MagnusHex

I watched this just now. Very insightful video on the intent behind the season 5 episode, The Body:

It's clear you really have strong feelings about this episode. 😂 Well, I'm not gonna try to convince you otherwise, but I don't see why you should be so bothered by how others feel about this episode. Overrated? Who cares? I think criticizing about how overrated something is is probably one of the most pointless arguments ever existed. And don't take this the wrong way, because I'm not saying it's you specifically, but on a general basis, such arguments are an expression of self-entitlement at its basest level. To clarify on the whole "what message" deal, I think it's not really one specific message like "death is sad," but more like a symphonic expression of death and the grieving that comes. It's not really like a literal message and more like showing the audience how people deal with the death of a loved one.

I guess we'll just have to... clichéd as it might sound... agree to disagree. I simply don't agree. I think the message delivered through the metaphors of The Body was meaningful enough to justify any structural problems or any lack of character development. It was Whedon trying to say something about death in a stylistic way (even if he might have said it before), and I appreciate the artful episode for what it is. I don't see the need to develop every character every, single, episode. Sometimes, an episode could just exist for either the fun of it or just to play around with themes in a cool way. This is the latter.

Angel Season 2 Review After a relatively successful series premiere, Angel season 2 proceeds to take the vague ideas of atonement and “help the helpless” in season 1 and adds layers to them. While Angel Investigations is now aware of what they must do to help people, it’s easy to paint such a goal with broad strokes and miss the point. In season 2, Angel (David Boreanaz) and Co. explore what it truly means to help others; while for Angel, he also goes on his own journey to find himself and discover what it truly means to be human. Both themes are the ways season 2 has taken a clearer approach on where it wants to go beyond the first season’s random and episodic monster-of-the-week format that bears too much similarity with Buffy’s earlier seasons. It’s a stronger direction that results in some very compelling storytelling and character examinations. For Angel, even though he now has a clear end goal in mind where he has the chance to become human again, his path to discovering his humanity, on the other hand, is a long and arduous one. What does it mean to be human exactly beyond the literal sense? Is Angel simply Angelus with a conscience? Is he the bumbling Liam who was such a disappointment to his father? Or is he a combination of all three? Angel believes that inner demon within him has never left and he needs to control it, but the imposter Swami in Guise Will Be Guise suggests that the demon is already a part of his identity. In spite of the Swami’s artifice, his words ring true. All of Angel’s wrongdoings, all the lives he has taken and even the lives he has abandoned this season are all some part of him. Perhaps one could argue that Angelus is merely Liam’s subconscious darkness brought to surface, but that only means he’s still part of Angel’s “self” (much like how Spike is a romantic like William). And so season 2 makes great strides in exploring these questions, especially through the use of Darla (Julie Bentz) and Drucilla (Juliet Landau), two walking embodiments of Angel’s past sins. Having learned of their return, Angel is once again entwined in the past rather than working towards the future. He’s once again filled with self-loathing when he becomes unable to save Darla from damnation in The Trial. She is the mirror to his past, so when he learns that there’s a chance to grant her peace, it makes sense that he associates her salvation with his own, believing that if he could free the woman who has sired him, he’s that much closer to unshackling himself from the past. Unfortunately, the past seems to have a way of haunting you in spite of your best efforts, and Drucilla comes knocking, reducing all his effort back to zero. This would spell Angel’s downfall as he feels helpless and trapped by his sins. And during his attempt to once again clean up the mess caused by his past mistakes, Angel’s quest to regain humanity would be further stifled when he decides to abandon members of Wolfram & Hart to die in the hands of Darla and Drucilla, the two vampires that the law firm was responsible in summoning. This darkness in him is not a sudden thing. Aside from the same act of apathy he performed in the ’50s, as can be seen in Are You Now or Have You Ever Been, such a resentment against the unjust traces back to as early as the first season, Blind Date, when he expressed his frustration over not being able to fight the evil of the firm, lamenting how those rich and powerful are the ones who control the world. It’s something that’s very relevant outside the realm of fiction, so when I finally got to see him sticking it to the man, even if at the cost of his own humanity (and the lives Darla and Dru will inevitably harm), I couldn’t help but feel a little elated at the notion. It’s vigilante escapism that’s in the vein of neo-noir, a genre which Angel the Series very much belongs to with its femme fatale and blurred morality. And yet, it never really reached that height of satisfaction that I would normally get from such vigilante fiction, probably because Angel’s empathy towards others is still a dominant voice amidst this dark period. His scheme to expose W&H’s crimes of fraud still results in helping out a homeless shelter during Blood Money, and even all the way until Epiphany, he has still made a conscious (or maybe subconscious) effort to help people unrelated to his revenge against W&H like Gene Rainey (Matt Champagne) in Happy Anniversary (though in fairness, Gene almost caused the end of the world, so Angel had to help). Admittedly, I was initially disappointed at the anticlimax of Angel not being any more competent than before he went dark (especially when W&H’s Lilah Morgan (Stephanie Romanov) and Lindsey McDonald (Christian Kane) are the ones who conveniently survive because of plot-armor), but looking back now, Angel holding back his full savagery is a clever subversion of your usual “fallen hero” trope, showing that he is more human than he realized, and that “unleashing the demon or darkness” within him isn’t something as simple as turning on “Evil Mode” on the villains. As long as he’s not drugged like in Eternity, that human soul in him would always be a part of his darkness and vice versa. Angel would come to realize this ambivalence of human nature in Reprise, where the executive of W&H, Holland Manners (Sam Anderson), would inform him that humanity’s evil is what kept their law firm afloat, that humans contain the very evil he’s trying to fight against. So where do you go from there once you learn that there’s no point in protecting the good people from the bad guys because such selfishness are malevolence are inherent in all of us? Is there no meaning, no greater purpose to fighting evil then? That’s where Angel gets his epiphany in the aptly named Epiphany. Back in Blind Date in season 1, Angel said that he misses the moral clarity of Angelus, even if it was immoral clarity. At the lowest point of his life, he tries to lose his soul by sleeping with Darla and become Angelus again in Reprise; it doesn’t work. He look at what he has done, going as low as sleeping with the one woman who damned him, and he sees it as “perfect despair.” And when he realizes he could indeed save someone — Kate Lockley (Elisabeth Röhm), who’s also going through her own existential depression — it all clicks. If nothing he does matters, then all that matters is what he does in the present moment, now, today, like saving Kate instead of drowning in despair. There’s a dignified meaning in that small action, just as there was meaning in helping Anne Steele (Julia Lee) with her homeless shelter. While I very much love that quote in the context of it, especially now that I have time to reflect on it, I still really don’t like how the rest of Epiphany was handled. It was “back to business as usual” as Angel and Co. fights some random demon unrelated to either W&H or Angel’s epiphany. Perhaps it is related in a meta sort of way — that none of it matters, and all there is left to do now is just go about your business and helping people as usual — but I still feel like the impact of the message was dampened by such incoherence, and it lacks the kind of solidarity where everything just clicks together nicely in Joss Whedon episodes. Metafictional constructs like these can always be a hit-or-miss due to interpretation, and a story that deliberately lacks impact just to prove a point can come off as pretentious. Nevertheless, the incoherence of it isn’t too much of a problem when I consider what fantastic storylines it has left behind. Everything up ‘till the second-half of Epiphany has been a joyride, examining such spiritual themes of human nature and the cycle of abuse. The latter is also explored in areas outside of the Darla arc, such as Untouched where Bethany Chaulk (Daisy McCrackin), victim of a sexual abuse from her father, takes back the power from her father at the end instead. Charles Gunn (J. August Richards) has his own arc that’s more relevant to such an issue, particularly The Thin Dead Line, where Gunn chastises the drug dealer Jackson (Mushond Lee) for perpetuating the intolerance between the cops and the citizens on the street, cleverly subverting the usual idea of racial persecution from the police force by indicating that “the other side” is no better. It’s these kinds of storylines that really differentiate Angel from Buffy in a more mature way, tackling more serious subject matter that’s beyond the troubles of a teenager. That’s not to downplay how well-written Buffy’s storylines still are, but it is clear from such storylines that Angel is a more gritty adult drama that deals with issues like race, crime and justice (and even McCarthyism and racial purity in Are You Now or Have You Ever Been) rather than drug addiction and familial relationships. Aside from the titular Angel, this season also examines the other characters in its second overarching theme: what does it mean to help people? While Angel is struggling with his own existential crisis, Cordelia Chase (Charisma Carpenter), Wesley Wyndam-Pryce (Alexis Denisof) and Gunn all have their own identity crisis as well. For Cordelia, she has become more sympathetic to the countless souls whose torment she experienced in the season 1 finale, To Shanshu in L.A. And while her acting career has taken off to great success, the show seems to suggest in Belonging that being vision-girl is a more fitting role for her as she can actually be of importance to people rather than just feeling important as an actress, not to mention that her role as the resident psychic doesn’t require her to degrade herself like she does for her acting gigs. And by the season 2 finale, There’s No Place Like Plrtz Glrb, she fully embraces this role by associating her visions as a part of her new identity. For Wesley, after Angel fires his staff, he struggles in accepting the role of a leader, a role he uses to impress his father with little success. This is seen in an excellent phone conversation in Belonging that’s carried entirely by Alexis alone with all the emotional nuances that comes with it. But ultimately, in There’s No Place Like Plrtz Glrb, we see shadows of a more pragmatic (and perhaps a darker) Wesley take charge as a leader when he decides to sacrifice a few to save the many, something he chose to do as well in Buffy season 3 episode, Choices. And finally, Gunn has to decide his own role between helping his own people in his home neighborhood and helping the clients of Angel Investigations. This character development traces back to his helplessness in season 1 where he feels that his actions inadvertently caused the deaths of people close to him like his sister, Alonna Gunn (Michele Kelly). In Belonging, Gunn learns that another of his friends, George (Darris Love) has died in the hands of a vampire while he’s off playing demon hunter with Angel. Considering that this guilt of his has been made clear this season since First Impressions, I wouldn’t have blamed him for leaving Angel permanently to protect his own family and friends. But instead, in the Pylea arc stretching over the tail-end of the season, he not only feels obligated to join Angel in his journey to another dimension, his earlier violent role in First Impressions has now changed into a more protective role where he seeks to help a bunch of rebels with a cause, something that undoubtedly bears similarities to his own vampire-slaying friends in his neighborhood. This kind of striking character development is the reason that, in spite of its jarring change in tone and sudden departure from the Darla arc, the Pylea arc remains a strong part of the second season where all the characters learn more about themselves in this demon dimension. Appropriately, one of the episodes in this arc is also called Through the Looking Glass, signifying Angel and Co.’s journey to look into themselves and accepting whom they are, whether it’s Angel’s human side beneath the animal, Cordy’s responsibility as a psychic, Wesley’s capabilities as a leader or Gunn’s big brother protective nature. It’s undeniably one of the best ways to create a footnote for a season, summing up the characters’ best qualities. Looking back on how I felt initially after finishing Angel season 2 and how I feel now writing this analysis, it’s easier to see why people love this season so much. It’s not just the compelling and morally ambiguous Darla arc but also all the little details in other episodes that strengthen the characters’ identities, having all of them confidently embracing whom they are as saviors of humanity fighting for justice in a corrupted world. Season 2 has now a clear identity of its own to move forward with pride. Where do we go from here in season 3? Surely it can only get better… right? Right? 😟 Oh well. At least season 5 is still widely considered to be the best. Final Rating: 8.3/10

I mean, even if it has been done before, I still think this was done better and in a more powerful way. I can see why some people like you would find such an episode boring, but I personally like intricate episodes like this and their metaphorical structures, "Chutzpah" or not. Sorry you didn't like it. I don't know what else to say in response. I really like the episode regardless of what you said.

Yeah, I've only seen up 'till season 5 so far. Like I said in my introductory post, I'm watching five '90s series. Having just seen season 5 of The X-Files recently, I'm now done with Buffy S5, and now I'm moving onto The Simpsons S6. Buffy S6 (along with Angel S3) would have to wait a little while in the rotation. 😆 I'll be sure to post lots of reactions though once I get around to it. 🙂

Buffy the Vampire Slayer (Season 5) Review Season 5 of Buffy the Vampire Slayer was the series at its most confident. While season 3 is usually the most consistent in quality in many series, season 5 is usually the point where the show becomes successful enough or the showrunners become knowledgeable enough to experiment with new elements in exciting and ambitious ways. Joss Whedon has reached his fifth year running his first TV series, and he’s experienced enough about the identity of the series and the inner workings of a TV production to know what he can and can’t do, therefore allowing him to finally introduce the Prince of Darkness (Dracula, not Ozzy) in the Buffyverse during the first episode of the season, Buffy vs. Dracula. Joss even deftly included a new recurring character in a clever way that makes it seems like she’s been around all along. It involves ancient monks implanting memories in the Summers’ mind and transforming a power source into a 14 year old girl named Dawn Summers (often referred to in the season as “The Key”), neither of which feels out of place in a world full of demons, zombies, ghosts and even sentient robots. Whereas season 4 had to deal with Buffy Summers leaving high school and moving to college (with the writers figuring out what this transition means for her as a character), season 5 now has the freedom to move past all those student issues and tackle more mature issues of existentialism, mental health, terminal illnesses and death. However, it’s still very much rooted in its teenage drama elements, exploring family themes and the true meaning of love. Appropriately, this means less of the schoolground backdrop and more of Summers-home (and Giles’ newly acquired magic shop). It’s not quite the bleak “being an adult sucks” despondency yet as we still have fun and silly episodes like The Replacement, Triangle, Crush, and I Was Made to Love You, but from what I’ve heard about the depressing season 6, we’ll get there. Speaking of the magic shop, aptly named “The Magic Box”, it is probably one of the clearest examples of the show’s focus. Much like the library in the first three seasons, The Magic Box serves as Buffy’s new center for discussions of all things supernatural and hazardous to Sunnydale. Unlike the troubled production of season 4, season 5 has regained its concentration and has more consistency with its seasonal arc. The first three episodes are lighter in content as the writers get the momentum going with Dawn’s arrival, but Buffy vs. Dracula does begin the first plotline of season 5: Buffy’s exploration of her Slayer heritage. From Out of My Mind onwards, the arc really takes off by building up three other important plotlines: Riley’s departure, Spike’s affection for Buffy and Joyce’s brain tumor. One episode later, No Place Like Home introduces a fourth plotline: the seasonal villain (or the “big bad”), Glorificus (or just ‘Glory’) the Hell Goddess. Rather than meandering around random monster-of-the-week episodes with no direction, most of season 5’s episodes revolve around these five plotlines that gel together quite nicely thematically speaking. The big throughline connecting this season is family, but more specifically, a surrogate family. While Riley’s arc is probably the weakest part of the season, it serves its purpose (along with Joyce’s arc) in reflecting the loss of relationships that just happens in adulthood beyond one’s control, whether it’s due to emotional disconnection between your friends and lover or cruel tragedies that literally take away your loved ones from this world. Giles too had almost returned to England in Buffy vs. Dracula if not for Buffy expressing her need for him as a mentor (and perhaps a surrogate father figure). Spike’s arc, on the other hand, serves as the kind of unorthodox relationships one might find in times of grief, with the vampire eventually becoming part of the nontraditional family that’s the Scoobies. Even the big bad herself plays into this theme, with Ben Wilkinson (the fleshly vessel that entraps Glory’s subconsciousness) showing that just because a person is connected to you by blood or even sharing the same body, it doesn’t necessarily mean you would become a tight-knit family. Dawn’s character is the most evident in representing this message, being literally unrelated to Buffy by blood, and yet becoming as close to her as Joyce like a real family. Her character arc has been compared by others as a metaphor for adopted children struggling to bond with their surrogate family. Willow Rosenberg’s girlfriend, Tara Maclay, also contributes significantly to this theme in Family, where her own family persecutes her for practicing witchcraft (accusing her of being a “demon”), but eventually, along with the vengeance demon Anya Jenkins, she too found a special place among the Scooby family. Such a consistent theme focusing on things that are not directly related to the big bad unfortunately means that Glory doesn’t get as much spotlight in season 5 as the previous big bads do in their respective seasons. While Angel, Spike, Faith and the Mayor have played major roles in the first three seasons as both side characters and villains, Glory, on the other hand, is often sidelined as she complains to her minions about not finding The Key. Even when she does confront Buffy mid-season, she would either underestimate her or simply couldn’t be bothered about her petty existence to pose any further threat against the Summers family. This results in a pretty anticlimactic villain with the power of a goddess but the significance of a generic demon Buffy has beaten countless times. Buffy’s eventual “defeat” this season isn’t even directly caused by the villain, but another minor demon simply referred to as “Doc” (Joel Grey) whose actions in the season finale leads to an apocalyptic event that threatens all human life… much like the past two or five events in the series that posed similar threats. In other words, Glory is largely insignificant ‘till the final stretch of the series. In her defense, Glory’s sole desire is merely to return home to her own dimension, not conquer or destroy humanity like past big bads, and a goddess with the maturity of a prissy drama queen like pre-season 3 Cordelia (minus the charm and sharp wit) and such an unconventional motivation should be an interesting concept on paper. She’s more like a force of nature that wants to move on from Earth, no more malevolent than a tornado or a tsunami (albeit just as destructive), or heck, Death personified. And yet, in execution, Glory’s unique traits just don’t get played around with in any interesting manner. There’s no ambiguity in Buffy’s perception of Glory. She’s just the latest obstacle in the way of humanity’s lifespan that needs to be stopped. And with Glory being a goddess powerful beyond measure, the writers have to come up with these convoluted ways to ensure she doesn’t kill the titular character of the series, and Buffy couldn’t beat her ‘till the last episode, leaving the big bad stuck in this perpetual role that’s non-threatening or remotely engaging. Why didn’t Buffy just use the Dagon Sphere she’s had since No Place Like Home? That Chekhov’s gun has been sitting there for 17 episodes! The entire threat of the big bad relies on the Scoobies not trying out what the Dagon Sphere does to her! But perhaps it’s not such a major storytelling problem. After all, the time spent ignoring Glory was focused on exploring intricate character development and relationships. The bigger focus here on the Scooby family and Joyce’s tumor means that season 5 is more intimate and personal than the previous seasons. Rather than just have another grandiose bad guy to fight again or even fight against your shadow self (AKA Faith), this season spends more time exploring the more mundane, spiritual and less fantastical problems in life like the feeling of insignificance or the randomness of death. Joyce’s big moment in The Body was definitely a hallmark of television drama that’s rarely seen before, an episode that explores the many ways one deals with death, how one grieves and even become detached from the horrible reality. Its mature subject matter feels distinctly different from the more romantic (albeit tragic) elements of having your true love (Angel) or close friend (Faith) become your worst enemy. It’s not a plotline that’s unimaginable in everyday life, perhaps even hitting too close to home for some audiences. Meanwhile, Spike’s twisted love for Buffy is equally amusing and fascinating, further expanding the Buffyverse universe by asking whether if a neutered vampire could feel true love without a proper soul. In spite of what some might feel about “Spuffy” as a relationship, Spike’s character arc in season 5 was an essential one that deepens the vampire lore. So while I fancy as much as the next Buffy fan a poetic battle against a supervillain like Angelus or the Mayor featuring loads of guerilla tactics and tormenting the good guys’ loved ones, I don’t really mind the more down-to-earth tone of season 5. Perhaps it’s unbefitting for fans who expect a certain level of high-octane action that they’re used to in a vampire-killing gothic drama, but season 5 marked a change in the series where it’s gradually shifting towards darker and more depressing elements that one simply couldn’t punch her way out of, Slayer strength or not. It’s a bit of a downer surely, for a once bright and campy monster-of-the-week series (with a demon robot and a killer ventriloquist’s dummy) to now thrust heavy topics of addiction and the inevitable silence of death onto its audience, and there’s definitely a mood whiplash at work. But perhaps, at the risk of sounding pretentious, that’s life. Whedon has always intended for Buffy (and all his shows really) to reflect life and all its facets. With Buffy, it’s about growing up, and with Buffy season 5, the young bright-eyed girl has entered adulthood, where such unpleasant issues must be inevitably dealt with. What I think most fans would come to miss about these darker elements, however, and perhaps the entirety of the following season, is that there’s usually a bright spot at the end of it, even if it results in the death of your beloved characters. These stories are not necessarily about the darkness themselves, but overcoming darkness. In the season finale, The Gift, Buffy said one of the most memorable and probably one of my favorite lines of the series: “The hardest thing in this world is to live in it.” I feel like the ambiguity of such a line, not fully knowing whether if Buffy was optimistic or pessimistic saying it, says a lot about the similarly ambiguous perception towards the darkness of the show. This final episode of the season is mostly viewed as tragic, even by myself, but I feel that there’s light in Buffy’s actions and there’s strength in her integrity to do what’s right in the face of Armageddon. While Buffy the Vampire Slayer might very well end up as a tragic tale too depressing to stomach, I still see the hope burning within Buffy, the hope that life could always become better, that darkness will always end with dawn. Final Rating: 8.5/10

"A thing isn't beautiful because it lasts. It's a privilege to be among them." There's a lot of mixed feelings on this finale, not least because of how Glory has been benched this entire season save a few episodes here and there and the final stretch of the season. And yet, it still grabs me in a similar way that Lie to Me grabbed me in season 2, where the final moments of the episode calls back to the overarching theme of the series, except in this case, Buffy's final words here resonate more with overarching theme of the season. "The hardest thing in this world is to live in it," said Buffy to Dawn, urging her not to give up in the face of many hurdles in life that's to come, to cherish the gift Buffy has granted her: life, and all its joys and pains. Buffy has endured a lot over five seasons. It all felt like it was inevitably building up to this epiphany. Even the "Previously on..." montage confirms the build-up, reflecting on everything Buffy has been through for five years. While I still think it's a clumsily-written season finale compared to the likes of Becoming and Graduation which had been fleshed out over the course of their respective seasons (instead of the last three to four episodes), I feel like it's still quite a strong contender for would-be series finales (I also heard that Chosen is a weaker series finale compared to this). The girl who just wants a normal life ("You're just a girl." "That's what I keep saying.") constantly has her happiness deprived from her in one form or other, sometimes because of her role as a Slayer, but other times it feels like life's cruelty at play (Buffy's mum). Yet, the ending here feels like Buffy embracing all that cursed fate to do the right thing regardless. It feels like the natural growth for Buffy ever since she stopped running away in Anne (season 3), accepting being a Slayer as a part of her identity in Restless (season 4), and eventually coming to terms this episode with her responsibility to protect her loved ones, even if it means her own death. In that sense, I disagree with the whole "death wish" notion because it not only oversimplifies what Buffy feels about dying for the greater good of the people, it implies that Buffy wants to die because of all the despair she has endured. "Tell Giles I've figured it out... and I'm okay." That doesn't sound like someone who's giving up because of all the pressure; that sounds like someone accepting the end in peace and tranquility. It's a complex mix of free will and determinism, almost as if Buffy believes she has that free will, and she drives it to fulfill her destiny of sacrifice...

Angel S02E21: Through the Looking Glass I think if I was in the position of a Queen for the first time in my life, I wouldn't miss the chance to shout "Off with their heads!" either. The opportunity was practically begging for reciting such a famous phrase. lol Angel being vain with his hair was hilarious. I love how much Angel is loving being able to live a normal life (or a relatively normal one) in Pylea. Can't blame him for being tempted to stay. And of course, it's all fun and games until you have to swing the crebbil on some woman's head and let your friends see the monster in you. It's poetic, this episode, using a looking glass title metaphor to reflect the feelings of Angel and Cordelia about themselves; Angel still sees the demon within him, while Cordy knows inside that she's no longer the posh and glamorous Queen Bee she once was in high school, and even her pursuit of being an actress has proven to be as degrading as her current princess outfit. I don't think Cordy is acting shallow here at all because of this; she might act all high-and-mighty after becoming the princess, but that's just her fooling around, having fun being glamorous again since high school. Let the girl have her fun. Not sure what that says about Lorne though. Beheading? He can't be dead yet, right? lol Anyway, I feel bad for Angel. I had thought that, with this arc being all comedic and lighthearted, his days of brooding and self-loathing about his inner demons are put on a hold for the rest of the season. Guess not. The way he's shaking in this episode from being reminded of whom he is, that's one tragic scene alright. Also, I never got to reflect on how the residents of Pylea see humans as the real monsters until now. This episode certainly indicates that. These demons almost act like they feel some kind of abhorrence towards humans, what with the fearsome Groosalugg turning out to be a strapping young human male. These demons might very well see Earth as the Hell dimension. Some of our own humankind would certainly agree on the hellish and demonic side of humanity.

I like this episode. It's definitely stronger thematically than the previous one. It's got that feeling of building up to the season finale, with all the pressures and despair Buffy has felt over season 5 building up to the boiling point that's this inevitable nervous breakdown. I've got a feeling that the next episode will be the culmination of all these feelings Buffy has, addressing how she feels about the responsibility she carries as a Slayer and, depending on how the episode goes, I guess we'll get to see if she truly has a death wish that's resulted from the weariness of all the deaths and tragedies she had to endure as the Slayer. God, I hope it won't disappoint. There's a lot of hype built on this finale. I've always had a fondness for the more unconventional episodes with an even more abstract metaphorical structure than usual such as "Restless" and "The Body". They seem to be more intricate in their writing and far more impressive. This is far weaker than those other two episodes because of the whole Glory/Ben schtick dragging on far longer than needed, but I really like the Buffy-mind sequence where Buffy's guilt has finally become too much for her. There's always been a fine line between Slayer and killer in this series, so this "death is your gift" idea associating Buffy as a bringer of death seems like a discussion that was inevitable. Season 4 tried to do that with the whole ambiguity of killing/experimenting on demons, but Lindsay Crouse had to leave the show and the whole structure of that season came tumbling down. But it's nice that season 5 finally gets to play around with this idea of Slayer and death.

Looks legit.

Inuyashiki is a 2017 anime about an old man that receives superpowers in the form of his new robot body. It deals with issues of ageism in Japan as well as existentialism. It's currently available on Amazon Prime. Inuyashiki: Last Hero Review Whenever people think of anime, there's an ingrained impression even today that it's full of giant robots, ninjas, pirates or other crazy and fantastical elements that are, in an oversimplified manner, "cartoonish." Even nowadays, there's a communication barrier between those who got into anime and those who didn't. There are certainly many reasons for it, and I won't patronize anyone by assuming that I understand such reasons, but more often than not, anime has impressed me on just how broad a range it has in its thematic variety. Aside from the most common mainstream anime like "One Piece" and "Naruto", there have also been poignant anime about the neutrality of nature and its cyclical life and death like "Mushishi", anime that portray mental illness in a lighthearted fashion like "Welcome to Irabu's Office", or even anime about the innocence of crossdressing like "Wandering Son". Furthermore, each anime I mentioned has a very distinct artstyle of its own, so the reasoning of "I don't like anime artstyle" never really convinced me either. Then there's "Inuyashiki", an anime that's the equivalent of Pixar's "Up" but far more tragic and socially relevant in its tackling of ageism issues in Japan, an anime about a superhero old man. Based on the manga "Inuyashiki" by Hiroya Oku (creator of the popular sci-fi manga, "Gantz"), the 11 episode seinen anime (anime targeted at adult males) tells the tale of Inuyashiki Ichiro, an old man dying of stomach cancer. He has lost connection with his family and even the world at large, and he feels left behind without any meaningful purpose in life. That is until an accident caused by extraterrestrials that changed his life (and body) forever, along with another teenage kid named Shishigami Hiro. Their body is replaced with a robotic one, and both of them take a different approach to their newfound life and body; Hiro chooses to kill while Ichiro chooses to save lives. Beyond its ageism issues on the surface, Inuyashiki is also about the human capacity for both good and evil, and how people can sometimes take for granted the life and the time that they are given. There's a very clear duality to both Ichiro and Hiro with both of their viewpoints on life practically mirroring each other. While Ichiro is forgotten by the world at large, including his own wife and children, Hiro still has friends and a family that cares very much about him, not to mention a female classmate who has a crush on him. While Ichiro remains compassionate towards a society that's cold and indifferent towards the elderly like him, Hiro feels that it's logical for someone to only care about his own loved ones and friends while remaining apathetic towards the lives of others. What's similar between them, however, is that they have both lost touch with society long before they became machines; their attempts to heal and kill people are ways that they could feel alive again in their own nihilistic existence. I haven't read any other work of Hiroya's except his most famous work, Gantz, but it was easy to tell from both Gantz and Inuyashiki that his works are very critical of the Japanese society, or perhaps even humans as a whole and how we are becoming more cold and indifferent towards one another in the digital age. While Gantz deals with this more explicitly by exposing people's hypocrisy and prejudice, Inuyashiki seems like an antithesis to Gantz, showing the humanity that still exists within what seems to be a cruel and uncaring society on the surface. It's almost as if Hiroya was calling out on misanthropic readers who have misinterpreted his works as advocating violence for violence's sake. In fact, other than a yakuza gang that committed heinous acts of violence and assault, most characters in Inuyashiki aren't portrayed as the kind of inhumane monster that Hiro definitely is. No matter how callous or selfish people act in Inuyashiki, Hiro's senseless violence feels far more sadistic every time. There's an especially disturbing scene in episode 2 where Hiro gradually kills off members of a family while soaking up their emotions and trauma simply to feel alive again. Unlike most violent scenes in mature anime, this particular one feels harder to watch because it's more focused on the emotional pain of the family members that Hiro feeds off of like some junkie, not to mention how the entire murder is slowly drawn out as Hiro forces the father to talk about his feelings in the moment and how he feels about the death of his wife. Needless to say, Hiro is established as a complete monster from the very start, and yet he too is later shown to have people he cares about and protects, whether it's his mother, his childhood bestfriend, Naoyuki Ando, or the girl who has a crush on him, Shion Watanabe, and her grandmother. There's still love buried somewhere beneath this monster, and it's only after his loss of these few connections to the world that he goes off the deep end and goes on a rampage against the entire humanity. In contrast, Ichiro uses his newfound powers for the betterment of humanity by going around hospitals healing terminal patients, saving people from burning buildings and helping the homeless. While it's easy to simply classify Hiro as the villain and Ichiro the hero, that's oversimplifying these characters, as they are two people trying to find significance in a life that has become meaningless for them, in a world that they feel they no longer belong to. More than just about something shallow like good and evil, Hiroya's works have often been about the contrasting subjects of nihilism and existentialism (though not necessarily existential nihilism). Even though Ichiro actively helps people, his actions are not necessarily altruistic. Rather, much like Hiro, Ichiro admits that he does what he does to feel human, to confirm to himself that he's not just a machine after the alien reconstruction, but someone who still retains empathy, kindness and that feeling of catharsis from seeing cancer patients become well again and reunite with their family happy and in peace. Something that caught my attention was Hiro's love of manga and manga characters over people. He shows more interest in fictional characters than real people, something that's been prevalent among Japanese youths who value "virtual girlfriends" rather than going out and actually find a real partner, thereby partially contributing to the country's decline in population and birthrate. There's this pervasive feeling of disconnect between people in the anime where Hiro's mother was doxed by some kid on the Internet, or the reporters who preyed on the her after she's exposed as the mother to a serial killer, or the students who glorify Hiro as some kind of idol, discussing among themselves how sexy he is in spite of all the horrific acts he has done. Both the author Hiroya and the anime Inuyashiki tread this fine line between the apathy and compassion of people, with both Hiro and Ichirou embracing this duality of humanity. Inuyashiki doesn't paint humanity as entirely malicious or entirely loving. Instead, it tells us that there's an innate goodness in all of us, that there's potential for people to care about one another even if they sometimes need a little reminder from their elders. Like many anime worth praising, Inuyashiki's opening and closing theme songs are noteworthy as well for their representation of the show's themes. "My Hero" by Man with a Mission is an intense battle cry signaling the two protagonists' fight for their place in life, with lyrics like "Are you losing your way, or are you lost? Where are you going? Tell me, my hero, where are you going? What do I need to end my war?" Meanwhile, "Ai Wo Oshiete Kureta Kimi E" ("To You, Who Taught Me Love") by Qaijff is a more somber and tranquil song lamenting the appreciation and love one might have wished to give their loved ones while there was still time, while they were still around, featuring lyrics like "Is there a special person in your life? They're closer to you than you think, but you probably don't see me." Both songs convey that burning need for connection people have towards the world and their loved ones, even if they're not always willing to admit. At its core, Inuyashiki is a moving story full of heart and loneliness. There is rarely an episode that doesn't either disturb you with Hiro's violence or make you cry from seeing the people Ichiro has helped and how grateful they are for a new life, just as Ichiro has been given his. It's one of those rare spiritual journeys in anime that reflect on the more profound questions of life rather than simply entertain the viewers. Inuyashiki touches me deeply with its sincerity towards life, and while it could sometimes be heavy-handed in its preaching, it's nonetheless a unique reflection of our place in the world that I wish to see more of in the evergrowing medium of anime. If it's proven anything, it's that there can indeed be an anime out there for everyone, even the despondent elderly who have been neglected and forgotten. Final Rating: 8.9/10

Banana Fish is a 2018 anime crime thriller that deals with gang violence and other uncomfortable subjects like sexual assault and pedophilia. It's currently available on Amazon Prime Video. Banana Fish Review Trigger warning due to mentions of sexual assault, but I won’t be going into explicit details. I’ve been ignoring everyone I’ve been wandering around I’ve been deceived everything At that time Then you appeared in front of me Ignited my pale heart We’ve been looking for each other from now on Save you - Opening lyrics to Banana Fish’s second opening theme, “Freedom” by BLUE ENCOUNT The above lyrics pretty much sums up what Banana Fish is about: a traumatized kid meeting someone that heals his heart with love, thus leading the two of them on a quest to protect each other. Banana Fish is not an easy anime to talk about, not least because of its mature content about rape, child trafficking, and pedophilia. In spite of its lack of blood and gore that many anime viewers mistakenly associate with “maturity,” Banana Fish can still be an uncomfortable anime to watch because it explores the effects of the trauma the characters endure. Yes, the effect of it, not the trauma itself. Something unique about Banana Fish that separates it from similar anime about rape is that it doesn’t really show the act itself in any exploitative manner. It shows just enough for the audience to know what happened, but it’s more interested in showing the aftermath and the way horrific acts like these would change a person. Based on an ’80s shoujo (young girls) manga of the same name written by Akimi Yoshida, the title of the name comes from the J. D. Salinger novel, “A Perfect Day for Bananafish”. The usage of this title would make a lot more sense upon its ending, but for the naming of every episode, the anime has also borrowed the titles of other famous literary works by the likes of Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Zelda Fitzgerald, Thomas Wolfe, William Faulkner, and Salinger once again, featuring episode titles like “The Catcher in the Rye”, “For Whom the Bell Tolls”, “Islands in the Stream”, and “The Beautiful and Damned”. I tried comparing thematic similarities between the books the episodes are referencing and the episodes themselves, but I only found surface similarities that are superficial. I could be wrong though, as these allegories and symbolism could sometimes prove challenging to analyze during the first viewing. The anime is about a young gang leader in New York named Ash Lynx who become involved in a conflict over an eponymous drug, “banana fish.” He meets a young Japanese pole vaulter named Eiji Okumura who has come to America to recuperate from his injury. Over the course of the anime, Ash comes to appreciate Eiji’s innocence from a world of violence like his home, and he would confide in him his past trauma of abuse that turned him into a cold-blooded killing machine. Eiji feels sympathies for Ash and seeks to save his soul from damnation, and Ash in return wants to protect him from the ugly world he’s familiar with. Beyond the gun action and urban warfare, Banana Fish is a tragic but endearing tale of two kindred spirits who find a greater purpose of living than their own trauma. Even in 2018, it’s uncommon for mainstream anime to feature romantic relationships between two men, though “boys’ love” was far more common among ’80s manga. However, Yoshida has stated that Ash is not gay, and there hasn’t been any explicit evidence that Ash and Eiji share a homosexual relationship. There is a kiss in one episode, but its context is technically not a romantic one and is done out of necessity. The anime also features other colorful characters like Shorter Wong, Ash’s closest ally prior to Eiji’s arrival; Sing Soo-Ling, a young 14 year old forced to take up the role of a gang leader in Chinatown; Lee Yut-Lung, the youngest son of the Chinese mafia; Max Lobo, a war veteran and freelance journalist who was in the same platoon as Ash’s elder brother, Griffin Callenreese; Blanca, a Kazakh assassin and former KGB responsible for training Ash into an effective killer; and last but not least, “Papa” Dino Golzine, the American mafia crime lord who bought Ash as a child, grooming him to be his right-hand man. A number of these characters turned out to be quite morally ambiguous, including Golzine, whose viciousness and threats of enslaving Ash belies his twisted love for him as a surrogate father. Yut-Lung is your basic “dark reflection” character for Ash, having endured the trauma of witnessing his mother raped and murdered as a child and growing up seeking vengeance against the perpetrators. In fact, a number of the characterizations in the anime are in relation to Ash, such as Frederick Arthur, a former member of Ash’s gang who’s jealous of Ash’s purity and perseverance in the face of trauma, or Blanca who, even during his employment with Golzine, has a soft spot for his former student and his newfound Japanese friend. There are less significant characters that feel more like a typical boss in a video game one has to defeat, such as Eduardo Foxx who shows up in the last few episodes of the anime without much development or build-up. His existence and the gang war storyline of the anime are some of the things I’ve found to be superficial compared to the more interesting development between Ash and Eiji. In fact, during the second-half of the anime, instead of exploring the dynamics between the two and how they affect each other’s lives, the story becomes more of a tug-of-war with one party kidnapping or attacking another party’s members, becoming something of a generic crime drama that’s so ubiquitous on American television. In its defense, some parts of this gang war are utilized to develop Ash and Eiji’s character, in that Eiji is shown to be Ash’s one weak link in spite of being this overpowered and seemingly invulnerable protagonist. And that’s another thing I’m bothered by: the super-human skills of the characters that sometimes break my suspension of disbelief, particularly Ash and Blanca. While I could buy that some of these people were specially trained armed forces armed with top-notch military tactics, the characters sometimes feel like they’re protected by plot-armor and couldn’t die until the plot allows them to. Having seen my share of military anime like “Black Lagoon” and “Jormungand” (not to mention the many, many American military media), this familiar trend of superpowered soldiers does get a little stale over time, becoming the equivalent of a Dragon Ball character who lives and dies as the plot dictates. But to be fair, characters are written realistically enough that they do still die, and if they do survive, they become overpowered by the suppressing fire of the opposite party who has a lot more guns and bullets. They don’t really utilize the kind of brilliant strategies seen in other anime like “Death Note” or “Legend of the Galactic Heroes” (with other characters often attributing their moments of brilliance to some magical talent they have), but that’s probably expecting too much from an ’80s shoujo manga. A more minor detail that caught my attention is that, unlike the manga, the anime sometimes exclude details that would make viewers aware that a character has been raped, which undercuts Yoshida’s intention of focusing on the effects of such trauma. For example, when a certain female character was attacked, the aftermath of the assault wasn’t animated in a clear way what actually happened until she mentioned it several episodes later (unlike the manga, which actually portrayed her in her undergarment). It’s a more minor flaw because it still feels true to the spirit of the manga in its avoidance from showing such horrific acts in any exploitative manner, even if it overdoes it to the point of excluding the audience from the conversation. The biggest controversy, however, has to be the ending, where a certain bad thing happens to a certain character whom I shall not name. A lot of fans were left confused and even infuriated by such an action, but Yoshida’s defense was, “Because he’s a murderer that deserves to be punished.” (I’m paraphrasing to avoid spoilers) It’s an odd way to write a character that way, as if it’s some sort of propaganda to impart a moral lesson on its readers, but it makes a lot of sense in the context of Japanese culture, which encourages its citizens to put up a positive image, especially towards foreigners (and presumably media that would be accessible to foreigners like Banana Fish). On an unrelated note, it’s also where the myth of Japanese politeness comes from. For what it’s worth, I wasn’t as bothered by how the ending turned out until I found out the context behind its execution. I thought that it made a lot of sense, that the character couldn’t have easily achieved happiness because of what he went through, and his choice appropriately mirrors Salinger’s novel, calling back to the title of the show. It wouldn’t have ended any other way. I knew of that the moment I found out what the novel was about. When it comes down to it, Yoshida wanted to tell a story of heart, something that would appeal to female audiences. She admitted so when asked about writing it for a male demographic, claiming that “boys have such simple tastes as opposed to the complex emotions of a girl.” Ironically, the anime at least would seem to be more appealing to a male demographic with its many action sequences that overshadow the more intimate moments Yoshida speaks of. A story about healing one’s heart from years of sexual trauma can be a powerful and timeless tale, especially when paired with the loving friendship between two men, something that’s exceptionally rare compared to the more naïve ideals of friendship in anime catered towards the younger male demographic (commonly referred to as “shounen anime”). Friendship is more than just about platitudes of courage or loyalty; it can be something far deeper and personal even among children. It can be two people learning to accept each other through the worst imaginable circumstances they have to endure. Banana Fish could’ve been something more. Final Rating: 7.8/10

Black Jack is a 1993 anime about an unlicensed doctor who takes on strange cases that can't be explained by science. It's based on the works of one Osamu Tezuka, someone you might've known as "the father of anime." It's kinda like House M.D. but with a more ethical doctor who gives a crap about preserving life and set in a neo-noir genre with a lot more supernatural elements. From an anime fan’s standpoint, Osamu Tezuka is a fascinating subject of study. Even though I haven’t read or seen most of his works, his name and what he has done for the anime industry evoke admiration from me in the same way names like Francis Coppola and Stanley Kubrick would fascinate a lover of American cinema. Widely known as the “father of modern anime,” the creator of (supposedly) the second anime ever created titled Astro Boy (though there has been evidence to prove that much earlier anime have existed), and also described as the “Walt Disney of anime.” That last label, however, feels like a misnomer to me because of how much darker Tezuka’s works tend to be. Alabaster, for example, is Tezuka’s most controversial work that features a serial rapist as the protagonist. There’s also Adolf, which features the one and only Nazi leader himself. The reason I said that Tezuka is fascinating is mainly because of such heavy subjects that are present in his works. As an anime fan, I’ve always been more passionate about showing non-anime fans the more mature content in anime than the more mainstream and family-friendly ones, not because of some edgy and pretentious obsession of wanting to be seen as a “grown-up” or even someone with unique tastes, but because I wanted to show the depth of anime and the beauty in its storytelling range. The fact that anime itself is rooted in the works of Tezuka, “the father of modern anime,” says a lot about what it could become as a medium outside the commercial market. Astro Boy, the android kid who started it all, was merely the tip of the iceberg, and even then, the seemingly innocent anime contains themes of anti-war humanism stemming from Tezuka’s life experience growing up in WWII. Even as a kid, I don’t think I ever bought into the idea that animation is just dumb comedy to distract children with. Ever since I watched Toy Story 2 and the many compelling Pixar productions that came after, I’ve held a strong belief that animation could always have something more to say about life. Tezuka’s works are the representation of that depth, including the 1993 adaptation of his manga, Black Jack. I think that when reviewing any piece of Tezuka’s works, it’s essential to consider his bibliography and his historical contributions as well because not only is it that many of Black Jack’s themes share a connection with his other works, but they also feel like an extension to what he had to say about war and peace. Astro Boy has a closer relation to the A-bomb and WWII sentiments; Black Jack, on the other hand, has more to do with Tezuka’s medical background and his deep belief in the preservation of life. Based on the ’70s Japanese comic book of the same name by Tezuka, Black Jack tells the tale of Kurō Hazama, an unlicensed doctor who will go to any extralegal measures to save a life while charging a fair sum relative to the patient’s financial status (even giving a $1 IOU once to several war refugees). To say that Hazama is an unconventional hero is probably something of an understatement. In spite of his apparent altruism for his patients, he can be contrarily cynical as well, even coldly telling someone that he’s free to hang himself away from his presence. Furthermore, much like the protagonist of Alabaster, his face is scarred, with half of it seeming to have been grafted with someone else’s skin, a characteristic more often associated with villains or tragic figures in western cultures like Quasimodo. Such an ambivalence in Hazama’s character design feels very much in the vein of neo-noir fiction, a genre of which its style the ’90s Black Jack adaptation very much emulates (as opposed to its brighter and more colorful TV series in the 2000s). Moreover, as with neo-noir fiction, the anime also features a number of femme fatales who display some level of intimacy towards Hazama (though not necessarily having that affection reciprocated). There are other neo-noir elements as well, such as its nihilistic setting and generally bleak atmosphere where the hard-boiled Hazama serves as one of the few beacons of hope. One such example of its grimness is its frequent exploration of warfare and its ensuing violence as part of the storyline. There have been at least three episodes dealing with the effects of war causing affliction on innocent victims, whether it’s chemical warfare experimentations or good ol’ civil war power struggles that neglect the well-being of the citizens. Hazama’s outspoken resentment towards such pointless conflict caused by selfish politicians very much reflects Tezuka’s body of work. There are other elements that distinguishes the ’93 Black Jack adaptation as well such as the many use of freeze frames that look like they were drawn with pastel chalk, a trademark style of director Osamu Dezaki (who started his manga and anime career working under Tezuka and would go on to direct and write Ashita no Joe). Aside from making a climactic scene look more dramatic, it also saves budget for the animation, something that the much cheaper 2004 TV adaptation later on didn’t require. The ’93 Black Jack, however, would probably need such budget cuts because of its higher quality music and animation details. The backgrounds are more detailed and richly colored, and it has four different unique opening and closing theme songs over 10 episodes, each a two to three minute rock ballad that reflect the show’s melancholic loneliness. Such freedom of expression and high level of effort and passion are likely attributed to the fact that the ’93 series is an OVA (Original Video Animation), which is a form of direct-to-video series released on VHS tapes. Unlike the American direct-to-video movies, the OVAs tend to have higher production value and allowed creators to freely incorporate mature content that they couldn’t get away with in a TV production (such as the ’04 Black Jack TV series). With the advent of cable TV, however, the OVAs were slowly dying out in the ‘90s. One such mature content in the ’93 series is also the graphic imagery of body innards. More than just a doctor, Hazama is a surgeon, and very often, the audience would witness the rather unsettling details that accompany such medical drama. However, it’s not done in a exploitative or sensationalized way. Being the creation of Tezuka who had attended medical school and earned himself a license, the anime has been said to be quite accurate in its portrayal of the medical procedures, which is why I feel that its graphic scenes of surgery were necessary to showcase the details of Hazama’s work. There’s hardly any gratuitous blood or gore, however, only the necessary details to show which body parts Hazama is cutting open. While often somber in tone, the anime also contains comedic moments thanks to a few recurring comic reliefs, including police lieutenant Takasugi, a criminal investigator who pesters Hazama about his lack of medical license while remaining protective of him, and Pinoko, a seemingly small child who’s actually eighteen years old in age. Pinoko is undoubtedly the more controversial of the two characters due to her often questionable remarks about marrying Hazama. This is probably the only problematic aspect of the show because it’s written for audiences who have read the manga and supposedly knew about Pinoko’s tragic history, something that’s not explained in this anime whatsoever. In 2011, however, two new episodes for the series are written using unused storyboards left behind by the late Dezaki, one of which does revisit the memories of Pinoko and her creation. While these two episodes are technically considered a part of this OVA, they are sometimes referred to as an entirely new series titled Black Jack Final. Nevertheless, western viewers without such background knowledge of the story would be reasonably confused by such a portrayal. But for what it’s worth, Pinoko’s maturity only extended to her speech rather than any controversial actions. Her quirkiness as an adult stuck in a child’s body can be quite adorable, however, and her immaturity (despite her actual age) often ensues in hilarity that lightens the heavy mood of the series. Pinoko’s nature isn’t the only fantastical element of the series either. Like Dr. Gregory House in House M.D., Hazama too is often involved in strange cases beyond the explanation of science. However, the anime contains far more supernatural elements that are beyond just abnormal illnesses, ranging from a talking tumor on one’s stomach to telepathic trees born out of a person’s body. There’s even an entire episode where Hazama is transported to what looks like feudal Japan with warring samurai. However, the series is still very much a grounded medical drama that doesn’t lean too much towards the unbelievable. It’s interesting to note that, in spite of being a man of science, Hazama is agnostic towards the paranormal, being willing to believe that there are things in this world that science hasn’t been able to explain yet. Beyond its fascinating animation of realistic surgeries, Black Jack is an anime I’m glad to have encountered, not only because it’s created by one of the most revolutionary storytellers of Japan, but also due to its unique storyline about a hardened doctor’s preservation of life. Something that’s been said by famed animator, Hayao Miyazaki regarding Tezuka is that he loathes the pessimism present in Tezuka’s stories, pessimism that lacks any subtlety in its criticism of humanity’s ugliness. Watching something like Black Jack, however, not to mention knowing that the ’04 adaptation contains many cheerful elements present in the original manga, I find such a statement hard to believe. While Tezuka’s stories don’t shy away from the horrors of war, something that’s inevitable due to his own life experiences living through WWII, you could tell from an anime like Black Jack that he’s more of a humanist than a misanthrope. Hazama is fiercely protective of human life, even willing to heal soldiers who have threatened to kill him. If any of Tezuka’s works might have come off as pessimistic to anyone, one should definitely check out Black Jack as it feels like the antithesis of optimism to that notion. But more than anything else, it’s just a really great medical drama. I’m not one to usually enjoy such a genre of television specifically because I have no idea what half of the things that are being said, but more often than not, series like House M.D. and Black Jack have something more to offer, whether it’s the sarcastic charm of Hugh Laurie or Tezuka’s earnest examination on the value of a human life to an unlicensed doctor. Final Rating: 8.5/10

Beastars is a 2019 anime (available on Netflix outside Japan since March 2020) about andromorphic characters dealing with issues of prejudice, kinda similar to Zootopia except it's more complex and darker in its nature. I've recently completed the anime and have written a review for it. Beastars Season 1 Review First impressions are important. With our limited time, it can determine whether if we watch a show or move on to another one we’re more interested in. So when a show like “Beastars” comes along having a male canine protagonist courting a female bunny deuteragonist, when it explores the similar matter of prejudice, and when it even has a lion as a mayor as well… it inevitably draws comparisons. It makes one question its novelty, and whether if it’s really worth the time to watch something presumably inspired by an American cartoon (as opposed to presenting its own unique story). It’s why it’s taken me a good while before watching it. Fortunately, Beastars feels more like an extension of “Zootopia” than an imitation of it. In fact… it’s not even an imitation at all. Based on a manga of the same name, the author of the manga, Paru Itagaki, had actually written another series with anthropomorphic characters (titled “Beast Complex”) that was published in February 2016, around the same time as Zootopia’s Belgium Film Festival premiere. Nevertheless, Paru had made claims that her inspiration was undeniably drawn from Disney animation, particularly the traditional kind with anthropomorphic characters like “Pinocchio”, “Dumbo”, and of course, Mickey Mouse himself. Technical similarities aside, Beastars further developed the ideas that Zootopia touched on. Being a Disney movie, there were darker elements of a carnivore/herbivore relationship that the creators of Zootopia simply couldn’t explore; Paru, on the other hand, had no such restrictions. For starters, while the carnivores of Zootopia have learned to be civilized and co-exist with herbivores like humans do, the animals of Beastars are all very much animalistic, retaining their natural-born instincts to hunt, kill, even surrender and die. It’s an ongoing struggle for the carnivores in Beastars to suppress their urges, and it’s the nature of the herbivores to be wary of their predator counterparts. Paranoia, suspicions and prejudice would be inevitably bred from such an uncertain relationship. The animals have implemented rules and regulations to maintain order, but just as we humans would learn, nature is chaotic by its very essence. You could only impose so much order on a chaotic force. This futility would become evident upon the very first episode of the series, where the murder of a herbivore has occurred. This wake-up call would send a ripple effect throughout the rest of the season that leads everyone into an existential crisis over their roles in life between predator and prey. Amidst this tension, another interesting nuance between the two franchise would show up: carnivores are far more prejudiced against in Beastars than Zootopia. Given a racial context, then this symbolism becomes a lot more loaded than the movie, but even without the context, it’s a fascinating examination of carnivores becoming the victim too (unlike their more devious counterparts from Disney). But ultimately, what truly maintains the peace between the two types of animal is something far seedier, though not necessarily evil. There’s a “black market” in the world of Beastars, and animals of age — both carnivores and herbivores, in fact — are allowed entry to either satisfy their taste for meat (extracted from morgues and cemeteries) or, for the older or penniless herbivores, exchange their body parts for cash. It’s a depressing way of living, but it’s probably the best compromise in such a world where animal urges don’t simply vanish away like they do in Disneyland. What effectively made these themes so potent, however, are the sympathetic characters witnessing these horrors in their life while struggling against the uphill battle of subduing their vilest and most repulsive urges. In a piece of online fanart, someone drew the main characters of Beastars meeting those of Zootopia. The Beastars pair describes themselves by stating, “We’re like you, but super screwed up.” I think that couldn’t have been a more perfect description of what the two main characters of Beastars are like. Both Legosi the gray wolf and Haru the dwarf rabbit are incredibly broken animals. Louis the red deer, the second deuteragonist, is an even more damaged individual. Such a difference in characterization is probably attributed to the culture and medium they’re from. Over the past decade, I’ve noticed that anime characters have become more flawed and uncertain of themselves. There’s a sense of identity insecurity present in many anime characters, especially adolescent student characters. In contrast, American characters have normally followed the Joseph Campbell formula of having their ideals and values challenged only after they’ve set on a journey; it is usually not their default state like in modern anime. Likewise, Legosi bears striking similarities with other male student characters from past anime. A recent trend among male anime characters is that they’re becoming more shy, insecure, and perhaps introspective. Gone are the days of muscular or even heroic men full of bravado and recklessness that would still be prevalent even as late as the 2000s. Beginning from the 2010s, however, it’s more common for male characters in anime to be more quiet and even antisocial. Legosi feels like just one of the many incarnations of such an archetype. Similarly, modern female characters in anime have taken a more outspoken approach, unlike their more traditional Japanese women counterparts in older anime. Haru the bunny represents a trend in Japanese media where women have become more independent and critical of their community, something that’s traditionally frowned upon in Japan. In spite of being bullied and even slut-shamed, she doesn’t wait for her Prince Charming to come rescue her like the girls of Clannad (specifically Nagisa). She’s promiscuous, but not because of the simple enjoyment of sex like many mature female anime characters who proudly display their promiscuity badge; the cause is something deeper and more personal. Being a dwarf rabbit, Haru was treated like a fragile little thing by her peers, almost to the point of infantilizing her. It wasn’t until her first sexual intercourse that she felt like she was being treated as an equal for the first time. Her partners would finally see her as a woman worth loving and embracing. This is special. Unlike the other characters of Beastars who could be slotted into one character archetype or another, Haru feels like a far more subversive take on female anime characters, familiar, yet different, not least because of her unique viewpoint on her relationship with sex. Louis the red deer also feels like a nuanced approach to the typical popular schoolboy who walks with prestige and dignity. He might look like a solemn animal with beauty and grace, but behind it all lies a very dark background that might as well have been an allegory to child trafficking. This leads him to bearing an immense hatred for carnivores and almost a superiority complex stemming from his past vulnerability as a herbivore. He hates being the weaker animal type and would not tolerate any sign of weakness from anyone, especially himself. He’s easily the most fascinating and my favorite character in the show. However, all these unique characteristics couldn’t have existed without the context of the story: animals struggling with their nature and identity. While Zootopia is more interested in being a prejudice allegory (with the characters easily replaced by humans), the universe of Beastars has a kind of authenticity where the characters’ prejudice, goals and wants stem from being a wild animal who has gone through millions of years of evolution to hone such problematic instincts that they are suppressing. The black market, animals accepting the notion of predator and prey, the uncontrollable urge to eat someone, the insecurity and submissiveness of a herbivore, all the nuance of these subject matters couldn’t be easily replicated with human characters, at least not in an entirely sensible way that fits our current societal context. Beastars is through and through a story about animals being animals, not just another Disney cartoon about animals acting like humans. One of the exceptions to this is its portrayal of social norms, one that perhaps resonates deeper with its Japanese viewers, where the public image of a citizen and traditional gender roles are taken very seriously. Romance between carnivores and herbivores is strictly taboo in the anime, and Legosi who was previously considered as a relatively normal student (even if he doesn’t embrace his carnivore side) is called a weirdo for being that intimate with Haru. This brings us to the one element of the anime I don’t really care much for: the romance. It’s probably weird to watch a romance without any interest in romantic elements, but as you could tell from my review so far, I’m far more interested in the anime’s philosophical and societal themes than its quirky “odd couple” romance. It’s cute and heartwarming to see two flawed individuals find someone who could accept them for whom they are without judgment, but I find that it sometimes (though rarely) distracts from the more compelling subjects that made Zootopia such a phenomenon in the first place. Occasionally, the romantic moments do return to exploring the intricate animal instincts, such as Haru subconsciously placing her arm within Legosi’s jaws, but at times, I couldn’t help but feel familiarity with other similar romance anime that plays the “will they/won’t they” card in their struggle to accept their true feelings about each other. It’s tedious and generic. What’s more bothersome is that Legosi and Haru’s romance is part of a love quadrangle, where two other animals are involved; one of whom is the majestic Louis, while the other is a female wolf named Juno that Legosi rescued from herbivore bullies. While I understand that Juno is the voice of carnivores speaking out against the prejudice from herbivores in the same way Louis is resentful against carnivores (I could see the both of them getting together in season 2), the fact that Juno immediately falls in love with Legosi after he saves her from bullies is one of the oldest tropes in Japanese animation. But I guess that’s how teenagers are like. Hormones, I guess. One could even argue that Haru too only becomes fully enamored with Legosi after he rescued her. Louis’ part in this romance is more interesting though, as he shares the similar connection Legosi and Haru have for each other. Both sets of romance are built upon their honesty to each other about their vulnerability and individuality. Haru is the only one Louis opens his heart to instead of covering it up with his usual armor. The difference between these two romance is that Legosi is true to his feelings towards Haru, even before realizing that he’s in love with her; Louis, on the other hand, has his head muddled by his quest for power to exact revenge against all carnivores. When a significant moment occurs late in the season, Louis chooses power (and political favor) over Haru, thus expressing (albeit subconsciously) just how much she means to him. Haru senses this restraint from him even earlier on, that he displays sadness even in her embrace. Legosi, on the other hand, seems to be wholeheartedly blissful in her company, even in his abstinence from sex. Such a complex and delicate relationship is the reason why even a romance storyline would garner so much interest from me. Even with its flaws, Beastars manages to evoke a poignant atmosphere amidst the romance. Beyond the basic tropes of romantic turmoil, there’s a much somber struggle to overcome one’s identity to attain happiness from another person. Adding on the cool jazz opening theme song that features a stop-motion representation of Legosi and Haru’s tumultuous relationship, Beastars effectively utilizes the animal characteristics of the story to their full potential, going further than Zootopia could have dreamed of (except perhaps in Zootopia 2). With 20 volumes and 178 chapters at hand (with the anime merely adapting the manga’s first six volumes), there’s a lot of material to cover, and it’s implied that the animal war between carnivores and herbivores would only aggravate further down the line. Here’s hoping that, unlike a number of manga-adapted anime, Beastars would get to tell its full story in animation rather than meet an untimely cancellation. Final Rating: 8.5/10

This was a '90s TV show created by X-Files creator, Chris Carter. It had three seasons before its untimely cancellation. It's about a criminal investigator named Frank Black (Lance Henriksen) who has the power to see and feel what criminals feel. Originally started as a procedural crime drama like CSI, its second season went in a completely different direction due to Chris handing the show over to new showrunners. I've recently completed season 2, and I've written a review for it describing such details. Millennium Season 2 Review A few weeks back, while attempting to watch The X-Files season 5, I found out that there was a crossover episode in season 7 between X-Files and another show Chris Carter had created, Millennium. Being the OCD that I am, I was forced to abandon my viewing of X-Files for the moment and catch up with this intriguing series about a criminal investigator, Frank Black (played by the magnificent Lance Henriksen), who could see into criminal minds. But it was more than that that got me into watching, as I’m extremely picky about the shows I watch. I also saw the opening to Millennium’s documentary, “Millennium After the Millennium”, where they talked about how revolutionary the series was at the time, containing such a dark and violent vibe before the likes of “True Detective” and “Criminal Minds”. And I do love my dark shows. When I finally finished season 1, I was satisfied by my experience because it wasn’t just about featuring different flavors of serial killers every week, but also the study of evil, its nature, and how it comes about in a person. I was stoked to watch season 2 and see more of the same. It’s fair to say that I wasn’t among the few who was initially disappointed by what I saw. Even the crew and writers of season 2 were shocked to see how the new showrunners, Glen Morgan and James Wong (director/producer of the 2000 film, “Final Destination” no less), had hijacked the grounded crime thriller and turned it into a supernatural thriller far more obsessed with the apocalypticism that was subtly hinted at in the first season. Henriksen himself was even livid after reading one of Darin Morgan’s scripts. “Darin, is this what you do? Take something you really like and respect and then absolutely trash it?” Tensions were high among both the crew and the viewers. But we were wrong. Boy, were we wrong. It’s no exaggeration to say that Morgan and Wong sought to tear apart just about everything that made season 1 of Millennium appealing, namely the unique serial killers that dotted the entire season. Likewise, it’s no exaggeration to say that season 2 was one of the most ambitious television phenomenon that was overlooked. In spite of how much I liked the first season, I gradually come to realize something: it was sensationalizing serial killers. Much like the many procedural crime drama like “CSI: Crime Scene Investigation”, it was setting up evil itself as this mystical force that only exists in the criminally depraved and those with abusive upbringing, when we know very well in our tumultuous times today that it’s far from the truth. As evident in season 2, evil could also come in the form of apathy, and more often than not, evil is banal and mundane. There’s a more solemn and somber tone to the second season as it patiently examines what “good” and “evil” really mean in the context of humanity. Immediately from the first episode, “The Beginning and the End”, the protagonist Frank Black is tainted with the crime of murdering a killer while protecting his wife and daughter, Catherine and Jordan Black. In doing so, he has lost that moral certitude that made hm so inspiring in the first season. In fact, season 2 even goes further to humanize Frank with traits of anger, humor, and even selfishness by the last episode. Then beginning from episode 2, “Beware of the Dog”, everything changed and the usual “serial killer of the week” format was beginning to be deconstructed. The killer this time wasn’t even human; it was killer dogs. And even then, there was this moral ambiguity about which side represents good and evil. A new recurring character introduced in this episode simply known as “The Old Man” (played by R. G. Armstrong) dispels in Frank the simple notions of good vs. evil, that more often than not, humanity is about protecting yourself and your loved ones from external threats. “The Curse of Frank Black” is a Halloween episode that features a spirit messenger who implies that even the heavens would like Frank to step aside from confronting the coming evils looming over the horizon. “Goodbye Charlie” portrays someone suspected of euthanizing unwilling victims facing terminal illnesses. That once comfortable notion of morality in season 1 became a lot more cynical and murkier in season 2. In fact, after the first five episodes, just about every single episode after is worthy of an essay examining its themes and unique structure. “19:19” implies that God would’ve killed a bunch of children with a tornado if it wasn’t for the actions of a delusional criminal who kidnapped them claiming that he predicted the looming danger. “Midnight of the Century” is a Christmas episode that isn’t about any killers or antagonists (much like a number of episodes in season 2), but is instead about Jordan inheriting Frank’s ability to bear prophetic visions. It’s also about Frank reconciling with his estranged father, whom an angel prophesized would pass in the coming year. “Luminary”, one of the most unique episodes in the season, deals with the spiritual theme of abandoning the materialistic urban world to seek out the solitude of nature, referencing the fate of Chris McCandless two years after (the book) “Into the Wild” was released. Like I said, almost every episode is an ambitious narrative that’s unprecedented in primetime TV shows. Watching this season often felt like an adventure into the unknown, never knowing how Morgan and Wong would amaze me come next episode. But arguably, the most impressive piece of writing lies with its feminist themes. In the ’90s where dated racial and gender stereotypes were abound, one of the few shows that stood out as a “feminist show” was Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Much like its creator, Joss Whedon, the writers of Millennium season 2 were also often referred to as feminist writers. This is shown in a number of episodes involving Catherine Black, but the most notable example is “In Arcadia Ego”, a well-crafted episode that features a very realistic portrayal of lesbians who are not the voluptuous supermodel stereotypes often associated with lesbians on TV. Instead, one of them (Sonny) was a weighty type whom the male characters of the show often described as “might as well be a man.” And yet, the portrayal of this couple was filled with innocence, love, and ultimately, tragedy. While it is rather heavy-handed in its portrayal of misogynistic men ready to hunt down a couple of lesbian convicts (one of whom, Janette, was even raped by a prison guard in her sleep), it remains impressive in its endeavor to showcase the kind of abuse female inmates indeed do face in real life. Furthermore, Janette was with child, and the couple believed that it was a virgin birth due to their ignorance of the horrific act inflicted upon Janette. And even after learning the fact, there was a moving scene where Janette still had faith that her pregnancy was an act of God, not man, for her to experience the miracle of birth with the woman she loves. It was hard to watch the episode without tearing up. For such a loaded script to be aired in the ’90s was an unimaginable achievement. In spite of whatever problematic connotations many episodes might bear, it’s hard to deny the courage of season 2. And it didn’t stop there. “Anamnesis” focuses on the gnostic texts where Mary Magdalene was depicted with far greater dignity and innocence than within the official Holy Bible. In fact, the episode itself explicitly stated that she was the wife of Jesus, and the child who is seeing angels in the episode is their child in a long-running bloodline. This was aired before Dan Brown would come to write “The Da Vinci Code” in 2003 five years later, and there would be two entire decades before a mainstream movie was made about Magdalene herself. Furthermore, a lot of the problematic and patriarchal structure of religious authorities were called into question in the episode, portraying that religion can be a tool to exert power over others. Once again, in a country where Christianity and Catholicism are the most celebrated forms of faith, this was a loaded script that was surprisingly allowed to air. Rumor has it that the board of Broadcast Standards and Practices almost didn’t approve. Fortunately, this season’s greatest episodes aren’t usually commendable because of shocking narratives. “Somehow, Satan Got Behind Me” is impressive not because of any overtly controversial theme, but because it’s an anthology episode featuring four different tales told by demons bearing a striking resemblance with the Devil. Once again, anthology episodes were not a common trait in non-anthological primetime TV (as opposed to “The Twilight Zone” and “Tales from the Crypt”). You’re either anthological or you’re not, rarely both. Similarly, the use of long-form music sequences in TV drama wouldn’t become commonplace yet (with something niched like “Twin Peaks” being a crowning exception), but episodes like “Owls”, “Roosters”, “Anamnesis” and especially the season finale, “The Time is Now”, would feature scenes with drawn-out soundtracks playing over them, with the last example almost turning the scene into a music video due to its lack of dialogue and psychedelic imagery. But more than its unconventional practices, the second season of Millennium is about something more intimate. While the first season subtly hints at themes of apocalypticism, the second season explores it in far deeper layers to the point where it subverts the clichéd notions of apocalypse seen in ’90s movies and television shows. As opposed to preparing the characters for some grandiose end of the world scenario full of fire and brimstones like some cheesy B-movie, Arnold’s confrontation with the embodiment of Satan in “The End of Days” for one thing (“You’re a choir boy compared to me!”), season 2 explores a lot more personal apocalypses about the end of a world, where things a person cherish — be it a community, a loved one, or a family — are deprived from that person. Something devastating like that could very well feel like the end of the world as well, which is the underlying theme season 2 is built upon. Other times, episodes like Darin Morgan’s fantastic (and hilarious) episode, “Jose Chung’s Doomsday Defense”, dismiss entirely the common perceptions of apocalypse as stories we tell ourselves to attribute significance to our birth at such a momentous part of human history. A thousand years have passed our kind before without incident; why should the following thousand be any different? Instead, the fan-favorite character from The X-Files, Jose Chung the flamboyant writer, made an appearance here in Millennium to explain that the end of the world might very well come in the form of indifference and solitude, where life is snuffed out not with a bang, but a whimper of apathy towards one another. That is a far grimmer outlook than the more flashy ideas of zombies, Satan and extraterrestrial invasions. The devils in “Somehow, Satan Got Behind Me” suggest that humanity doesn’t need some malevolent supernatural force to damn their soul; they’re doing a fine job on their own through their pettiness, self-destruction and nihilistic existence. The first story of the anthology episode presents a serial killer fanatic who got talked by the devil (telling the tale) into following in the path of those celebrities he worshiped so much. Another story shows a lonely man going through the maddening routines of a 9-to-5 white collar job; the tale ends with him committing suicide. In the same vein, “The Time Is Now” reveals that the apocalyptic event present in the episode is of man’s own making, though specifically the Soviet Union. Perhaps it’s due to my own cynicism of humanity and overall misanthropy, the fact that the end of the world is a product of humanity is probably my favorite theory on how we’re going out: by ultimately destroying ourselves. It leads to the introspection of our human nature and whether if the essence of evil and all its ugliness are existent within, not without. It’s decidedly a throughline in Millennium, the examination of the everyday evil we bear witness to around us. Such an ever-present subtext is also the reason why I feel such a kinship to the subject matter, particularly in its second season. The clearest example of the season’s cutting criticism towards humanity is probably “The Mikado”, where a serial killer sets up a live stream online showing a woman bound to a chair. On the corner of the stream is a visitor counter, and once it reaches a certain amount of ticks (displayed on the wall), the killer murders her. This concept would eventually be used in the 2008 Diane Lane crime thriller, “Untraceable”. Both works place the blame on the voyeuristic stream viewers, suggesting that people can be inherently cruel, especially behind the vein of anonymity. But morbid musings about the banality of evil and the scourge of humanity aside, something that's as equally compelling is the ending itself. The way it ends leaves very little ambiguity for how the show would continue forward, such that the producers are fumed at what Morgan and Wong had done. A lot of the crew packed up their stuff and submitted their resume to other studios because they had assumed that this would be the end of the series. It’s certainly the most ambitious move by the duo, but they have claimed that they weren’t trying to sabotage the show, that there would’ve been a way to continue the story… just not a solution that would be accepted by the studio (and perhaps the audience) at that point in television history. The solution offered involved an entire change in genre once again, from apocalyptic thriller to post-apocalyptic drama. Morgan and Wong proposed that they saw the ending as the beginning to a world like Cormac McCarthy’s “The Road”. That’s something that’s literally unprecedented in TV history back in the ’90s and something audiences would most likely not accept yet ‘till a decade or two down the line, when something like “The Walking Dead” would exist. But god, I love that idea, and the real tragedy here is the limitation of the TV industry at the time resulting in the showrunner duo incapable of creating that dream TV show exploring the death of humanity that would become so ever-present today. Morgan and Wong, in more ways than one, were way ahead of their time. However, the duo’s struggles against the studio’s actions (or rather, inaction) began much earlier when Fox refused to create publicity for the show, resulting in further decline of viewership ‘till its inevitable demise by its third season. Neither Fox nor its viewers would trust in the longevity of a show as dark and controversial as Millennium, and thus another gem was forgotten among the sea of dying stars. When it comes to the faults of the season, it’s telling that its biggest sin is the writers’ overambition. More often than not, misfires like “Sense and Antisense” and “Siren” were a result of the writers trying to do too much with the limited time and script capacity they had. The former taps into African American racial themes that were ultimately rejected and had to be rewritten, while the latter also had racial themes (involving Chinese immigrants), but they were diluted by an attempt to tie the episode to Frank’s overarching character arc through the season. “The Hand of St. Sebastian” is a muddled episode that conveniently writes off the character of Cheryl Andrews (played by C. C. H. Pounder), but further develops the character of Frank’s partner this season, Peter Watts (Terry O’Quinn). Even “A Single Blade of Grass”, a troubling take on clichéd native American stereotypes, had something meaningful to say about how the apocalypse might be a product of our overzealous imagination (in spite of the fact that this is proven untrue by the season finale). Nevertheless, for all that it has accomplished in terms of innovative storytelling, such faults are easily forgiven. They are relatively minor faults anyway compared to far more tasteless gender and racial stereotypes over in The X-Files and other ’90s TV shows. Millennium season 2 has my highest praises for offering me exactly the kind of grim and fatalistic tale that I was hoping to find upon seeing its trailer back then. Final Rating: 8.8/10

I've recently finished season 5 and wrote a review for it. It was great and I enjoyed it. Here's my take on it: The X-Files Season 5 Review Think back to the fall of ’97. The X-Files was at the top of its game. A serial that changed the face of television forever, bringing TV sci-fi drama to new heights. A movie was even coming up due to its success and most of its production was completed. Things couldn’t have been better for the peak of the series. Right? Back in season 4, when the X-Files movie, “Fight the Future” was being written and filmed, there was a lot of scheduling conflicts that have occurred for both David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson. Furthermore, Chris Carter was torn between three different commitments: X-Files the series, Fight the Future, and his other baby, Millennium starring Lance Henriksen. This resulted in some drastic spikes in quality, with the season rising and falling in its inconsistency. The production of season 5, by contrast, was a lot more relaxed. “Fight the Future” had been written and filmed, and with the second season of Millennium handed over to Glen Morgan and James Wong, Chris was free to turn his focus back on the X-Files. But there was one little snag: “Fight the Future” had been written. The series couldn’t proceed with any plotlines that might disrupt the consistency of the canon in the upcoming movie. The flip-side to this problem was that it allowed Chris and his writers the freedom to try out ambitious ideas for the series, leading season 5 to be quite possibly the most experimental season yet. While on the one hand, all “mythology” episodes would have to be self-contained and not have any significant impact for the rest of the season, on the other hand, you get fun episodes like “The Post-Modern Prometheus” (a tribute to James Whale filmmaking and Frankenstein) and “Kill Switch” (a William Gibson special, the father of cyberpunk and inventor of the term, “cyberspace”). It’s even host to a Stephen King script (“Chinga”), albeit leading to a somewhat disappointing and conventional monster-of-the-week storyline that didn’t meet the heightened expectations of “master of horror Stephen King writes The X-Files!” Nevertheless, the fact that the TV series had reached the point where it’s successful enough to hire a talent like King speaks volumes about how far it had come. Alongside many other ’90s cult favorites like “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” and “The Simpsons”, The X-Files was basking in its glory days as a sensational icon of television. Of course, it’s not all fun and games down in paradise. There were times when the restraints of the movie lead to some very contrived writing in service of returning things to status quo. For example, Mulder’s newfound skepticism of his long-held belief in the supernatural proved to be not only short-lived, but arbitrary. In spite of harboring the belief that the existence of aliens was part of the government’s artifice, Mulder would constantly believe in other forms of the supernatural, be it invisible conquistadors (“Detour”) or even killer trees (“Schizogeny”). It could be argued that Mulder’s skepticism merely extended to aliens alone, but the portrayal of his new cynical attitude could also be inconsistent at times (Mulder complaining about being “monster boy” sent off to nonsensical assignments involving the supernatural during “Folie à Deux”). There were a few other occurrences where the writers wanted to have their cake and eat it too, balancing the tightrope of keeping the lore intact for the movie while injecting potential character developments that would ultimately lead back to the status quo. The most evident of these developments was Scully’s supposed daughter, Emily, who had to be killed off because the movie wasn’t written with such a context in Scully’s character. It’s not just mean-spirited to Scully, but also led to one of the most lackluster and problematic portrayal of the character in the episode, “Emily”, where she stood around looking sad (in almost every single scene) as Mulder got to run around chasing the bad guy. It really doesn’t help that since season 4, Scully had been written into a more traditional female role that was the opposite of what made her character so exciting in the first place: a smart, independent, no nonsense professional who could stand on equal grounds with Mulder. Instead, most of her character’s essence in season 5 boils down to her desires to be a mother, which is itself a clichéd stereotype of female roles in life. There’s nothing wrong with writing characters in appropriate gender roles like a muscle-bound male character such as Rambo, just as there’s nothing inherently wrong with a woman desiring children, especially after becoming infertile. But it’s the way that such a refreshing character was reduced to an archetype that feels like regression. This cliché is aggravated by Mulder’s conspicuously masculine role as the action guy who gets most of the action-packed scenes full of gunfire and door-pounding. If Scully’s maternal portrayal hadn’t been accompanied by Mulder’s aggressive and dominant portrayal, her desires to be a mother wouldn’t have stood out as much. Furthermore, there were subtle hints in the episode, “Christmas Carol”, that Scully was to blame for choosing the path of a career woman, for associating with Mulder and all the nonsense that ultimately led to her infertility in the first place, as if her choices to stray away from being a traditional woman seeking motherhood was the wrong decision all along. It doesn’t help that Scully might have even been inspired by similar ’90s female characters like Clarice Starling, another intelligent and self-confident woman who wouldn’t let something so clichéd dictate her lot in life. But like most of season 5’s faults, it’s still a relatively small problem compensated by the greatness and novelty of most episodes. For one thing, we get a nice flashback episode to The Lone Gunmen in “Unusual Suspects”, which explores how the trio came together and how they met Mulder. As an example of how the writers creatively utilized the problematic nature of the movie schedule getting in the way, this episode only came about because of Gillian’s absence filming the movie. For another, we get clever self-aware critique on the age of the show. “The Post-Modern Prometheus” isn’t just a great tribute to Frankenstein and James Whale monster movies, but also an allegory for Chris’ concerns about his creation (The X-Files) going beyond his control. As stated, Chris had planned to end the series at five seasons, but Fox wouldn’t consider the notion of killing off such a healthy cash cow, and so the series dragged on ‘till its zombified years. Similarly, “Kitsunegari”, an episode about the return of “Pusher” (Robert Patrick Modell) was a play on the uninspired horror movie sequels that don’t feel quite have the same impact as the original. It even invoked the classic horror trope of the villain’s family member being involved in the new killings. Most episodes, however, seem content on playing around with the relationship dynamic between Mulder and Scully beyond just reversing the skeptic/believer role that’s most evident in “Patient X” and “The Red and the Black”. “Bad Blood”, for example, is a fun little episode with a nonlinear structure and two unreliable flashbacks from Mulder and Scully, exploring the various frustrations the two have towards one another and how they view their partner and themselves. Later on, “Folie à Deux” reconciled their differences by showing how devoted Scully can be towards her partner’s earnest search for the truth while at the same time become influenced by the madness that he sees. But the one recurring theme that remained consistent throughout the season is the subject of children and parental relationships. “Christmas Carol”/”Emily” focus on the eponymous young girl who could very well be Scully’s daughter; “Schizogeny” is about a troubled teen accused of murdering his step-father; “Chinga” tells a tale of another young girl who might possess psychic powers; “All Souls” features four handicapped girls being hunted down by an incarnation of the Devil himself; “The End” has another kid who’s a psychic and a prodigy chess player; “Patient X” spends a good amount of time devoted to Agent Jeffrey Spender and his own frustrations with his supposedly delusional mother; “Travelers” is a flashback episode involving Mulder’s father; “Mind’s Eye” deals with a blind woman trying to rid herself of her father’s sins, and so on and so forth. Such a consistent throughline might have to do with the fact that Chris had taken on an entirely new crew of writers for the series, but the fact that they knew what they were building up to (the movie) also helped keep everyone on the same page. The theme of children-parent relationships would also remain consistent with the larger overarching theme of the series, the sins of the father passing down to the son. Aside from being a ’90s TV show dealing with the potential corruption of the American government in the ’70s passing down its crimes to the later generations in the ’90s, there’s also Mulder’s father whose involvement in the conspiracies against the American people would ultimately affect his own children, both Fox and Samantha. More than just a supernatural drama with spooky monsters and aliens, The X-Files was also about the more personal themes like these and how the government’s cover-ups and schemes, justified by the “greater good,” would affect the very lives of its people (as seen in “The Pine Bluff Variant” and the CIA testing bioweapons on fellow citizens). It’s the reason why the series has gained such a cult following and heated debates about government conspiracies like the eavesdropping of fellow Americans, something that’s been more fact than fiction since the days of MLK. But with The X-Files coming to the midpoint of its entire run, it’s also where cracks started to show in Chris’ capability to hold the mythology of the series together at Fox’s behest, such as his introduction of the notorious Diana Fowley. Fans of the show would come to loathe that name due to her interference with the Mulder and Scully relationship, but she’s also responsible for turning Scully into an uncharacteristic jealous lover, another character cliché even Gillian, for all her marvelous talents, had trouble keeping interesting for the following seasons. Diana’s existence served no grander purpose other than to give Mulder a partner who shares his belief of the supernatural, and yet her introduction felt like the heavy-handed forcefulness that would come to define the ridiculous contrivance present in the rest of the mytharc. She was introduced as a fellow FBI agent who supposedly worked together with Mulder during his early years working the X-Files. It’s the kind of dumb plot convenience that would come to ruin many TV series, such as the likes of “Once Upon A Time” and “Dexter”. In fact, the very season finale itself, “The End”, was chock-full of plot conveniences to tie together the plot threads needed for the coming of the movie and the rest of the series, conveniently bringing back the Cigarette Smoking Man (from his hideout in Canada) for this episode’s assignment due to vague reasons unknown, conveniently inserting Diana the paranormal expert in an FBI meeting prior to the revelation that their assignment was related to the paranormal, conveniently having the CSM burning down the X-Files only at this point of the series just to serve the greater plot that’s the movie, where Mulder and Scully are split up (a plot that’s been played out in the season 1 finale, “The Erlenmeyer Flask”). That’s a whole lot of conveniences enough to fill a barrel. And that’s not even considering what ultimately happened to the CSM between season 9 and the X-Files revival! Regardless of its flaws, season 5 of The X-Files is an interesting examination of a TV production that’s building up towards a movie. It shows us what kind of serialized storytelling the series was supposed to be, how it had more freedom to explore beyond such a restrictive format when given the opportunity, and the resulting rewards and consequences from such freedom. Season 5 is an ambitious moment in the series’ lifespan. It would solidify its status as the peak of TV storytelling for years to come long before that spark is completely snuffed out in the later seasons. Final Rating: 8/10

Heya, what's up. I'm a 30 year old Singaporean Chinese who has spent the past few months trying to catch up with five '90s TV series (Simpsons, X-Files, Millennium, Buffy, and Angel). I've watching these five shows in rotation, and now I've arrived near the end of season 5 Buffy and season 2 Angel. Since I've been writing a lot of reviews for many TV shows lately, I was looking for a forum where I could post my reviews and discuss these shows with a community, which is how I've arrived here in my search for TV discussion forums. I'm also a big anime fan, currently watching two anime; one is an old medical drama based on the manga of Osamu Tezuka (father of modern anime), titled "Black Jack", while the other is a more recent and a more popular one called "Erased" that's a murder mystery with time travel. Currently working on the review for the former, which I'll be posting up soon. Let's see, a little about me... I'm a pretty simple man with simple interests like movies and video games. I'm picky with my food, but my tastes in them are also simple, my favorites being French fries and cheeseburgers. While I've recently made more effort to spend time on TV series, something I've always had trouble binging, my first love was movies, particularly all the big-name geek classics like Aliens, Terminator and Back to the Future. I'm not sure why I just decided to finally take time to watch popular series that are over 20 years old, but I guess with the spare time I have nowadays, I figured it's time to catch up on shows I've missed out on all this time. Anyway, thanks for having me. Hope I'll be able to contribute lots of discussions here. Ciao!