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Since Netflix has gone to the trouble of treating this season of Stranger things like a cinematic experience... so am I. So here is episode 2's Geeky Guide.

Luckily they scrapped this multi hour episode idea.

First off I am so happy that they decided to split these episodes into hour long chunks instead of keeping them as more movie length. Whoever edited the first and second episode deserves a 1980s high five! Episode two picks up in the absolute perfect spot. Of course I won't reveal any spoilers but suffice it to say, it starts off with one of the most exciting and scary scenes of the entire series. My heart was racing before the credits even started!

This episode also reminded me that I probably should have watched the previous seasons or at least a really thorough recap on YouTube or something. For the first fifteen minutes I kept asking my family, "Didn't that character die last season"? But that is OK. Even without remembering everything, I still thoroughly enjoyed this episode.

The writers solved a huge problem in this episode... how to handle Will Byers. Not only is his character incredibly boring but of all of the kids, he may be the worst actor. They needed to figure out a way to get the most of the scenes with him. Du da da da... Robin Buckley to the rescue! They decided to pair the incredible bland Will with the biggest personality on the show. And it works so well! Robin needs a straight man (no pun intended) to allow her quirky freak flag to fly. This pairing allows her to joke and be weird pretty much interrupted. She was neurospicy before neurospicy was cool and she gets to show her neurospiciness in all its glory.

We also get to see Mike and Nancy acting like a brother and sister for once. Their relationship has grown and matured and we finally get to see the fruits of that growth. They team together to find a very important piece of the puzzle. It was cool to see them working together and showing some actual emotion for once. usually things happen in Hawkins and no one is phased. They are definitely phased in this episode and it is great to see.

In case you forgot that this is a supernatural show, when Will isn't setting up Robin for jokes, we are reminded that he has some special abilities himself. It was cool to see them use him in this new way.

But here are a couple words of warning. These kids are going through puberty faster than anyone in the history of time. It seems to be playing havoc with their emotions as EVERYONE (except Robin) has become full on emo. They are all so serious and miserable. But I guess growing six inches and your voice dropping three octaves in two weeks and living in the hellscape of Hawkins will do that to you. Also, characters only seem to get hurt and knocked unconscious when it is convenient for the writers. It is amazing the punishment a character can take if the story requires them to be alert. There is also a little cringe. worthy dialogue with a couple of really bad jokes. But it is the 80s... there has to be some good mixed with the bad.

Did I mention that I loved the editing? The episode ends on the perfect mini cliffhanger that made me dread teh fact I could not watch the next episode and had to go to bed.

So far I love what I see. How about you?

​

Scar Tissue (S02E08)

Airdate: February 25th 2003

Written by: Kurt Sutter Directed by: Paris Barclay

Running Time: 45 minutes

By the midpoint of its second season, The Shield had unequivocally demonstrated that its creators operated according to a radically different playbook from those behind more conventional police procedurals. This divergence extended even to the treatment of its most formidable antagonists; whereas typical dramas might reserve their arch-villains for grand, climactic finales, Scar Tissue delivers an embodiment of narrative audacity by dispatching a character so powerfully established that viewers could reasonably have anticipated his presence until the series' ultimate conclusion. Instead, Armadillo Quintero meets his end episodes before a mere season's finale, shattering expectations and underscoring the show's commitment to ruthless, unpredictable storytelling where no character, however pivotal, enjoys narrative immunity.

Armadillo Quintero, the cunning and ruthless drug lord who arrived from Mexico and swiftly united fractured Latino gangs under his command, had established near-total hegemony over Farmington's streets. His audacious defiance of Vic Mackey and the Strike Team escalated tensions to breaking point, culminating in him placing a 'green light' on the entire unit. The visceral stakes of this conflict were horrifyingly crystallised in the previous episode's devastating finale, where Vic discovered Ronnie Gardocki with his face seared against a stove burner. As paramedics attend to the grievously injured Ronnie, his whispered confirmation to Vic – that Armadillo has personally inflicted this torture – transform the conflict from professional rivalry into deeply personal vendetta.

Vic Mackey, ever the pragmatist even in desperation, recognises that his remaining Strike Team members have to eliminate Armadillo swiftly, before the LAPD could apprehend him. The chilling symmetry between Armadillo's distinctive facial scars – inflicted by Vic during a rage over T.O.'s murder – and Ronnie's fresh burns presents an inescapable forensic link; any competent detective would inevitably connect the two incidents. This exact scenario unfolds despite the Strike Team's aggressive combination of bribes and intimidation to locate their quarry. Their raid collapses into futility upon arrival, discovering Armadillo has anticipated their move and made a devastating counter-move: he has already called LAPD and surrendered himself to Claudette Wyms, placing himself securely within police custody.

Claudette, perpetually underestimated yet profoundly astute, requires little time to reconstruct the entire bloody escalation. Her deductive brilliance illuminates Vic's hidden alliance with T.O. and other dealers, positioning her to dismantle the Strike Team's empire. Only one obstacle prevents immediate arrests: she needs Armadillo's testimony to corroborate her theory. Sensing his leverage, Armadillo masterfully plays his hand, offering Vic a humiliating bargain – silence in exchange for Vic letting him leave the precinct and coercing Ronnie to retract his accusations. This ultimatum exploits Vic's most vulnerable points: his career, his loyalty to his team, and his crumbling personal life.

Vic's desperation deepens as Claudette intensifies pressure by interrogating his estranged wife, Corinne, who finally grasps the abyssal depths of her husband's criminal entanglements. In a moment of unexpected nobility, Vic convenes Lem and Shane, declaring his intention to reject Armadillo's deal. He would accept imprisonment alone, shielding his colleagues from the fallout. Lem and Shane, profoundly moved by this sacrificial loyalty, instead orchestrate their own solution. They engineer the arrest of Little Pop, a recently released convict and former Los Magnificos leader harbouring a bitter grudge against Armadillo, on a trivial charge. Once inside the Barn's detention area, Little Pop seizes a knife deliberately left accessible by detectives and brutally shanks Armadillo to death – an act that preserves Vic's freedom, at least temporarily.

Written by Kurt Sutter, Scar Tissue possesses the narrative weight and structural sophistication of a season finale, focusing almost exclusively on the central storyline while delivering genuinely shocking twists. Vic Mackey's abrupt realisation that his world was collapsing, forcing him to contemplate profound personal sacrifice to protect those he cared about, foreshadowed character trajectories explored years later in series like Breaking Bad, where Walter White similarly dealt with morally compromising choices under extreme duress. The episode's psychological depth lies in its refusal to offer easy redemption; Vic's moment of potential nobility is circumvented by his team's brutal pragmatism.

Nevertheless, the episode maintains The Shield's signature commitment to depicting the precinct's chaotic ecosystem through subsidiary narratives, albeit with varying impact. Dutch Wagenbach provides Danny Sofer with crucial detective insights, assisting her in apprehending Jarvis Stanley (Michael Sean Tighe), a disturbed individual terrorising streets with insecticide. Simultaneously, the subplot involving Malcolm Rama (Sung Kang), a young Thai-American admitting to savagely assaulting an elderly man over a centuries-old clan inherited from his native country, explores cultural tensions but ultimately feels underdeveloped. Danny's near-kiss with Dutch, subsequently recounted with embarrassed frustration to Officer Paula Meyers, adds human texture but cannot compete with the main plot's intensity. Consequently, Armadillo's actual murder, occurring as part of the Barn's grim routine, feels deliberately anti-climactic yet profoundly realistic – death in Farmington is often sudden, unceremonious, and absorbed into the daily grind.

Directed with taut efficiency by Paris Barclay, the episode concludes with a music montage that reinforces its season-finale gravitas. Armadillo's removal restores a fragile, temporary balance, but at significant personal cost: Vic's marriage suffers further erosion, Claudette Wyms has irrevocably transformed from colleague into a formidable, knowledgeable adversary, and Danny faces suspension and investigation for her alleged role in facilitating the weapon that killed Armadillo. For Vic, however, there exists a fleeting reprieve. The final scene returns to the same seedy hotel room where he was so violently interrupted in the previous episode, now completing his tryst with Emma Price, the women's shelter director representing his latest attempt at connection amidst the ruins of his life. This circular structure underscores The Shield's central tragedy: Vic Mackey survives, but his victories are pyrrhic, his relationships fractured, and the shadows lengthening around him grow ever darker.

RATING: 7/10 (+++)

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The High Ground (S03E12)

Airdate: January 29th 1990

Written by: Melinda A. Snodgrass Directed by: Gabrielle Beaumont

Running Time: 45 minutes

Films and television episodes can achieve infamy for the most trivial of reasons, often overshadowing their artistic merits and thematic depth. Just as cinematic history is littered with works remembered not for their quality but for peculiar circumstances of their creation or reception, so too can episodes of grand television series find themselves defined by a single, often incidental detail. In the case of Star Trek: The Next Generation, one such example can be found in The High Ground, an episode which, were it not for one historically specific line of dialogue, would undoubtedly be remembered as one of the finest offerings from Season Three – widely regarded as the Star Trek's golden age. Instead, this thoughtful, provocative exploration of terrorism, freedom fighting, and moral ambiguity became notorious for its unintended prophecy, a fate that has unjustly diminished appreciation for its considerable narrative sophistication and dramatic power.

The narrative commences with the USS Enterprise undertaking what appears to be a routine humanitarian mission: delivering medical supplies to Rutia IV, a planet maintaining non-aligned status while fostering generally cordial relations with the Federation. Dr. Beverly Crusher, supervising the transfer operation, takes a moment of respite at a local restaurant, only to have her calm afternoon shattered by a violent explosion. Despite Captain Picard's explicit directive to beam aboard immediately, Crusher's medical instincts compel her to remain and tend to the wounded. This act of compassion proves her undoing, as she is violently abducted by armed militants and vanishes without trace.

Commander Riker, dispatched to coordinate the search and rescue effort, receives a briefing from Alexana Devos (Kerrie Keane), a Rutian security officer. Devos elucidates that the bombing and subsequent abduction were orchestrated by the Ansata, a separatist organisation fighting for independence of the western continent, which has recently escalated its tactics towards greater radicalism. Meanwhile, in captivity, Dr. Crusher encounters her abductor, revealed to be Kyril Finn (Richard Cox), the Ansata's leader. Finn attempts to articulate his cause while simultaneously seeking medical assistance for his comrades. The Ansata possess dimensional shifting technology – a form of teleportation that inflicts devastating side effects, gradually destroying living tissue and condemning every user to certain death. Yet Finn maintains with fervent conviction that freedom justifies such terrible sacrifice, a belief that resonates with tragic intensity.

Finn and his followers subsequently employ their dimensional shifter in a daring raid against the USS Enterprise itself, attempting to plant explosives that would annihilate the starship and thereby compel the Federation to heed their demands. Lieutenant Geordi La Forge manages to avert catastrophe in the final moments, but Captain Picard is captured during the assault, becoming Finn's second hostage. The militant leader now threatens Picard's execution unless the Federation imposes a blockade on Rutia IV, forcing concessions to the separatist cause. Instead, Riker and Devos successfully locate the Ansata base and execute a rescue operation during which Devos kills Finn. In a moment of profound moral significance, a young Ansata soldier, presumably traumatised by years of conflict, raises his weapon to avenge his fallen leader, only to lower it when Dr. Crusher implores him to break the cycle of violence. The episode concludes with Crusher reuniting with her son Wesley aboard the Enterprise, the crew collectively relieved to depart Rutia IV's troubled shores.

Star Trek had established a tradition of political allegory since its original series incarnation, frequently employing fictional narratives to explore contemporary social issues. However, The High Ground distinguishes itself through its explicitness and effectiveness, achieving a level of moral complexity rarely matched in the franchise's history. In some respects, it shares DNA with The Hunted, broadcast merely weeks earlier, which similarly depicted the Enterprise embroiled in an alien society's internal strife. Yet unlike the heavy-handed moralising of Let That Be Your Last Battlefield, The High Ground adopts a far more nuanced approach, acknowledging the messy, contradictory realities that characterise both fictional conflicts and their real-world counterparts.

The episode's central theme, crafted by writer Melinda M. Snodgrass, interrogates the perennial question of when violence becomes justified as a solution to social injustice – or, more precisely, where the line lies between noble freedom fighter and despicable terrorist. Remarkably, the script suggests this boundary is perpetually blurred, even invoking historical figures like George Washington who might have been condemned as terrorists had the American Revolution concluded differently. Snodgrass refuses simplistic moral binaries; instead, she presents both sides with empathetic complexity. Rutia IV functions as a police state where children face imprisonment in camps that effectively become death sentences, as exemplified by Finn's own son. Yet Finn himself, despite his passionate advocacy, emerges as a dangerous fanatic willing not only to sacrifice his own life but to endanger innocents entirely unconnected to the conflict – including the Enterprise's crew. Dr. Crusher, who experiences moments of sympathy towards her captor that border on Stockholm Syndrome, must be reminded that Finn's actions nearly cost her son his life. Through Devos, we witness how such conflicts transform moderates into hardened pragmatists; her shift from idealism to ruthlessness stems from witnessing Ansata militants murder an entire schoolbus of children, illustrating how these struggles inevitably spiral into irrational, self-perpetuating bloodshed.

While the episode ultimately sides with the Rutians' perspective – much like the Enterprise crew must make pragmatic choices – this alignment stems from dramatic necessity rather than moral certainty. Crucially, the conflict remains unresolved; the brief scene where the Ansata boy soldier lowers his weapon serves merely as a symbolic glimmer of hope, explicitly acknowledged as such by Devos. This narrative restraint prevents the episode from collapsing into facile optimism, instead offering a moment of human connection that softens what would otherwise be an unbearably bleak conclusion.

Produced at the twilight of the Cold War, The High Ground emerged during a period of profound geopolitical uncertainty for America. Traditional adversaries like Communist Eastern Europe were dissolving, while erstwhile allies such as South Africa's apartheid regime were becoming international embarrassments. This was precisely when Star Trek should have taken its boldest steps, exploring uncomfortable truths that later iterations would find unimaginable – particularly the roots of terrorism and the uncomfortable question of its potential justification under extreme circumstances.

Paradoxically, Snodgrass herself later expressed dissatisfaction with the final product, revealing that her original vision was even more provocative. Her initial script – her last for the series – framed the conflict as an allegory for the American Revolution, with the Federation representing the British Empire, the Romulans standing in for the French, and the militants embodying the American Patriots. The production team deemed this approach too radical, opting instead for a scenario inspired by the still-ongoing Troubles in Northern Ireland – a decision that would prove historically significant.

The episode deserves considerable praise for its expert direction. Gabrielle Beaumont deals with the complex thematic terrain without resorting to lengthy expository speeches, instead weaving philosophical inquiry with genuinely exciting action sequences. The violence feels consequential and authentic, raising the stakes through the deaths of Rutians, Ansata fighters, and Enterprise crew members alike – a stark departure from the often bloodless conflicts typical of the series.

Performances across the board are commendable, with the episode providing a rare showcase for Dr. Crusher that allows Gates McFadden to deliver one of her strongest performances of the series. Richard Cox proves merely adequate as the charismatic militant leader, his performance lacking the depth required for such a morally complex character. Conversely, Canadian actress Kerrie Keane excels as the pragmatic policewoman, embodying the tragic transformation from idealism to hardened resolve with compelling authenticity.

Snodgrass' script, however, occasionally indulges in fan service, particularly in the form of “red meat” for Picard/Crusher romantic enthusiasts. The scene where the two hostages attempt to share an intimate moment only to be interrupted became a running gag throughout the series and beyond – a charming but ultimately superfluous element that slightly undermines the episode's otherwise serious tone.

For all its artistic achievements, The High Ground – often dubbed "the Terrorist Episode" by fans – earned its lasting infamy through an unintended prophecy. During a discussion about the justifiability of violence for political ends, Data references the "successful" violent unification of Ireland in 2024. While this seemed a plausible extrapolation when the episode aired in 1990, history has proven otherwise. More significantly, the episode's explicit parallels to the Northern Ireland conflict led both the United Kingdom and Republic of Ireland to ban its broadcast or heavily edit the controversial scene – restrictions that remained in place until 2007. This censorship, while understandable given the real-world context, has overshadowed the episode's considerable merits as a thoughtful exploration of one of humanity's most intractable problems.

The High Ground remains a powerful, uncomfortable episode that refuses easy answers to impossible questions. Its historical notoriety, while understandable, should not diminish recognition of its narrative ambition and moral complexity. In an era when many science fiction series shied away from contemporary political parallels, Star Trek: The Next Generation demonstrated remarkable courage in confronting the uncomfortable realities of terrorism, state oppression, and the cyclical nature of violence. That such bravery resulted in censorship only underscores the episode's enduring relevance – a testament to its power to disturb, provoke, and challenge audiences long after its initial broadcast.

RATING: 8/10 (+++)

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Four men entered America’s history books by taking the lives of US Presidents: Booth, Guiteau, Czolgosz, and Oswald. Yet, for every assassin who achieved that aim, countless others attempted the same act of political annihilation, their schemes collapsing before fruition, condemning them to perpetual obscurity. Among these forgotten figures stands the protagonist of Niels Muller’s 2004 period drama, The Assassination of Richard Nixon—a man who sought to etch his name into history through a spectacular act of violence but whose failure ensured his erasure from the public memory he so desperately craved.

The relative obscurity of Samuel Byck (1930–1974) is, upon reflection, somewhat baffling. Though he ultimately failed, his chosen method was chillingly original for its time: hijacking a commercial airliner to crash it into the White House. Decades later, this modus operandi would tragically echo in the methods employed by the perpetrators of the 9/11 attacks—the worst terrorist atrocity in American history. Byck’s fleeting notoriety was such that he warranted a brief, spectral reference in Stephen Sondheim’s acclaimed musical Assassins, a work that deliberately resurrects the marginalised figures who stalked the edges of presidential power. Yet beyond this theatrical footnote, Byck remained a historical ghost, a testament to how history remembers only those who succeed in their destructive ambitions.

Muller’s film, however, takes significant liberties with its subject. The script by Muller and Kevin Kennedy alters the protagonist’s name to “Sam Bicke”—likely a gesture of deference to his still-living relatives. Played with intense, often grating commitment by Sean Penn, Bicke’s story begins in late 1973, as Richard Nixon’s presidency crumbles under the weight of Watergate revelations. Initially, these political tremors barely register with Bicke; his world is consumed by personal collapse. His marriage to Marie (Naomi Watts), the mother of his three children, is disintegrating, and he has walked out on his brother Julius’s (Michael Wincott) successful tyre shop, unable to endure the humiliation of perceived failure beside familial prosperity. Bicke is a man drowning in intimate despair long before he fixates on national corruption.

Gradually, Bicke reframes his personal failures as symptoms of a systemic, oppressive machine. His attempt to launch a furniture business with his only friend, the African American Bonnie (Don Cheadle), collapses when the Small Business Administration denies his federal grant—a rejection Bicke interprets as blatant racism. Simultaneously, he takes a demeaning job at an office furniture store under the cynical, self-help-obsessed Jack (Jack Thompson). Jack’s perverse admiration for Nixon—whom he dubs the “ultimate salesman” who deceived voters with promises to end Vietnam—becomes the catalyst for Bicke’s radicalisation. In Nixon’s perceived duplicity, Bicke finds a mirror for his own thwarted aspirations and a target for his rage. His solution crystallises into a grotesque act of political theatre: hijacking a passenger plane to crash it into the White House. On 22nd February 1974, he storms Baltimore-Washington International Airport, but his plan unravels ignominiously on the tarmac, ending in a bloodbath that claims his life.

Premiering at the 2004 Cannes Film Festival, The Assassination of Richard Nixon arrived amidst a politically charged global atmosphere. Opposition to the Iraq War was intensifying, and Hollywood openly mobilised against George W. Bush’s re-election. The parallels between Nixon’s embattled presidency and Bush’s were unmistakable, lending the film an air of contemporary relevance. Muller delves heavily into the politics of early 1970s America—touching on the persecution of the Black Panthers and the American Indian Movement—while advancing the provocative thesis that the corrupted American Dream drives “small” men to lash out against “The Man.” Yet these weighty themes ultimately serve as mere backdrop to the film’s true, unspoken ambition.

Despite its political veneer, The Assassination of Richard Nixon reveals itself as a calculated exercise in Oscar bait. For a directorial debut, Muller’s approach is disappointingly conventional, relying on the tired trope of the afflicted protagonist. Bicke isn’t merely a desperate man crushed by circumstance or political disillusionment; he must also exhibit a near-total disconnect from reality, veering into undeniably lunatic behaviour. Penn, ever the method actor, seizes this opportunity to “ham it up” to exhausting degrees. His performance—characterised by twitches, mumbled monologues, and self-pitying rants into tape recorders addressed to Leonard Bernstein—destroys any genuine sympathy for Bicke. Instead of exploring the complex interplay of personal failure and political rage, the film reduces its protagonist to a caricature of mental instability, rendering the narrative self-important and smug. Penn’s theatrics overshadow the socio-political critique, turning a potentially nuanced character study into an exercise in awards-season grandstanding.

Most perplexingly, Muller deliberately avoids dramatising Bicke’s final, defining act. The hijacking itself—the moment of culmination, the point where personal despair transforms into historical action—is rendered almost perfunctorily. The ending feels profoundly anti-climactic, particularly for viewers aware that Nixon would resign just months later, rendering Bicke’s sacrifice not merely futile but historically insignificant. This narrative cowardice squanders the story’s inherent tension and moral complexity. Any filmmaker intrigued by Byck’s story would surely prioritise the audacity and horror of his plan; Muller’s reluctance to confront it head-on suggests a fundamental misunderstanding of his own material.

The inevitable comparison to Martin Scorsese’s Taxi Driver only highlights Muller’s shortcomings. Travis Bickle, like Bicke, is a disaffected loner radicalised by urban decay and political cynicism. Yet Scorsese masterfully channels the suffocating malaise of 1970s America, embedding his protagonist’s descent into violence within a richly textured social landscape. Muller lacks this directorial finesse. His vision of 1970s America feels flat and stage-managed, lacking the visceral energy and moral ambiguity that made Scorsese’s film a masterpiece. Where Taxi Driver explores the seductive danger of nihilistic heroism, The Assassination of Richard Nixon merely gestures towards profundity before retreating into awards-friendly pathos.

Launched in 2004—a year dominated by politically charged films like Fahrenheit 9/11—Muller’s film vanished almost immediately. It failed to resonate even with audiences actively seeking political cinema, sinking into a relative obscurity that ironically mirrors the fate of its protagonist.

RATING: 3/10 (+)

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Barnstormers (S02E07)

Airdate: February 18th 2003

Written by: Scott Rosenbaum Directed by: Scott Vinant

Running Time: 45 minutes

The Shield, throughout its groundbreaking run, appeared to adhere to a familiar formula: weaving extended multi-episode arcs with standalone subplots that superficially resembled conventional police procedurals. Yet the series consistently distinguished itself by abandoning the comforting illusion that criminal cases—and the profound emotional baggage they generate—could be neatly resolved within forty-five minutes of screen time. Instead, The Shield embraced the messy reality that seemingly closed cases often return to haunt its characters like spectral reminders of past failures and moral compromises. Barnstormers, a Season 2 episode, exemplifies this sophisticated approach to narrative continuity, demonstrating how the show's commitment to psychological realism elevates it far beyond standard genre fare.

The episode deceptively commences as a continuation of the Strike Team's principal storyline. Vic Mackey and his cohorts attempt to resolve their persistent financial troubles through an audacious raid on the Armenian mafia's "money train." With Lem now fully integrated into the plan, Vic has devised an ingenious strategy to deflect blame from themselves: they will frame his arch-nemesis Armadillo Quintero for the heist, thereby eliminating two adversaries with a single stroke. Furthermore, the team plans to launder their ill-gotten gains through property investments, engaging the services of Leith (Marcos Ferraez), a realtor specialising in transforming drug money into legitimate assets. This intricate scheme exemplifies the Strike Team's increasingly complex criminal enterprise operating under the guise of law enforcement.

Meanwhile, Detective Dutch Wagenbach grapples with a profound crisis of confidence following the Lindhoffs' tragic fiasco—the harrowing realisation that a woman died while he had her killers in custody. His professional vulnerability is compounded when he receives the humiliating assignment of personally interviewing Marcy Lindhoff as part of her plea deal against her husband Bob. Captain Aceveda compounds Dutch's distress by informing him that LAPD higher-ups are scrutinising his performance closely; to salvage his career trajectory, Dutch must begin closing cases with tangible results.

Dutch's first opportunity proves far more challenging than anticipated. An obese woman is discovered half-naked and strangled in a park, with initial evidence pointing towards Stu Kleinsausser (aMike Bruner), a morbidly obese man who had recently been on a blind date with the victim. Dutch recognises Stu as fitting the perpetrator profile perfectly—possessing motive, history, and opportunity—yet the suspect maintains stubborn denails, leaving Dutch without concrete evidence. In a moment of desperation, Dutch seeks Vic's counsel, who cynically suggests planting evidence. Though Dutch initially follows this corrupt advice, his moral compass ultimately prevails; he removes the fabricated evidence at the last moment. Instead, he adopts a more psychologically manipulative approach during interrogation, deliberately provoking Stu by cruelly mocking his weight. This tactic succeeds spectacularly when Stu loses control, physically assaults Dutch, and inadvertently confesses to the murder. Dutch emerges from the interrogation room triumphant, declaring his return to form.

Shane Vendrell's subplot reintroduces Tulips, a stripper who previously manipulated him through sexual favours to escape prosecution for robberies. She approaches Shane with a scheme to entrap Herk (Jason Padgett), a minor drug dealer and former boyfriend whom she caught cheating. Initially resistant to engaging with the woman who humiliated him, Shane eventually succumbs to the appeal of an "easy win" for the Strike Team. The plan succeeds, granting Tulips her revenge while Shane receives another round of her carnal services—this time, supposedly without strings attached.

Vic himself appears poised for romantic success stemming from a past case, albeit through convoluted circumstances. Doug (Mahriyah Shain), the manager of Vic's seedy hotel accommodation, complains about constant domestic violence emanating from one room, prompting Vic to intervene using his police authority. He discovers an African American woman (Karen Malina White) trapped in an abusive relationship and arranges her transfer to the Barn, connecting her with social worker Emma Price. Her boyfriend Dez (Keith Diamond) reacts violently to this intervention, resulting in a physical altercation with Emma that leaves him injured. Though Emma faces arrest for assault, Vic bails her out and invites her to his hotel room, clearly intending to capitalise on the situation. However, Vic's personal plans are dramatically interrupted when he detects a strange odour in his room and discovers Ronnie Gardocki—brutally beaten, tortured, and bearing the same distinctive burn marks on his cheek that Vic himself had inflicted on Armadillo Quintero.

Written by Scott Rosenbaum and directed by television veteran Scott Winant, Barnstormers stands as a high-quality episode that continues seemingly resolved storylines with naturalistic realism, avoiding excessive melodrama. The final cliffhanger, while undeniably effective, feels slightly too convenient—a rare narrative misstep in an otherwise impeccably constructed hour of television.

Of the three interwoven storylines, Dutch's arc proves most compelling. It not only reveals his profound vulnerability but also marks the first instance where he genuinely succumbs to Vic's corrupting influence, briefly crossing ethical boundaries before retreating. This nuanced portrayal of moral compromise demonstrates The Shield's commitment to complex character development over simple hero-villain dichotomies.

Conversely, Tulips' reappearance functions as both fan service for the predominantly male audience and provides a rare moment of apparently happy resolution in a series increasingly dominated by grim narratives. While Dutch's storyline explores the corrosive nature of police work, and Vic's arc culminates in devastating personal consequences, Shane's subplot offers a comparatively lighthearted conclusion—a necessary tonal counterpoint that prevents the series from descending into unrelenting bleakness. Barnstormers ultimately succeeds as exemplary television drama precisely because it refuses to provide neat resolutions, instead embracing the uncomfortable truth that in both policing and life, consequences rarely remain buried—they inevitably resurface, demanding to be confronted.

RATING: 7/10 (+++)

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The Hunted (S03E11)

Airdate: January 8th 1990

Written by: Robin Bernheim Directed by: Cliff Bole

Running Time: 45 minutes

"If the planet or alien society looks too good to be true, it usually isn't good" is one of Star Trek's most enduring narrative clichés. This trope, in itself, is not inherently problematic; indeed, at its best, it serves as a springboard for profound explorations of societal hypocrisy, moral complexity, and the shadows lurking beneath utopian façades. The Hunted, the eleventh episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation's third season, attempts precisely this trajectory. Yet, despite its promising premise, the episode ultimately stumbles, failing to transcend its formulaic framework to achieve the depth and resonance that characterises the show's finest hours.

The episode commences with Captain Picard and the Enterprise encountering Angosia III, a world whose humanoid inhabitants present themselves as paragons of enlightened progress. Their society appears sophisticated, peaceful, and eminently worthy of Federation membership—a prospect Picard initially deems highly likely. However, the veneer cracks almost immediately when Prime Minister Nayrok (James Cromwell), requests the Enterprise's assistance in apprehending a dangerous fugitive who has escaped from the penal colony on Lunar V. This abrupt shift from diplomatic overture to manhunt instantly signals the familiar Star Trek pattern: the utopia is a mirage. What follows is a rather conventional pursuit, as the Enterprise tracks the fugitive, Roga Danar (Jeff McCarthy), whose small sub-warp vessel proves surprisingly elusive until Starfleet ingenuity prevails. Danar's initial capture scene is undeniably effective, showcasing his terrifying physical prowess as he demolishes the transporter room and overpowers multiple security officers—a stark visual representation of the threat he embodies.

The narrative's true potential, however, emerges once Danar is confined. Counsellor Troi's empathic assessment yields a shocking revelation: beneath his formidable conditioning, Danar possesses a fundamentally non-violent nature. His subsequent explanation unravels the episode's central tragedy. The Angosians, he reveals, were historically a peaceful people until the Tarsian War necessitated soldiers. The government responded by subjecting individuals like Danar to irreversible physical and psychological alterations, transforming them into remorseless, hyper-efficient killing machines. When peace returned, these veterans, deemed incompatible with civilian life due to their engineered aggression and trauma, were not rehabilitated but discarded—exiled to the brutal prison colony. This premise, drawing clear parallels to real-world treatment of military personnel, holds significant dramatic weight. Danar's subsequent escape—demonstrating remarkable resourcefulness within the Enterprise's Jefferies tubes (canonically named here for the first time)—and his orchestration of a mass uprising from Lunar V, culminating in an assault on the Angosian capital, forces a moral confrontation. Picard's refusal to intervene militarily, insisting the Angosians resolve their self-created crisis before seeking Federation membership, delivers a characteristically Starfleet message about responsibility and self-determination.

Ironically, while The Hunted is not actively poor, its greatest failing is its profound forgettability. Sandwiched within TNG's stellar third season, it suffers immensely from comparison. Airing directly after The Defector, arguably one of the series' pinnacle achievements, its relatively simplistic narrative and underdeveloped themes appear glaringly inadequate. The script, written by Robin Burger from a concept by showrunner Michael Piller, was explicitly intended as an allegory for America's treatment of Vietnam veterans. While the core idea—society discarding those it has traumatised for its own convenience—is potent, Burger's execution oversimplifies complex socio-psychological issues. The Angosian government's actions feel cartoonishly callous rather than tragically bureaucratic, and the resolution hinges on a conveniently timed rebellion that Picard merely observes, delivering a moralising speech rather than facilitating genuine reconciliation. Intriguingly, reports suggest the original vision was far darker and more violent, exploring the veterans' justified rage more fully, but budget and time constraints forced a neutered conclusion, leaving the central conflict unresolved and the moral ambiguity unexplored.

Director Cliff Bole manages the material competently, crafting a generally satisfactory action-driven episode. The utilisation of the Enterprise's Jefferies tubes provides a refreshingly claustrophobic setting for Danar's evasion sequences, adding tangible tension. Some moments, however, strain credulity—Danar's ability to temporarily disrupt the transporter beam during his initial capture borders on the absurdly superhuman. Performances are functional rather than exceptional. Jeff McCarthy embodies the physically imposing, tormented supersoldier archetype adequately, but lacks the nuanced depth to elevate Danar beyond a Rambo-esque archetype. James Cromwell lends Prime Minister Nayrok a compelling veneer of statesmanlike authority gradually eroded by panic, effectively establishing his recurring Star Trek persona, later cemented by iconic roles as Zefram Cochrane.

Ultimately, The Hunted exemplifies the perils of Star Trek playing it safe. It recognises a profound injustice—the systemic abandonment of those sacrificed for collective security—but retreats from examining its messy, painful realities. Instead, it offers a tidy, action-packed parable where the utopia's flaw is revealed, the outcasts rebel briefly, and the Federation delivers a lecture before departing. The episode's heart lies in the right place, acknowledging society's duty to its warriors. Yet, by failing to delve beyond surface-level allegory and opting for a conventional structure over genuine moral complexity, it remains a footnote in TNG's legacy—a well-intentioned, competently made, but ultimately unremarkable hour that evaporates from memory almost as swiftly as Roga Danar vanishes from Enterprise.

RATING: 6/10 (++)

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Hola amigos, buenas vibras para todos.

Hello friends, good vibes to all.

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In politics, making an inappropriate, hasty, or emotionally driven decision can be a catastrophic mistake or a brilliant move; the truth is, you never know how it will turn out. That's what this Netflix film, starring Idris Elba and Rebecca Ferguson, is about. They are part of the US government, with Elba playing the president, and therefore have the power to decide what to do in the face of an event that threatens not only the stability of the country but also that of the world, not to mention the lives that will be lost. It's one of those tense films that perfectly illustrates how those crucial hours of discussions and debates can unfold before a final decision is made.

To provide some context: One day, a nuclear missile of unknown origin is launched from somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, its trajectory and ultimate target being the United States. Given the approximately 20 minutes remaining before it reaches the mainland, the entire national security team must discover its origin, who launched it, and how the country will respond. Of course, all of this must be done against the clock as anxiety and fear begin to grip the entire team.

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The film's plot is really cool because it focuses on several perspectives; that is, we see how each part of this team handles the situation and, above all, how they react to it. We have the military, the diplomatic, the intelligence, and the president himself. Each working toward the same objective, but with different approaches and perspectives. The truth is, the film is incredibly interesting because it shows us how complex these decisions are and all the backstory behind them. Its director, Kathryn Bigelow, has delivered a very well-crafted political thriller, mostly filled with tense moments and a tightly woven intrigue.

It's impossible to get bored with a movie like this; something is always happening. The anguish of a missile about to strike a city and annihilate hundreds of thousands of people, while simultaneously having to think about how to respond without any idea who launched it, is undoubtedly a terrifying and overwhelming situation that the viewer quickly becomes immersed in. The plot has some very interesting scenes; we see how the pressure overwhelms even the most experienced people. Ultimately, no matter how well-trained you are to face things like this, the truth is you'll never be truly prepared when it actually happens.

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As for the cast and its leads, they were one of the reasons I decided to sit down and watch it. Rebecca Ferguson, Idris Elba, Gabriel Basso, and others all perform their roles very well. I always enjoy watching Rebecca work; she's a very good actress, and here she gives us a role full of leadership but with the natural human fear right under her nose. I would have liked to see Idris a bit more, though. Despite playing the president, his screen time is short; it's a shame because it wastes what a good actor he is. Overall, the performances were very good.

A really good, different kind of movie, and the ending will definitely leave you wondering. The film concludes in a unique way, but once you understand its underlying message, everything makes sense. It's almost two hours long. Highly recommended; it's definitely worth watching. I've included the trailer below.

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Bueno mi gente por hoy es todo, espero que les haya gustado. ¡Un abrazo a todos, nos vemos en la próxima!

Well folks, that's all for today. I hope you enjoyed it. ¡Hugs to everyone, see you next time!