. If it was an homage, fine, but it seems like something clumsier than that. And the ending is a little awkward, in that Maxie finds himself imprisoned in that selfsame Arkham Asylum, while pointing out the resemblances of our other regular villains to various gods and goddesses that he would expect to see there. Except that all of them are in their usual clothing, rather than prison grays. Maybe that's just a creation of Maxie's overworked imagination, but it makes the conclusion feel a bit more trite than it otherwise would. But there's a last nice bit of tragedy as he declares: "Now, at last, mighty Zeus is home!"

Next, we meet one of the more interesting additions to the rogues' gallery from the late 80s, not too long before this series was created, in Read My Lips.

Batman: TAS, episode #62: His Silicon Soul

Right off the (ahem) bat, this is obviously an episode that plays right into this meme. But that doesn't completely trivialize His Silicon Soul. Yes, it's kind of an odd epilogue to a story that was already told in two episodes in the first place. But one can suppose that Bruce Timm and Co. were simply huge Blade Runner fans, which I wouldn't blame anyone for. But also, as noted before, Kevin Altieri mentioned that the original script for the HARDAC story was even longer than the two-parter it became, so perhaps this was simply the part three that was originally envisioned. The philosophical underpinning of this story is a bit heavier than the rest of the material frequently seen in TAS, as well. But if it was, in fact, the last segment of that original longer story, you can also see where the cuts might have happened and perhaps been too imprecise.

For example, our scene opens with crooks breaking into the Cybertron warehouse in search of gear to sell. But when they start cracking the crate with the symbol of HARDAC, they're quickly assaulted by the Batman duplicant. If it was so easy for said construct to break out of said crate, why did it wait for these underworld commoners to start the process? Is it because their attempts reactivated it? How? Why? These are story notes that would've taken seconds to demonstrate (and which we would've seen in most episodes) but which are bypassed here to the story's detriment. In contrast, when the duplicant shows up at Wayne Manor, the normal example of good direction appears, as the image in the mirror of the Batman's cowl creates a memory of HARDAC in the duplicant, who then traces those symbols in unison. That's a great example of using visuals, rather than dialogue, to convey both the confusion and anguish of the machine at hand, which later plays right into the ending question of whether it had a soul (hence, the title.) These are questions which, again, draw directly from Blade Runner (What makes us human?) and are worth asking in all kinds of fiction, not just SF, as well as everyday life. I'm just not sure they make for one of the best stories about The Batman, which are usually more character-driven, as comics tend to be.

Other moments like the question of the crate keep occurring. If Alfred has already recognized that the duplicant is a machine and, in fact, points that out to the machine itself, why does he immediately try to activate the Batcave's gas defenses? He knows it's pointless, which it is then proved to be. This is out of character for Alfred, wastes story time, and would immediately make any viewer with any knowledge of the issues the plot is trying to convey question everything about the inclusion of this scene. The one good element about it is when the duplicant asks the computer to "Magnify lower right quadrant" which, again, almost can't be seen as anything but a Blade Runner reference. On cue, we're reintroduced to Karl Rossum, who is voiced by William Sanderson, from the film. He has no interest in dealing with anything but the vegetables in his substantial garden (He's gone organic!) which, of course, turns into a battle scene when the two Batmans begin doing the Spider-Man thing. It also turns out to be the world's most fragile greenhouse when breaking one support post and one exterior panel ends up collapsing the entire thing. This is pyrotechnics (albeit without the fire) for the sake of it. Why? Was this intended as a message for the internal anguish of the machine that would somehow lash out to destroy everything a la HAL 9000, as mentioned in the Heart of Steel, part 2 post? Again, the overall ham-fistedness of it makes it difficult to tell. Our return to Gotham City also includes a side wipe transition, which is a really unusual approach for the series as whole, which usually just does cuts to a new location.

Those broader philosophical implications soon begin to intersect with current events here in the real world, as HARDAC's plan to replace all of humanity with duplicants (The Great Replacement Theory!) once again becomes the primary focus. In the process we're told that the duplicant Batman is now a fully operational Batman station. Again, the action vis-a-vis reality tends to get a little muddled in the urge perhaps to fit the story into broadcast time limits. A forklift is chucked into a shelving unit and, despite the minimal damage that brought down a 100-foot greenhouse, in this case, the shelf doesn't even come all the way down. Similarly, our Batman is punched through a warehouse wall and doesn't seem to display any of the effects of same except for having his cape torn in half, which becomes the more easily displayed visual cue so that we know which Caped Crusader is The Batman and which is the repli- ahem, duplicant. That question extends to the final scene, where the duplicant is defeated, with half of Bruce Wayne's face and half of a Terminator face displayed. Is this a message about the internal steel and diffident nature that our hero's work requires? Or is it just a setup for that final line: "Could it be that it had a soul, Alfred?"

So, yeah, not one of the series high points, IMO. Next time, we're introduced for the first time to a classic Batman villain that most modern fans had and have no clue about, Maxie Zeus, in Fire from Olympus.

Batman: TAS, episode #61: The Demon's Quest, part 2

This episode is a fine example of the difference in writers utterly changing the nature of a production. In the same way that writers are more than just "the guys who put the words in the bubbles" in comics, screenwriters do an enormous amount to shape the final product, often by pacing, sequencing, and, yes, dialogue. In this case, Denny O'Neil was unable to write the screenplay for The Demon's Quest, part 2 as he had done with part 1, so the credits ended up being Story by Dennis O'Neil and Len Wein and Teleplay by Len Wein. Just like part 1, this is an adaptation of an O'Neil story from Batman #244 ("The Demon Lives Again") but the fact that Wein receives a partial story credit leads me to believe that much of the degradation in delivery is down to him. It's worth mentioning that, as we've noted multiple times before, Wein isn't a bad writer. But he's also not a great one like O'Neil has often been. We see that right from the outset as the maddened Ra's al Ghul (the still-excellent David Warner) approaches and The Batman steps forward to throw down with him, only for Talia (Helen Slater) to step in as if she's going to do the "beauty and the beast" thing... and instead just uses her own form of violence by cracking dad a good'un across the face. Not exactly subtle storytelling. Wein's also prone to one of the oldest villain clichés in the book: drastic exposition in the form of villain monologuing. How would our heroes have any clue as to where Ra's is going or what he's doing if he didn't blab about how they were escaping to their "desert stronghold"? It's an exposure of how Wein's stories tend to be more paint-by-number superhero stuff, whereas O'Neil's are rooted in more classic adventure prose.

It was still veteran Kevin Altieri on the director's reins so, again, I'm pretty confident in thinking that the utter abandonment of the noirish tone that suffused part 1 is down to Wein's desire to play up the action. It has to be said that there are a couple odd directorial moments, though, such as Robin casually being left behind in the plane without explanation (a moment of explanation that was cut, perhaps?), as well as a pretty strange moment for a commercial break that doesn't focus on our hero or a villain, but just an open parachute over the Sahara. To the animation studio's credit, though, seeing The Batman's costume still slashed by the panther from the last episode as he and Robin attempt to survive over the Lazarus pit was a nice touch. In contrast, Ra's' men "searching" The Batman resulting in half his costume being torn away was kind of ridiculous. It's an obvious setup for him and Ra's to do the manly sword duel later, which is about as Doc Savage as you can possibly get. And then we get to the funniest moment, where our hero insists to Ra's that "You have nothing to lose by telling me what you're doing here!" He's not even letting him monologue on his own! He's using the hero to demand that he monologue! Woof. So, after a block of exposition detailing the master plan, we fall right back into the action. It just lacks the panache that O'Neil wielded in the first half. Credit for the one Ra's response, though, when The Batman shouts: "That will cost countless lives!" "Actually, detective, we have counted."

And, despite my seemingly derogatory tone, I don't object to action if it feels appropriate to the story. These are superhero comics/cartoons, after all. I just want it to fit the style that the story began with. As a case example, after all of their frustrating encounters for both hero and audience, the final confrontation between Ubu (George Dicenzo; odd that this was a different actor) is extremely unsatisfactory. We needed an epic beatdown and we got the bad guy tossed against a wall and crumbling. And, of course, after the grand showdown between Ra's and The Batman, the latter not only stops the signal to destroy/reshape the Earth with two seconds to spare, but that signal interruption also de-orbits the satellite...? Even as a kid, I'd have been arching an eyebrow at that one. The very Casablanca-like kiss in the sunset seemed mildly appropriate, if corny, and I'm still not sure whether concluding with the mad laughter of the still living Ra's (Spoilers!) was the way to end it. By default, most comic readers know that villains of that stature won't just disappear off-camera but I guess it does kind of play up his immortality by doing the hand-over-the-edge-of-the-pit-plus-laughter scene. I could go either way on that one.

But, yeah, a very lowbrow conclusion to one of the better episodes of the entire series. Next time, we're back to the computers with His Silicon Soul.

Alien: Earth, episode 5: Prequels, flashbacks, and irrelevance

That image above is basically my expression when looking at this whole episode, except I was probably displaying more contempt. As noted before, the problem with prequels is that they sap a lot of the potential tension and interest from a story because everyone knows what the outcome is for both plot and characters. It's the equivalent of Roger Ebert citing "fans" as the most boring people imaginable because "they're always asking you questions to which they already know the answers." You know what's worse than a prequel? A flashback within said prequel! Not only do we already know where things are going in a macro sense, but now we do in a micro sense, as well. In that respect, In Space, No One... was something close to the most pointless episode one could think of. All of the events that took place on it a) didn't advance the story and b) didn't tell us anything new, since the main thrust of the plot was discovering the identity of the person who sabotaged the Maginot and landed it in Prodigy territory which is... Petrovich, a guy who was already dead in the first episode and died within minutes of appearing in this one. Knowing this person was completely irrelevant. The events that he caused were the relevant part and we saw those events in episode one. We basically just wasted an hour to see a rerun.

I mean, one thing I guess we learned is that Weyland-Yutani is somehow one of the most powerful entities on Earth despite most of its scientists being incompetent and its engineering staff not improving in 17 years when they attempt to bring back another xenomorph. It must be written somewhere in the crewing regulations that all engineering teams be made up of a crusty, overly suspicious guy and a semi-social idiot. Either that or it's just Hawley and his writers again pandering to the nostalgia of the audience for the original Alien film. And it doesn't stop at simply emulating the cast from the film (Zaveri (Richa Moorjani) is Ripley; Shmuel (Michael Smiley) is Parker; Malachite (Jamie Bisping) is Brett) because we're also given the imagery from that film that isn't already the functional stuff like Mother. No, we get Morrow (Babou Ceesay) dropping his cigar down one of the holes through multiple decks created by the acid blood, just like Brett looking down one of those holes or, for that matter, the Marines doing so in Aliens. At least Morrow has some qualities that make him distinct from Ash. But what that means is that the most interesting member of the entire crew is Teng (Andy Yu), the perv stalker among them. Not only does he see right through the plot and point it out to other cast members, but does so in a genuinely entertaining fashion. However, his role in that plot is non-existent. He doesn't serve any purpose except to entertain people who aren't that fascinated by the rehash of both a 48-year-old film and the episode of this series that we saw a mere four weeks ago.

And why does a scientist somehow forget to seal the containment chamber of clearly dangerous aliens while under no stress whatsoever? Boredom? And if something is contained in a cryo pod, where life is supposed to be suspended for long travel, how is it that a face hugger is still moving and an implanted embryo can break free? The counter-example to Hawley inexpertly filling his plot hole is right there in the film franchise, where Alien³ showed that Ripley and Newt being frozen kept their embryos in stasis just like they were. But, somehow, despite this clearly being the same technology and this crew actually following protocol (From the immortal Parker: "Why don't they just freeze him?!"), Hawley apparently decided that the only way to write oneself out of this corner was to make it all simply not work this one time. Also, the constant references to specific knowledge about the aliens ("It's an embryo that's escaped and is now running around the ship. How big can these things get?") is more fan service than any decent plot should allow, despite this entire episode basically being fan service, since it serves little other purpose. I mean, there's a couple personal background moments with Morrow (who is also an Ink Spots fan) but those could easily have been woven into actual progression of the plot on Earth. And we wrap up this pointless venture with Cherub Rock which, again, has no relation to anything that's going on but is simply another piece of music that Hawley thinks is apparently retro-cool. Or something?

Yeah, if it's not incredibly evident, I'm losing faith quite quickly here. This was series padding in episode five and padding created by continually hearkening back to material that was not only covered almost 40 years ago, but also four weeks ago. One more like this and I'm probably bailing.