Dexter: New Blood

Creator: Clyde Phillips
Starring: Michael C. Hall, Jack Alcott, Julia Jones, Johnny Sequoyah, Alano Miller, Jennifer Carpenter, Clancy Brown, Jamie Chung, David Magidoff, Katy Sullivan, Michael Cyril Creighton, Gizel Jiménez, Steven M. Robertson, Oscar Wahlberg
Original Airdate: 2021

**The following review reveals major spoilers from 'Dexter: New Blood'**

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

It's not a stretch to claim that the definition of what constitutes a successful TV series finale has changed considerably in recent years. With all the reboots, revivals, sequels and continuations coming down the pipeline, the question of whether a show's actually had its last episode is as open-ended as ever. That wasn't the case in 2013, when after eight seasons, Showtime's Dexter signed off with "Remember the Monsters?," a finale met with outrage from fans angered the title character's crimes would not only go undiscovered, but he'd face no legal consequences, escaping to live under an assumed identity as an lumberjack in Oregon.

While Dexter's abandonment of son Harrison and Deb's shocking death seemed to be the exact karmic punishment fans would clamor for, those decisions were widely criticized for reasons that made little sense then, and even less now. In retrospect, you can quibble with aspects of the execution, but it's really those reactions that haven't aged well considering what we've since learned about season finales. Wrestling with creative issues any drama would that far into its run, the last episode delivered exactly what was needed at the time, effectively closing the door while leaving it slightly ajar for a possible continuation down the road. 

Even those heavily anticipating what was in store for Dexter: New Blood framed it as some kind of a make-up or apology for the finale they felt so personally insulted by. Instead, it's actually further proof that all the right decisions were made in 2013 since we wouldn't have gotten this limited series return without it. A spectacular comeback and easily the best season since its fourth, this is a textbook study on to how to effectively resurrect a series, with original returning showrunner Clyde Phillips taking a fresh setting and a new cast to raise the stakes and deliver a completely different show. But wherever your opinion lands of that polarizing last episode today, it's no longer the finale, replaced by something leagues better, giving Dexter the definitive, satisfying closer it wasn't quite ready to deliver nine years earlier.

It's been ten years since Miami PD blood spatter analyst and serial killer Dexter Morgan (Michael C. Hall) dropped his sister Deb's (Jennifer Carpenter) body in the sea before driving his boat into the eye of Hurricane Laura. Presumed dead and leaving baby Harrison behind with girlfriend Hannah McKay (Yvonne Strahovski), he's eventually settled into the small town of Iron Lake in upstate New York under the identity of Jim Lindsay (a nice nod to Dexter novelist Jeff Lindsay), salesman at a local sporting gear store. 

Having been able to suppress his killing urges for the past decade, Dexter's dating town police chief Angela Bishop (Julia Jones), settling into a comfortable routine while being well liked by the locals. Living alone, Dexter speaks to an imaginary version of Deb, taking the place of his adoptive father Harry (James Remar) as the dissenting voice inside his head. But when a now teenage Harrison (Jack Alcott) arrives in Iron Lake after discovering his father's alive, Dexter must scramble to protect his cover while attempting to forge some kind of relationship with him.

Problems really start when Dexter slips back into his old habits, murdering Matt Caldwell (Steven M. Robertson), the entitled rich son of truck stop diner owner and town bigwig Kurt Caldwell (Clancy Brown), prompting a missing persons search. As Angela's suspicions of "Jim" grow and her adopted teen daughter Audrey (Johnny Sequoyah) forms an increasingly close bond with Harrison, a decades-long string of missing and possibly murdered local girls loom. With the Caldwell case bringing true crime podcaster Molly Park (Jamie Chung) to town, Dexter's concerns about being revealed as the notorious Bay Harbor Butcher increase, just as Harrison begins to rebel away from him and act out, showing signs his father's Dark Passenger may have been passed on. 

It wasn't obvious until watching this revival just how tired the Miami setting and other aspects had become for the character and series as a whole. A different opening title sequence, a twist on Rolfe Kent's original music theme and a total change of scenery is welcome, making everything feel entirely new. Dexter is transported into a colder, more isolated environment where he initially seems to relish and thrive in a small town atmosphere where he's simply as known as "Jim." Right off the bat the writers do an excellent job establishing Iron Lake as his home, seamlessly introducing these new faces and making it clear his plan to put the past behind him has mostly worked up to this point. 

Conversations with imaginary Debra take on a more argumentative tone when Dexter senses his Dark Passenger emerging from hibernation. While the trigger, in more ways than one, is Matt Caldwell, we're left with the impression that if it wasn't him, it would have just been someone or something else.

Ten years was just too big an ask for Dexter to curb his violent impulses, making it an inevitability he'd once again take out the syringes and plastic to prepare his infamous kill room. But he's a little rusty at at covering his tracks, which carries more urgency than usual considering his girlfriend's the police chief. 

Dexter's longstanding belief that he somehow saved Harrison from his sins is blown up when the teen shows up at his cabin doorstep demanding answers. Reeling from Hannah's death from cancer and having already gone through numerous foster homes, he's arrived plenty damaged and it takes only a few episodes to see just how much. Of course, Dexter deprives Harrison of the entire truth, which could provide the boy some reassurance about his own impulses, or in the very least confirm he isn't just  psychotic.

In a season all about fathers and sons, both Dexter and Harrison were "born in blood" having each been permanently scarred by witnessing the murder of their parent as children. Dex did have Harry, who showed him "the code" as a way of channeling his urges, and if it temporarily prevented something worse, he still careened out of control, hurting innocent people in the process. Harrison, on the other hand, has nothing other than the memory of the Trinity Killer, Arthur Mitchell (John Lithgow, briefly reappearing in flashback) murdering his mom, Rita (Julie Benz). 

At first glance, Harrison seems more normal, sociable, and well adjusted than his father, but he's bringing a lot of internal baggage to Iron Lake, through little fault of his own. The more Dexter lies and watches his son's every move, afraid and fully aware of what's coming, the worse their relationship gets. 

Jack Alcott's subtly brilliant performance throughout as Harrison has a lot of layers and much is asked of him, as he's constantly shifting between sociable, well adjusted teen and burgeoning menace, all while playing a character entirely uncomfortable as either. Alone in the world since birth due to Dexter's actions, he needs and wants a dad, but keeps getting signals that his father just isn't capable of it.

The only person who views Harrison without judgment and shows him understanding is Audrey, who actress Johnny Sequoyah imbues as the most practical, morally centered character of the season, right next to her mom, Angela. Unfortunately, the latter doesn't have the option of viewing boyfriend Dexter (or "Jim" as she knows him) in the same light since her radar's always up, every lead and tiniest suspicion soon pointing his way. And with Dexter flustered and sloppier than before, much of the season consists of us nervously anticipating when or if he'll finally be cornered.

Despite holding up relatively well for an eight season drama that constantly found ways around a serial killer protagonist being caught, bumbling, incompetent police became more prevalent toward the end of its run, with certain members of the Miami PD coming off as buffoons for not seeing what was under their noses for years. Here, with a more limited number of episodes, the pieces have to be put together fairly quickly and Angela Bishop makes for probably the strongest written female character the show's had, law enforcement or otherwise. 

Played with strength and determination by Julia Jones in a performance that only gets even better as the season's interlocking stories progress, Angela's a lot more than another Dexter girlfriend who has the wool pulled over her eyes. While the writers tidily establish their relationship in a short time, it's immediately on shaky ground, mostly because of her dedication to getting at the truth, wherever it may lead her. And she knows that something's up.

Torn between serving this small, close-knit community that isn't what it seems and her own Seneca heritage, the Matt Caldwell case reignites the guilt and trauma Angela experienced in the decades since her childhood best friend went missing. The desire to find her and other girls gone and presumed dead has her turning to unexpected sources for help, including a familiar returning face from series past, and Molly Park, whose memorably titled podcast could mean more trouble for Dexter. It's one thing to uncover that Jim Lindsay is Dexter Morgan, but another entirely to directly link him to the Bay Harbor Butcher case. We already know how many have failed or died in attempting to do this, but from the beginning of the season we're immediately rooting for Angela to be the one who finally gets there.

One of Dexter's biggest threats doesn't even come from police, but Kurt Caldwell, the father of his latest victim, who's harboring even darker secrets himself. Caldwell's concern for his son's whereabouts shifts to from angered panic to gratitude to constant meddling before the realization kicks in that the more everyone searches for Matt, the closer they get to his crimes. And he has a lot to hide, nearly as much as Dexter, which makes him easily the show's most formidable villain since Lithgow's Trinity. Loosely based on serial killer Robert Hansen, actor Clancy Brown terrifyingly depicts the character's double life as a outwardly benevolent pillar of the community whose good deeds are a front for kidnapping and brutally killing runaway girls. 

How Kurt operates (especially his nightmarish tactical hunting gear) is beyond unsettling and probably the closest the series has come to pure true crime-based horror yet. Pathologically warped by some daddy issues of his own having been raised by a rapist father and passing those issues on to a miserable son in Matt, Dexter is given a glimpse into his present and  Harrison's potential future if the cycle isn't broken. And like Dexter, Kurt also views his own killings as heroic, delusionally justifying that he's somehow saving these girls from men like his father. 

Whether or not Kurt knows what Dexter's done to Matt becomes a major question, as he squirms his way into Harrison's life, taking full advantage of an angry kid looking for the kind of father Dexter's failed to be since reentering his life. It's in the quieter moments where Brown's performance hits hardest, coming across as the town's trusted every man, manipulating and gaining trust by fabricating stories to that endear him to those most vulnerable. 

Arrogant and in control, Kurt's had few worries he'll be caught given what he's managed to get away with this long. Whether it's an extremely uncomfortable batting cage scene or his chilling underground trophy room of embalmed victims, he's the character that leaves the most disturbing impression,  a worthy foe for the faltering, weakened Dexter, who would do anything to get him on his kill table. That is if this monster doesn't get to Harrison first.

Michael C. Hall brings a different kind of desperation to the character now, escalated to levels where it really appears as if Dexter's run out of plays and there's no way out, especially in the final episode, "The Sins of the Father." Few shows ever get a second chance at a series finale so it comes as a relief that Phillips and director Marcos Siega don't squander theirs, putting the focus exactly where it belongs with a poetic send-off sure to cause more arguments and debate. 

It was practically predetermined that Harrison would eventually be sharing that kill room with his father and get to watch him in action, fully aware of the truth. Only Dexter's version of the truth of himself has evolved into a lie he's been leaning on for too long, far from from the "Dark Defender" superhero narrative he feeds Harrison. 

Dexter's desire to curb his son's emerging urges is genuine, but in trumpeting all the lives he's hypothetically saved, he overlooked the innocent people who suffered or have even been killed as a result of his actions. Whether it's Rita, LaGuerta (Lauren Vélez) or his sister Deb, it's almost like he doesn't process those at all anymore, as if they were merely collateral damage. 

That Harrison can't physically and emotionally stomach Dexter getting Kurt on the table is a sign there may still be hope yet for him, while also serving as foreshadowing for the big finish. Dexter may have compartmentalized all his murders as heroic, but whatever small amount of nobility originally existed in his intentions is long gone. 

It's almost surreal when Angela cracks the case, having done the unthinkable in getting Dexter behind bars and officially uncovering him as the Butcher with solid, prosecutorial evidence. That the returning Angel Batista (David Zayas) is on his way and Dexter could be extradited back to Florida to potentially face the death penalty doesn't just feel like talk, but the only time in the series' history where he truly seems done for. 

Dexter's forced to falls back on the only escape hatch he knows to survive: more killing. It's one too many for Harrison, realizing his father's murder of coach and friend Sergeant Logan (Alano Miller), who was just doing his job, reveals all he needs to know. In telling Dexter the painful truth he's needed to hear and has basically ignored from Deb the whole season, Harrison rightfully identifies the Dark Passenger as now being in the driver's seat, the "code" permanently shattered. 

Knowing it's become about feeding Dexter's impulses and nothing more, Harrison can't go with his father or let him escape knowing everything he's done, leaving only one option. And in a rare moment of self actualization for Dexter we've been waiting eight years for, he knows what has to be done and guides his son in completing it.

When Harrison puts that bullet in his father,  tearfully driving away from Iron Lake and leaving Audrey and his newly established life behind, there's a sense he's given himself some kind of fighting chance at a future, however painful it was. Whether the cycle has really been broken is now up to him rather than his bloodline, while for Dexter, it's his first, only and last selfless act as a parent.

If it seems that Angela didn't complete her takedown of Dexter, she actually did, discovering the truth while coming to the realization that Harrison is as much a victim of his father as anyone. She's had enough, throwing out the rule book to stop the vicious circle of violence that's infiltrated this town for generations, informing her decision to help Harrison escape and take the hit for Dexter's death. As he grabs Deb's hand drawing his last breath, it's the perfect ending, offering the only redemption possible for a character whose seemingly irredeemable actions helped usher in an entire era of TV anti-heroes. 

With rumblings that Showtime could already be planning a spin-off or continuation of New Blood without Hall, it's still hard to view this entire arc as anything but an end. All the time off did the series a world of good, making it even more difficult to imagine lightning striking twice, especially without the benefit of this terrific cast and setting. And hopefully all involved tune out the noise out this time, realizing fans again unhappy with how it played out will probably never be pleased, rejecting the very same end for Dexter they originally begged for in 2013. Doubling down on its intriguing central concept to bring the story full circle, it's emotionally concluded its character's dark journey, while hitting creative heights the series has rarely reached before.

Being the Ricardos

Director: Aaron Sorkin
Starring: Nicole Kidman, Javier Bardem, J.K. Simmons, Nina Arianda, Tony Hale, Alia Shawkat, Jake Lacy, Clark Gregg, Christopher Denham, John Rubinstein, Linda Lavin, Ronny Cox
Running Time: 131 min.
Rating: R

★★★ (out of ★★★★)

Writer/director Aaron Sorkin's Being the Ricardos poses the question of how much an actor or actress's physical resemblance to an iconic public figure affects our perception of their performance. Even while conceding there's a lot more to acting than mimicry and imitation, Nicole Kidman's casting as Lucille Ball does push the envelope in terms of how points should be scored for embodying a person the performer looks or acts nothing like. It's been a discussion point since the first trailer, or maybe back further to when Cate Blanchett unexpectedly dropped out of the project. On paper, she was perfect for the role in every way, but things happen, and is often the case, another big name stepped in, causing many to question whether Kidman would be the right fit.

It's a credit to Kidman and Sorkin that the actress somehow makes it work, as well as the rest of the cast who who are frequently given more intriguing material than you'd expect. It's all very inside TV, providing glimpses into the pressures and challenges facing the first juggernaut sitcom of the medium's infancy. When Sorkin's focusing entirely on this, the film's at its best, which isn't to say that Lucy and Desi's tumultuous marriage holds no interest. As both personal and business partners, the two sub-plots are frequently intertwined, with Sorkin taking some creative license in jamming all the troubles facing the show and its star into one fateful week. That Kidman's casting has become such a point of debate is ironic considering she's playing a woman who was constantly told by studio executives she "just wasn't right" for the part, forcing Lucy to take matters into her own hands before experiencing true success. It then became a constant battle to hold on to it, consuming the comedy legend from the inside out as she hid her biggest fears and insecurities from the world.

Mostly taking place within one chaotic week of rehearsals and preparation for a 1953 live filming of I Love Lucy, Lucy (Kidman) must deal with tabloid rumors of Desi's (Javier Bardem) infidelity and a newspaper article declaring her a Communist, despite being cleared of the allegation in a HUAC hearing months earlier. On top of that, the couple are also attempting to convince CBS and sponsor Philip Morris to write Lucy's pregnancy into the show, which isn't just unheard of for television at the time, but downright scandalous considering their married characters aren't allowed to even sleep in the same bed. 

As Lucy's marital and creative frustrations begin boiling over, she clashes with writer/producer and show runner Jess Oppenheimer (Tony Hale) and new director Donald Glass (Christopher Denham) over certain scenes, while also taking the writing team of Bob Carroll (Jake Lacy) and Madelyn Pugh (Alia Shawkat) to task over the dumbing down of her character. Before long, even co-stars William Frawley (J.K. Simmons) and Vivian Vance's (Nina Arianda) patience starts to wear thin when it comes to Lucy's obsessive perfectionism. The root of that is revealed through flashbacks when the young RKO-contracted actress met Cuban band leader and actor Desi Arnaz, while "interviews" with an older Oppenheimer (John Rubenstein), Pugh (Linda Lavin) and Carroll (Ronny Cox) frame the events leading up to that week's memorable live show.

It may seem odd that Lucille Ball's life is upstaged by the more compelling backstage machinations and ego clashes that go into creating a television sitcom, until you remember how big this show was and who's making the film. If the knock against Sorkin has always been that he's a far better writer than director, of the three projects he's helmed, this could be the most practical example yet of the theory. While adequately directed, it's still a writer's movie through and through and there's probably no one better equipped to believably bringing a TV writing room to life than him. Unsurprisingly, these are the scenes that really click, detailing the battles Lucy wages over the show's content, as dictated by the network, but trickling down to producer Oppenheimer and his writers. In a way, they're all casualties of their own enormous success, as a sitcom that brings in a staggering 60 million viewers is a reliable cash cow that won't be given much leeway from the network to experiment, potentially compromising its creative direction.

Sorkin's fly-on-the-wall approach is appreciated, especially in regards to the nuts and bolts of what makes comedy scenes work. Since I Love Lucy is a classic remembered for pioneering an entire genre, there's an existing perception of flawlessness, at least by the time it made air. He demystifies that, recognizing that any show is rife with issues, while giving credit to Lucy for taking the initiative to correct and tweak every one, whether or not the staff agrees. And most of the time she's completely right about everything, even as her aggressive, frequently insensitive approach alienates rather than inspires. It's an uphill battle for Lucy that Desi couldn't possibly understand as a man capable of smooth talking his way out of any predicament, occasionally losing his temper, but ultimately getting everything he wants in the end. That Desi often commands more respect as a producer than Lucy is a cruel turn considering she was the one who strong armed the network into hiring him as her co-star.

Bardem captures all these contradictions so well, dispelling preconceptions that Desi wasn't a talented performer in his own right.  His performance is such that it doesn't come off as if he's outright controlling Lucy, but subtly gaslighting her in way that fills the actress with self-doubt, thinking that nothing's ever good enough in this continuous quest to "keep" him. The smoothest of players, he even offsets his infidelity with what seems like a tireless professional loyalty to Lucy that rarely extends to their actual marriage. Bardem deserves a lot of credit for bringing all these dimensions to someone most associate as just being along for the ride. Whether it's true they'd be no Desi without her, Bardem situates him in the driver's seat more often than not, even making him remarkably likable while doing it. He also really impresses in the sitcom reenactment scenes, which all play better than expected due to the comedic chops of those involved.

The flashbacks and staged interviews are somewhat redundant, underlining what's already evident in the '53 segments that detail Lucy's week from hell. If you can get past the fact Kidman looks nothing like Ball and rarely attempts to vocally inflect her, there's a lot to appreciate in what she does with the material, which treats her as a real person who should be played as such. The actress excels in conveying the deep seeded feelings of inadequacy that cause Lucy to micromanage the creative process, while Sorkin shows us with read throughs, run throughs and rehearsals that she's not wrong. Tony Hale hits it out of the park with what's probably his most memorable big screen supporting role thus far far as the frazzled show runner attempting to keep it all together, given the unenviable task of pleasing both Desi and Lucy while still keeping them in line. 

Hale's former Arrested Development co-star Alia Shawkat also makes a huge impression as Madelyn Pugh, the lone female writer and sounding board for Lucy as she tries to push her more progressive ideas through, while Nina Arianda's take on Vivian Vance successfully navigates the strain of being Ethel to Lucille's Lucy and screen wife to William Frawley's much older Fred. Arianda doesn't get a ton of screen time, but she makes the most of it, especially in one dynamic scene opposite Kidman, who shows us there were few limits to whom and what Lucy perceived as threats to her career. And the great J.K. Simmons breathes more complexity into the hard drinking, wisecracking Frawley than one would guess from his character's hysterically dry and cranky demeanor, proving to be Lucy's most unlikely friend and supporter during a tough stretch.

Given all the justifiable reservations concerning whether Kidman fits this role, she's the common denominator in all of this, often anchoring the film's best scenes, be it comedic or otherwise. If the ending's very literally a real crowd pleaser, it's simultaneously a downer as well, forcing audiences to reconcile two Lucys. One was a trailblazing talent that delighted generations with her talent while the other felt constantly insecure and diminished, as if nothing was ever good enough, especially when it came to Desi. Through that lens, the end of her show and marriage could have been an unexpected triumph, enabling Lucy to start a new chapter where she could spread her creative wings without limitations. But even while remaining a force in front of and behind the camera for years to come, it would be impossible to reach these heights again, with Sorkin doing a thorough job exploring exactly why.

Cobra Kai (Season 4)

Creators: Josh Heald, Jon Hurwitz and Hayden Schlossberg
Starring: Ralph Macchio, William Zabka, Courtney Henggeler, Xolo Maridueña, Tanner Buchanan, Mary Mouser, Jacob Bertrand, Gianni DeCenzo, Peyton List, Vanessa Rubio, Thomas Ian Griffith, Martin Kove, Dallas Dupree Young, Griffin Santopietro
Original Airdate: 2021  

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

If forced to choose, this fourth season of Netflix's wildly successful Karate Kid continuation, Cobra Kai, would at a glance probably be ranked lowest by some. But putting that in proper perspective means it's only a little less consistently brilliant and airtight than the three that preceded it. While there are some minor chinks in its armor this time, things get straightened out before an exciting and unexpected conclusion that sets the stage for what's next maybe better than any of its previous finales. Creators Josh Heald, Jon Hurwitz and Hayden Schlossberg have this down to a science at this point, enough even to earn the show an Emmy nomination for Outstanding Comedy Series. But that questionable categorization risks obscuring how much else it does well, with the humor only bolstering the nostalgic drama and narrative twists and turns. 

For most of the season's first half, the writers really seem to lean into that comedy a little more, with some even saying these ten episodes feel a little more "Netflix" than usual. How much of a criticism that is depends on the execution, which is a line this series has always managed to walk better than any. Even if more time is spent covering ground that's been traversed before and a sense of familiarity seeps in, none of its strongest aspects have been compromised. A slight dip was inevitable four seasons in, especially when it already pulled off the impossible in pleasing hardcore fans whose entire Miyagi-Verse centers around '84 Daniel and Johnny and attracting younger viewers with new characters who have grown just as crucial to the show's foundation.

Never hesitant in drawing from the three original films for its mythology, we've already seen the returns of John Kreese, Chozen, Kumiko and even Ali. And last season's finale reminded us just how far they're willing to go, dusting off a memorable villain from the least regarded of the original films, creating suspense as to how he'll fit into the current landscape. Terry Silver's re-entry into the Cobra Kai world is not only big deal for franchise devotees, but a chance for the writers to deepen and further explore the man whose mind games wrecked havoc on Daniel over thirty years ago. 

The mystery of where Silver's been, why he'd come back and his intentions play as a slow burn that's milked for as long as possible and all its worth. It also gives the actor playing him the opportunity to add more layers to what was admittedly a pretty over-the-top, one dimensional character. For about 75 percent of the season, we're not sure what his deal is, until the pieces start fitting together toward the end. That could be said for a lot of this season, which tries to juggle a lot of storylines and sub-plots, with some hitting just a little harder than others.

With Johnny (William Zabka) having lost estranged son, Robby (Tanner Buchanan) to the clutches of former sensei John Kreese (Martin Kove) and Cobra Kai, he's found unexpected help in Daniel (Ralph Macchio), who proposed they join forces to eliminate Kreese and his dojo for good. And with that challenge, the battle lines are drawn for the All Valley Karate Championship, as the losing side agrees to leave the Valley for good. But while Kreese attempts to lore his Vietnam comrade and Cobra Kai co-founder Terry Silver (Thomas Ian Griffith) back into the fold, the tenuous union of Daniel's Miyagi-Do and Johnny's Eagle Fang doesn't come without a struggle, as the two rival senseis with dueling philosophies and personalities struggle to co-exist. 

With an angry Robby ingratiating himself into Cobra to get back at his dad, he finds an ally in the equally vengeful Tory (Peyton List), whose feud with Samantha (Mary Mouser), has only escalated after her school expulsion. The Valley's defending champion Miguel (Xolo Maridueña) is also in a tough spot, trying to accept his mom Carmen's (Vanessa Rubio) new relationship with Johnny while being mentored in karate and life by Daniel. 

Advice is something Daniel's distracted actual son, middle-schooler Anthony (Griffin Santopietro), has little interest in, having joined his friends in bullying Kenny (Dallas Dupree Young), a quiet new kid at school who soon needs to call on a familiar connection to help him fight back. Of course, all these roads lead to the tournament, where the futures of Cobra Kai, Myagi-Do and Eagle Fang will be decided and alliances are tested.

This might be the first season where the least compelling aspect is the tension between Johnny and Daniel. Not that there's anything particularly wrong with it, just that we've reached a point where their dynamic is pretty well-established and better sub-plots have emerged. While a begrudging respect exists despite their history, it's mutually understood they'll never vacation together, and when it comes to karate, their egos will always get in the way. That's especially true when it comes to their wildly different teaching approaches, which they'll learn may not be so far apart after all. 

Daniel must slowly face the realization over the course of these ten episodes that he's had tunnel vision and that maybe self-defense all the time isn't the best way to earn points in tournaments and life. Whether it's still out of spite for Johnny or loyalty to Miyagi, he's taken it so far in the other direction that even his own daughter starts questioning whether there's only one right way of doing things. Of course, Johnny's equally stubborn when it comes to reaching a middle ground, which is really what the season's about for everyone: finding balance. 

Even as their arguing seems to take on more of a comedic banter this time, seeing Macchio and Zabka go at each other as these characters never gets old because they're so good at it. Johnny's inability to use social media, not knowing what an Uber is, or his complete lack of self-awareness or political correctness consistently land as the series' best jokes, with Zabka ensuring that Johnny we remember is preserved enough in his 80's time capsule that he won't change or grow, at least too much.   

Kreese and Terry Silver's relationship is the more compelling, with the former planting seeds in the Silver's mind that maybe he's gone soft with age. Seemingly a far cry from the coked-up, evil sensei who terrorized Daniel in Part III, this is a mellower, wisened Silver, comfortable living in the lap of luxury, hosting opulent tofu parties with his girlfriend and basking in the wealth of many successful investments. Kreese's offer is an unwelcome one for Silver, mainly because he expects which card his old friend will play to entice him back to Cobra Kai. Even worse, Silver knows he's right and still feels he owes Kreese a lifetime debt for what happened in Vietnam. 

What Thomas Ian Griffith does so well is create this entirely different character that still has those shadings and weaknesses of the madman he was before, keeping us on edge as to whether he'll remain as laid back and serene as he actually appears. Silver's put karate behind him, but when guilt and pride draw him back, Kreese is almost immediately threatened by his presence. They're friends and rivals, but there's this underlying tension primed to explode at any moment, making their interactions in and out of the dojo substantially different than that of Daniel and Johnny. There's also the question of where Silver's philosophies stand now and how those views will influence or even change Cobra Kai. And maybe even more importantly, what this will mean for Kreese, as Kove's performance skillfully supplies the subtlest hints of where it's all going.      

It turns out the the writers had an ace up their sleeves in Daniel's son Anthony as their decision to hold off on involving him until now pays off handsomely. There's been so much focus on Samantha, viewers would be forgiven for even remembering he even exists, but Griffin Santopietro steps up in a big way as Anthony, along with new addition Dallas Dupree Young, whose bullied Kenny probably comes the closest in a while to evoking Daniel's predicament in the original film. 

Pressured by his friends, you can literally feel the guilt emanating from Anthony, who feels as if he has no choice but to torture this kid or suffer those same consequences himself. And you can see where a terrified Kenny would think he has no place to turn but Cobra Kai, reflecting the larger conundrum of this season. That the lines separating bullies from the bullied can often be thin, especially as Miyagi-Do and Eagle Fang flirt with adapting Cobra Kai's "Strike First" philosophy to exact their own revenge, much to Daniel's displeasure.

If we know anything about Cobra Kai it's that they don't hold back, especially now with both Kreese and Silver at the helm. And of them all, resident badass Tory Nichols has emerged as the ultimate bully, even as she more often feels like the series' anti-hero. 

One of the toughest things the writers had to sell us on was rooting for the somewhat irritating, goody two shoes Samantha in her feud with Tory. That this vicious bully is the far cooler, more complex character is a testament to how well Peyton List plays her, and now that they've doubled down on Tory's commitment to overcoming a troubled family life, it's enabled the actress to add even more nuance to the performance.

Injecting Amanda LaRusso (the criminally underrated Courtney Henggeler) into the middle of the Sam-Tory feud only further bolsters this storyline, as she fiercely protects her daughter while having surprising sympathy for Tory's situation. Sam is given a much needed rebellious streak as we relate to the frustration that accompanies watching her mom help the girl who brutally attacked her, while understanding Amanda's personal yet still unselfish reasons for doing so. All of this only adds fuel to the fire that will be the inevitable tournament showdown between Sam and Tory, which takes center stage in a way it hasn't before, but now fully deserves to.

This is the first time it seems as if Miguel and Robby aren't the show's key focus since the bench has grown so deep with other, equally intriguing supporting characters. Both are utilized exactly how they should going into this new batch of episodes, as Miguel's entrenched in Eagle Fang, but sliding over into Daniel's Miyagi-Do teachings, predictably setting off Johnny. For him though, it's more of a concern that his former nemesis could potentially take over his role as father figure to Miguel, leading to a heartbreaking scene that calls back to Miyagi's drunken breakdown in The Karate Kid. But it's Johnny's own guilt at failing as a father to his real son, Robby, that's painfully exposed, while also conjuring up memories of his own fatherless upbringing, which Cobra Kai and Kreese provided a sanctuary from. 

We know Robby can't forgive his dad so he's channeled all that negative energy into Cobra Kai, convincing himself he's in control and won't suffer the same trauma and disappointment Johnny did over thirty years ago. But with Kreese and Silver running the show, he's only deluding himself, chasing a chance at self-acceptance and respectability by mentoring Kenny, who may be more like him than he thought. Ironically enough, Robbie's only stabilizing force turns out to be Tory, the only Cobra as angry and personally troubled as he is. But it's ex-Cobra Eli "Hawk" Moskowitz (Jacob Bertrand) who's learning the hard way that trust and forgiveness isn't so easily earned back without some work. 

After seeing the light and turning on Cobra Kai at the end of last season, Hawk discovers Miyagi-Do isn't so quick to welcome him with open arms, especially after a checkered history that includes breaking the arm of former best friend Demetri (Gianni DeCenzo). Ostracized by his new teammates, another huge event completely shatters Hawk's confidence, resulting in one of the season's most affecting storylines. 

Having to come to terms with his past actions and where he finds himself now, Betrand's performance continues to impress as one of the more overlooked successes in an immensely stacked and talented cast. With Hawk stuck between where his supposed persona ends and the real person begins, the scenes between him and Demetri recall their first season glory days, but with the roles sort of reversed. Whether Hawk can get himself together before the tourney, and during it, makes for a satisfying arc, reemphasizing what the show's always done best.     

The creative decision to donate more time to the All Valley Tournament than usual is understandable given the stakes, even as it's accompanied by pluses and minuses, like a comedy segment involving the goofy tournament organizers. While the writers probably felt the changes made to the tourney required an expository scene, that just tonally hit the wrong note, compounded later by a needless and distracting celebrity cameo that does more of the same. But if the addition of a "skills competition" doesn't add much other than fear as to how the season will end, they get over the hump quickly with a near-perfect closer that accentuates the real benefits of giving more minutes to the finale: character development and the actual matches. 

One of the two championship finals is arguably the series' best showdown in terms of action, recalling the drama of Daniel vs. Johnny while bringing an MMA feel and even a Bloodsport shout-out to the proceedings.Yet somehow even that still takes a backseat to all the turns, returns, shifts in allegiances, and shocking developments that occur. Basically the opposite of what you think will happen does, but not just for the sake of it. 

Placing the characters in a far different position than before they entered this tournament, its fallout promises a lot to still be dealt with. And if the finale's any indication, everything seems on track for Cobra Kai to go at least a couple of seasons more, assuming that's the plan. But you have to think the writers are already eyeing that finish line, just as Netflix is likely considering the possible potential for the franchise beyond that. As for now, it's best to just sit back and enjoy that there are no signs of a steep decline for a series that keeps coming up with new ways to surprise us. 

Don't Look Up

Director: Adam McKay
Starring: Leonardo DiCaprio, Jennifer Lawrence, Rob Morgan, Cate Blanchett, Meryl Streep, Jonah Hill, Mark Rylance, Tyler Perry, Timothée Chalamet, Ron Perlman, Ariana Grande, Scott Mescudi, Himesh Patel, Melanie Lynskey, Michael Chiklis
Running Time: 138 min.  
Rating: R 

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)

The loudest conversations surrounding Adam McKay's sci-fi satire, Don't Look Up, might center on the likelihood of an event as cataclysmic as what's threatened in the film actually occurring. But that depends on what you consider the real tragedy. A comet potentially wiping out the planet or the hilariously awful ineptitude in which that information's handled by the supposedly smartest, most capable in our society, entrusted to make decisions for humanity's well-being. Could any of this happen? The quickest answer is that it just did, only not with a comet, and this is what gives McKay's film so much power, lifting it from social commentary into something far more scathing and relevant. But that's only half the story, as it takes aim some of the biggest, timeliest targets imaginable, rarely missing.

Having already directed the polarizing The Big Short and Vice, McKay's no stranger to walking a tightrope that sometimes frustrates as many viewers as it delights, but this is operating on a much higher plane. What's most surprising about is how he manages to repeatedly hit these impossible marks, bringing the laughs for almost two and a half hours straight. You sit there expecting it to completely run out of steam because it's just so broad and of the moment, but the truth just keeps funneling through, exposing self-interested government and society that have no idea how pathetically clueless they are. Not that they'd care anyway.  

Whatever divisive reactions exist to the the film itself, it's much harder to claim Leonardo DiCaprio, Jennifer Lawrence or even Meryl Streep have ever tackled the kinds of parts they're given here. It feels like a real first, witnessing performers of their caliber strongly playing against preconceptions to juggle some really difficult material they likely jumped at the chance of challenging themselves with. Uncomfortably hilarious, it holds a harsh, revealing mirror up to a society many will recognize as pitifully identical to the one we've been living in for the past couple of years, if not far longer.

When Michigan State University astronomy doctoral candidate Kate Dibiasky (Lawrence) discovers a previously unseen comet hurling toward Earth, her mentor and professor, Dr. Randall Mindy (DiCaprio) comes to the frightening calculation that it'll hit in six months, resulting in an "extinction level event." Joined by NASA's Planetary Defense Coordination head, Dr. Dr. Teddy Oglethorpe (Rob Morgan), they're summoned to the White House to present this information to disinterested President Janie Orlean (Streep) and her obnoxious son and Chief of Staff, Jason (Jonah Hill). With midterm elections on the horizon and a scandal involving a Supreme Court Justice nominee breaking, Orlean selfishly advises them to just sit on it to avoid more bad press.

Shaken by the President's apathy, Kate and Randall leak the news to the media at Oglethorpe's urging,  soon discovering that the public may also not be as receptive to this information as they thought. But with Orlean's popularity dipping amidst further scandal, she realizes her team may be able to use this impending catastrophe and the scientists to her political advantage. With the help of billionaire tech CEO and key donor Peter Isherwell (Mark Rylance), Orlean's plan for handing the comet crisis is put into motion, dividing the nation and sowing unneeded doubt about its very real danger. It'll be up to Kate and Randall to convince the public what's really happening, but it might be too late, as the rapidly approaching comet remains on course to take out human civilization. 

From the very start, there's an anti-science sentiment Kate and Randall have to battle that quickly chips away at everything they knew about themselves and how the government, media and public view their work and competency. Or more accurately, people just don't like bad news and will come up with any excuse not to receive it. Undermined and humiliated from the moment of discovery, they're  now in over their heads, sucked into a machine intended to dismantle and destroy them for stating facts. While it appears one of them is more capable of handing this, even that doesn't end up being true, with the situation understandably rattling them both to their core in very different ways. 

The astronomers have unknowingly entered an arena where Earth's impending demise is laughed off and mocked by fluff morning TV hosts Brie Evantee and Jack Bremmer (Cate Blanchett and Tyler Perry), whose phony banter, goofy jokes and insistence on "keeping things light" result in some of the film's funniest, but most depressingly realistic moments. Blanchett and Perry are so good in these scenes, perfectly capturing the kind of annoying, celebrity and social media obsessed camera hogs flooding the air on every major "news" outlet. With hosts far more interested in music star Riley Bina's (Ariana Grande) recent breakup with DJ Chello (Scott Mescudi) than a comet wiping out Earth, the scientists start realizing the level of stupidity they're up against, which extends far beyond just the political spectrum.     

The journey DiCaprio takes Randall on is really something, as this seemingly nerdy, Xanax popping, numbers-obsessed scientist has to find his media sea legs after being thrust into the spotlight. A simple man enjoying a comfortable, if pleasantly mundane life back home with his devoted wife June (Melanie Lynskey) and grown kids, he's suddenly a huge celebrity pressured into telling everyone what they want to hear. And as those drawbacks and rewards push back against his principles, he'll have to make some tough moral choices. As a weakened Randall teeters on the verge of implosion, DiCaprio has what might be his best scene out of many, completely snapping as he channels Peter Finch's Howard Beale in Network with a breakdown that feels like the culmination of everything this guy and the country's been put through.

As Randall adjusts to becoming a media sensation, it's Kate taking the brunt of the backlash, framed as a fear-mongering psycho despite being more well-adjusted and sensible than most. Publicly demeaned by everyone from her journalist boyfriend (Himesh Patel) to the President herself, she's the character who earns the most amount of empathy, as even the naming of the "Dibiasky Comet" feels like an intentional slap in the face, putting an even bigger target of unjustifiable blame on her back. 

With an seemingly permanent look on her face conveying utter disbelief at this insanity, Lawrence's "comeback" performance after a three year break ranks as one of her most nuanced and fascinating, reminding us all what we've missed. Between the President's cruel categorization of her as a poster girl for "disaffected youth and mental illness" and her son's sarcastic cheap shots at Kate's looks and intelligence, Lawrence conveys her character's boiling impatience and frustration with often just a single, piercing glance that speaks volumes. Beaten down through much of the film, she never makes Kate a doormat, imbuing her with the strength and resourcefulness to curb this corrupt hypocrisy, regardless of the consequences.

McKay also incorporates all these smaller details into the script that make for a surreal viewing experience, like the fact this narcissistic, power-hungry President has her own incompetent son serving as Chief of Staff, adding nepotism and cronyism to the list of malfeasance. And if it's going to still be a long running complaint that Streep's nominated for anything, why isn't she even being discussed for this? It's one of the rare recent examples of her taking a huge unexpected leap with this blistering portrayal of a delusional Commander in Chief that may contain some Hillary Clinton mannerisms, but by the actress's own admission, is entirely based on Trump. What's most impressive is the nonchalant arrogance with which Streep plays Orlean, who never once considers the option that anyone will hesitate in doing exactly what she says while happily kissing her ass at the same time. And sadly, she's completely right.

Mark Rylance is weirdly brilliant as BASH cellular CEO Peter Isherwell, a nightmare hybrid of Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos, Steve Jobs, Richard Branson or any other eccentric, self-absorbed tech billionaire promising to better everyone's lives. There's an expected way to play someone like this, but McKay has Rylance throw that rule book out the window, instead giving him these delightfully strange quirks that add so much to the persona. From Isherwell's odd accent to the creepy calmness, he's either mumbling unintelligibly, leaving out words or staring into space while talking, often making no sense whatsoever. It would have been so easy and predictable to play him as this kind of evil overlord, but McKay's smarter than that, knowing it's the disingenuous benevolence that makes this character resonate. Rylance goes all in, providing his own bizarre take on how these very recognizable personality types behave. 

There have been complaints about film's length, but in this particular case it feels strangely warranted, and that's coming from someone who cringes at any comedy or drama going beyond the two-hour mark. As with any picture, you could probably find areas to trim and tighten, but there's nothing egregiously obvious here. If pressed, even the two weakest sub-plots involving Ariana Grande's pop star character and Kate's relationship with a skateboarding shoplifter named Yule (Timothée Chalamet) don't unnecessarily extend the proceedings. The former is given brief, proportional screen time while you could argue Lawrence and Chalamet's performances help land that latter storyline land in a much better, more meaningful place heading into the third act. As for supposed issues with tone, given the material needs to alternate wildly between laugh-out-loud satire and dramatic events that suddenly seem a lot less fictional now, McKay remains remarkably consistent.               

Just when you think this has run out of people and ideas to skewer or went as far over-the-top as possible, its ending moves the goalpost. But none of it would work if there wasn't something real there with characters who are invested with a depth that make them work as both parodies and people. Comparisons have inevitably been made to Dr. Strangelove, but a more accurate reference point might be the similarly misunderstood, even less easily digestible Southland Tales, in which an eclectic, all-star cast of actors are placed inside an ambitiously imagined universe on the brink of socio-political collapse. Don't Look Up allows us to laugh at all the absurdity, relieved that someone finally had the guts to just say it, and this entertainingly well. With an evergreen quality likely to hold up over repeated viewings, it's the ultimate time capsule, providing a crazy snapshot of a world where the truth's become convenient to dismiss, but even easier to ignore.