Another year down, another year of watching more and more TV through Netflix and YouTube. This year, I tried to broaden my horizons, watching more anime series so as to better understand the medium and watching more episodic television series in general. Overall, I will say the shows I've watched this year of a decidedly lesser caliber than the ones I saw last year. Most of the shows I saw this year merely served to entertain me as opposed to enthrall me, and the selections this year tend to reflect that difference. While I adored shows like Fawlty Towers last year, this year's offerings weren't as brilliant in either their comedy or their drama. This is not to say that these episodes are bad, per se; for the most part, though, they're not as good as the ones I saw last year, especially in the lower entries. But there's still a lot to analyze, so let's get started. SPOILERS AHEAD!
Honorable Mentions:
"Chapter 29" - House of Cards
In my eyes, Season 3 of House of Cards wasn't as disastrous as most critics made it out to be, but it was nonetheless a step down from the first two seasons. The plot felt pretty directionless; the only momentum the story really had was in slowly tearing apart the Underwoods' marriage and the rather effective Douglas Stamper arc. However, the political wonkery of the show started to fall apart, with the mechanisms of the Underwoods becoming increasingly bizarre. "Chapter 29," however, was my personal favorite episode of the series, pitting Frank Underwood against the equally savvy Russian President Viktor Petrov. The first meeting of the two characters presented two politicians who have clearly pulled more than a few strings to reach their positions, and their banter was incredibly fun, albeit intense. Petrov appears to be the one opponent Underwood cannot simply depose of: it's hard to beat a politician operating in a completely different political system. The duel between these adversaries was the best part of Season 3, and I can't wait to see how the relationship develops in Season 4.
"Flatline" - Doctor Who
Boy, Series 8 of Doctor Who was rough. Though I immensely prefer Peter Capaldi to Matt Smith as a Doctor, the episodes of the eighth series were not effective whatsoever. While it was nice to see the Master return (and as a woman no less), the grand plot behind the season was pretty stupid overall. (Zombie Cybermen? Are you kidding me?) The only episode that stood out in a good way was "Flatline," a fun science fiction story involving dimension hopping and some nice role reversal that actually gave companion Clara Oswald a bit more narrative purpose. Instead of feeling like a constant drag or a nagging mother figure, as she did throughout most of the season, she used her confidence to show the leadership we expect from a good companion. Plus, Peter Capaldi's dancing is downright adorable.
"The Murder of Sherlock Holmes" - Murder, She Wrote
Murder, She Wrote is a curious show. Its writing isn't as spectacular as that of Columbo or The Rockford Files or any number of other mystery shows I've seen, but Angela Lansbury is such a good actor that it doesn't really matter. Of the episodes I watched in 2015, "The Murder of Sherlock Holmes" sticks out the most, if only for the genuine tension the episode presents in the last few minutes. The reveal of the killer is one of the best I've seen in a show, one as heartbreaking as it is horrifying.
"A Matter of Honor" - Star Trek: The Next Generation
The closest entry to making the list, "A Matter of Honor" is a very strong episode of a science fiction show into which I'm having trouble making a tremendous amount of headway. I'm not a big fan of Star Trek's pacing, but I do appreciate its culture and universe. Of the episodes I watched in 2015, "A Matter of Honor" delved the furthest into said universe, giving us a better look at the Klingon lifestyle than most any other episode of the multiple series up to the point of its release. Furthermore, it's the first episode that made me truly appreciate the relationship between Riker and the Enterprise crew. The conflict of interest between Starfleet protocol and the importance of Riker's friendships is put on glorious display. The stakes are tremendous, and it's an absolutely enthralling watch. It just barely missed the list.
Number 10
"A Devil of Vengeance: Makoto Shishio's Plot" - Rurouni Kenshin
Some shows establish their excellence through episodes, others through overarching plots. While most of the episodes on this list fall into the former category, "A Devil of Vengeance" falls squarely into the latter. Rurouni Kenshin's Kyoto arc is one of the most engaging and powerful stories in all of shonen anime, a compelling story of personal growth, victory, and, ultimately, redemption. It's rife with the standard shonen tournament fighter tropes - high level battle techniques, increasingly powerful enemies, and oh so much screaming - but it has an emotional core far stronger than that of any other shonen show I've seen. Though their backstories are relatively simple, the characters are extremely likable and relatable. The show's chief weapons are its creative action sequences, its rich atmosphere, and, most important, its spectacular dialogue. The stories are simple, but they're related in just the right way as to draw the maximum pathos. "A Devil of Vengeance" is the beginning of this excellent arc, and it's a tremendous introduction to one of shonen's best stories.
A word of warning: "A Devil of Vengeance" shouldn't be watched unless one has watched the preceding episode, "Strongest Opponent of the Past: Merciless Fangs Strike." In it, we are introduced to Saito Hajime, the only swordsman we've yet encountered able to match our hero, Kenshin Himura, blade for blade. That episode establishes the long-held animosity between the two swordsmen: the two were the best fighters on either sides of the shogunate wars that ended Japan's Edo period. "A Devil of Vengeance" begins mid-duel, featuring the best combat animation in the entire series. Both the speed and the attention to detail are incredible: every drop of blood or sweat, every wrinkle in their robes, every spark of their blades pops. It's truly a sight to behold.
Even more important, the combat actually has a narrative function. The real fight isn't the battle between Kenshin and Saito, but the battle between Kenshin and his past. Saito holds the upper hand throughout the entire duel, throwing aside Kenshin's offense effortlessly and exploiting every vulnerability. The only way Kenshin can match him is tapping into his own darker side, his former identity of Battousai - the "Man Slayer." While Kenshin strives to be a servant to others and a gentle wanderer, the Battousai has no compunctions killing anything or anyone that moves. Worst of all, once Kenshin dips into that side of himself, it's nearly impossible for him to extricate himself from his bloodlust. It's the same principle guiding the One Ring of J.R.R. Tolkein's Lord of the Rings: the power of the Battousai is more than able to save Kenshin's life, but using that power makes him lose that which is worth living. We feel terrible when Saito wounds Kenshin, but we feel even worse when Kenshin turns the tide and begins wailing on Saito. The fight scene takes up almost half the episode's run time, but it's a fight that actually advances the story and develops the character.
And then there's a plot twist.
We learn Saito was only fighting Kenshin so to test his strength; in actuality, Saito is an undercover cop for the Meiji government who needs Kenshin's help to eliminate an even greater threat to Japan. In the final half of the episode, we learn of the Meiji government's vested interest in eliminating the real Big Bad of the series, Makoto Shishio. Shishio himself is a foreboding villain, a murderous hitokiri intent upon destroying the Meiji government with an army of the world's most lethal warriors. Saito is but the opening test, an appetizer for the fights to come. This reveal makes the audience interested in watching the rest of the arc: how much more powerful is Shishio than Saito? Will Kenshin have to fully transform into the Battousai in order to match this new threat? With these factors in mind, "A Devil of Vengeance" is a tremendous piece of set-up for a great story full of excellent character development, great animation, and some of the most enthralling "narrative through combat" in anime history.
A word of warning: "A Devil of Vengeance" shouldn't be watched unless one has watched the preceding episode, "Strongest Opponent of the Past: Merciless Fangs Strike." In it, we are introduced to Saito Hajime, the only swordsman we've yet encountered able to match our hero, Kenshin Himura, blade for blade. That episode establishes the long-held animosity between the two swordsmen: the two were the best fighters on either sides of the shogunate wars that ended Japan's Edo period. "A Devil of Vengeance" begins mid-duel, featuring the best combat animation in the entire series. Both the speed and the attention to detail are incredible: every drop of blood or sweat, every wrinkle in their robes, every spark of their blades pops. It's truly a sight to behold.
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| Every frame looks this good. Behold the excellent character design. |
And then there's a plot twist.
We learn Saito was only fighting Kenshin so to test his strength; in actuality, Saito is an undercover cop for the Meiji government who needs Kenshin's help to eliminate an even greater threat to Japan. In the final half of the episode, we learn of the Meiji government's vested interest in eliminating the real Big Bad of the series, Makoto Shishio. Shishio himself is a foreboding villain, a murderous hitokiri intent upon destroying the Meiji government with an army of the world's most lethal warriors. Saito is but the opening test, an appetizer for the fights to come. This reveal makes the audience interested in watching the rest of the arc: how much more powerful is Shishio than Saito? Will Kenshin have to fully transform into the Battousai in order to match this new threat? With these factors in mind, "A Devil of Vengeance" is a tremendous piece of set-up for a great story full of excellent character development, great animation, and some of the most enthralling "narrative through combat" in anime history.
Number 9
"Changing Channels" - Supernatural
Supernatural is not a show for me. Is it a bad show? I'd hesitate to say so, but it's got more than a few flaws. The misogyny is pretty blatant (AKA killing every major female character), the acting is incredibly rusty (if I have to look at Jensen Ackles's pouty face one more time, I swear to God...), the pacing is rather spotty (the first season is as painful as a root canal), and the effects and atmosphere are, at best, underwhelming (someone clearly watched Lost before designing the demon effect). However, the main reason I don't like it is simple: I don't like the main characters. I find both Sam and Dean Winchester extremely unlikable; the objectively bad performances of both Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki combined with the melodrama of the script makes for two characters I'm bound to dislike.
That said, I do enjoy Supernatural when it decides to stop taking itself seriously and focuses solely on the humor. "Changing Channels" is easily the funniest episode of Supernatural I've seen, as it's little more than a series of television parodies loosely strung together by a plot to discover the true identity of the Trickster who has pestered the Winchester brothers throughout three seasons. The Trickster traps Sam and Dean inside the television programs of the Supernatural universe, forcing them to play their roles in the shows in order to survive. From an insane Japanese game show, to Knight Rider, to a commercial for STD medication, hilarity ensues. The real humor here isn't so much the accuracy of the parodies themselves as it is the absurdity of seeing two melodramatic characters forced into comedic roles. Supernatural is always at its best when Sam and Dean are more relaxed and humorous, allowing the actors to play themselves rather than the characters. "Changing Channels" allows them to do that for a good half hour.
Some of the parodies are absolute bullseyes. The cheesy sitcom opening perfectly captures the tone of bad sitcoms of the 80s and 90s: Full House is screaming as it is so lovingly lampooned. Everything, from the corny one-liners, to the canned laughter, to the garish set design, works. But my personal favorite parody is probably the "Dr. Sexy MD" segment. When one has lived in a household with two family members who love Grey's Anatomy, the horniest hospital on network television, one is more than happy to see a parody complete with melodramatic speeches, hushed dialogue, and characters best described as "the sexy and 'insert adjective here' doctor." It's equally funny to learn that Dean Winchester, the more stereotypically masculine of the two brothers, is a closet fan.
However, as funny as "Changing Channels" is, two factors keep it from getting much higher on this list. First of all, not every parody works. The parody of procedural cop dramas is extremely short-sighted, not taking any factors into consideration aside from one liners and the use of the term "ligature marks." Also, the Knight Rider parody just isn't that funny either, if only because Knight Rider was a ridiculous enough show to begin with. More importantly, though, "Changing Channels" isn't a particularly original episode. Teen Titans featured a similar episode back in 2005, in which a villain named Control Freak trapped the Teen Titans inside their television and forced them to fight him using the set pieces. "Changing Channels" was released in 2009; while I doubt the episode intends to plagiarize a kid show, the idea isn't exactly original. Thus, even at its best, Supernatural is towards at the bottom of this list.
That said, I do enjoy Supernatural when it decides to stop taking itself seriously and focuses solely on the humor. "Changing Channels" is easily the funniest episode of Supernatural I've seen, as it's little more than a series of television parodies loosely strung together by a plot to discover the true identity of the Trickster who has pestered the Winchester brothers throughout three seasons. The Trickster traps Sam and Dean inside the television programs of the Supernatural universe, forcing them to play their roles in the shows in order to survive. From an insane Japanese game show, to Knight Rider, to a commercial for STD medication, hilarity ensues. The real humor here isn't so much the accuracy of the parodies themselves as it is the absurdity of seeing two melodramatic characters forced into comedic roles. Supernatural is always at its best when Sam and Dean are more relaxed and humorous, allowing the actors to play themselves rather than the characters. "Changing Channels" allows them to do that for a good half hour.
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| Speaks for itself... |
However, as funny as "Changing Channels" is, two factors keep it from getting much higher on this list. First of all, not every parody works. The parody of procedural cop dramas is extremely short-sighted, not taking any factors into consideration aside from one liners and the use of the term "ligature marks." Also, the Knight Rider parody just isn't that funny either, if only because Knight Rider was a ridiculous enough show to begin with. More importantly, though, "Changing Channels" isn't a particularly original episode. Teen Titans featured a similar episode back in 2005, in which a villain named Control Freak trapped the Teen Titans inside their television and forced them to fight him using the set pieces. "Changing Channels" was released in 2009; while I doubt the episode intends to plagiarize a kid show, the idea isn't exactly original. Thus, even at its best, Supernatural is towards at the bottom of this list.
Number 8
"Toguro's Wish" - Yu Yu Hakusho
Yu Yu Hakusho is a weird show. Not that it's strange: it's a standard shonen tournament fighter. In bare-bones terms, there's little difference between Yu Yu Hakusho and Dragonball Z, the tournament fighter anime to which all subsequent series are compared. However, Yu Yu Hakusho is a strange beast in that it is far better than it has any right to be. The characters start out as one note caricatures, but they develop into alarmingly interesting and compelling individuals. Indeed, the only way Yu Yu Hakusho and Dragonball Z are comparable is their genre: in every other respect, Yu Yu Hakusho outclasses Dragonball Z. The fighting isn't as tedious, there's less filler, the jokes are funnier, the characters are more endearing, the character design is sharper, and the themes are more interesting. Most importantly, Yu Yu Hakusho knows how to reflect on the action and question exactly what was at stake while our protagonists were duking it out. "Toguro's Wish" is the finest example.
"Toguro's Wish" ends the Dark Tournament saga of Yu Yu Hakusho, a saga essentially amounting to forty straight episodes of non-stop fighting. While these fights are admittedly entertaining (mostly because of the animation, not the writing), they don't amount to much more than visual Cinnamon Toast Crunch - bits of sawdust with sugar on top. Most of the stories and characters are cliché. Our hero, Yusuke Urameshi, develops as a warrior (I mean, "spirit detective") through defeating increasingly more powerful monsters, all capped off by a Big Bad villain named Toguro. Toguro is a brute intent upon destroying Yusuke so as to have a truly satisfying battle - a common trope among shonen tournament fighter villains. During the tournament, he kills Yusuke's mentor figure, Genkai, with whom he's shared a common past - nothing original so far. Finally, after a four episode slog fest, Yusuke kills Toguro and wins the Dark Tournament. The saga ends, with the viewer anticipating more action in the next arc. Yet, along comes "Toguro's Wish," an episode requiring one to reflect on exactly what was at stake in the previous arc.
The main focus of "Toguro's Wish" is uncovering the real motivation of Toguro throughout the Dark Tournament. The bulk of the arc makes it seem as if Toguro participated in the Dark Tournament so to unleash a horde of demons on the Earth and face one great fight against Yusuke. He even killed Genkai, his former love interest, so to make Yusuke a stronger opponent. Yet "Toguro's Wish" reveals an even darker story. As it turns out, Toguro abandoned his humanity to become a demon after the former Dark Tournament champion murdered all of his martial arts students. Once he defeated the champion in an act of revenge, Toguro realized that he loved power for its own sake too much to be truly considered a good person. Wallowing in self-martyrdom, he sacrificed his humanity so to become the last great challenge for a human destined to defeat him. His villainy doesn't come from the pleasure of being bad; rather, he's villainous out of his own sense of narrative obligation. His extremes end up destroying him in life.
Yet Toguro makes an interesting choice. When Koenma, the judge of the afterlife, prepares to give him a sentence based on his good deeds and his bad deeds, Toguro requests to be sent to the lowest level of Hell, being tortured for 10,000 years for his actions. Koenma very nearly refuses, thinking the punishment too severe for a man who once did great good for the world. But Toguro's personal need to torture himself trumps even the powers of heaven. Toguro's wish raises plenty of questions. If his personal opinion manages to win Koenma over, does fate truly control his life? Are the narratives we create for ourselves more powerful than any divine dictate? Do divine dictates only exist insofar as we create them? Each question makes Toguro that much more fascinating. His brief talk with Genkai on the bridge of the afterlife is undoubtedly my favorite scene in all of Yu Yu Hakusho, and it's a powerful reflection on the nature of choice and one's place in the universe.
Some episodes do a lot of things right while not doing any one thing extraordinarily well. "Toguro's Wish" is not one of these episodes. Aside from the scenes with Toguro, Koenma, and Genkai, the rest of the episode is fairly average for the rest of the show. Yet those two main scenes are done so well that the rest of the episode doesn't really matter. Best of all, one doesn't even need to watch the rest of the Dark Tournament saga to really enjoy them. Thus, for anyone not desiring to watch the bulk of Yu Yu Hakusho, I would definitely recommend watching "Toguro's Wish" on its own. It's an extraordinary moment in an otherwise competent show.
The main focus of "Toguro's Wish" is uncovering the real motivation of Toguro throughout the Dark Tournament. The bulk of the arc makes it seem as if Toguro participated in the Dark Tournament so to unleash a horde of demons on the Earth and face one great fight against Yusuke. He even killed Genkai, his former love interest, so to make Yusuke a stronger opponent. Yet "Toguro's Wish" reveals an even darker story. As it turns out, Toguro abandoned his humanity to become a demon after the former Dark Tournament champion murdered all of his martial arts students. Once he defeated the champion in an act of revenge, Toguro realized that he loved power for its own sake too much to be truly considered a good person. Wallowing in self-martyrdom, he sacrificed his humanity so to become the last great challenge for a human destined to defeat him. His villainy doesn't come from the pleasure of being bad; rather, he's villainous out of his own sense of narrative obligation. His extremes end up destroying him in life.
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| Plus, Toguro finally takes off his sunglasses. |
Some episodes do a lot of things right while not doing any one thing extraordinarily well. "Toguro's Wish" is not one of these episodes. Aside from the scenes with Toguro, Koenma, and Genkai, the rest of the episode is fairly average for the rest of the show. Yet those two main scenes are done so well that the rest of the episode doesn't really matter. Best of all, one doesn't even need to watch the rest of the Dark Tournament saga to really enjoy them. Thus, for anyone not desiring to watch the bulk of Yu Yu Hakusho, I would definitely recommend watching "Toguro's Wish" on its own. It's an extraordinary moment in an otherwise competent show.
Number 7
"Kimmy's in a Love Triangle" - The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt
Everyone who's had the pleasure to watch The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt knows how excellent a dark comedy it is. The story of a woman whose education was restricted to a ninth-grade level due to her being abducted by an insane preacher, The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt is able to mock the idiosyncrasies of modern society as compared to the 1980s while still managing to respect the intelligence of the audience and not offend those who have undergone traumatic experiences themselves. It's probably the show that made me laugh the most over the course of this year, featuring some of the smartest writing and best performances in a Netflix sitcom.
Kimmy Schmidt has finally found a stable living condition with her flamboyantly homosexual roommate, Titus Andromedon, a new job working as a nanny to the wealthy Voorhees family (no relation to the murderous family of Friday the 13th fame... though that is part of the joke), and even a new boyfriend in the über-rich socialite, Logan Beekman. Yet she learns that her math tutor and fellow GED student, Dong Nguyen, has romantic interest in her, and she's not sure which of the two men she cares for more. Additionally, Mr. Voorhees's latest marriage is falling apart. The eldest Voorhees daughter, Xan, is none too keen to live in Connecticut with her birth mother, preferring her entitled lifestyle; she thus enlists Kimmy's help to fake "bad girl" behavior so to stay in New York. Meanwhile, Titus needs to take acting lessons so to "pass" as a heterosexual, as employers continually deny him acting roles due to his flamboyance.
Not much can be said about this episode other than that it's got dozens of great jokes. Kimmy's aloofness to Xan's intentions in pretending to be a "bad girl" produces some of the best visual gags in any sitcom I've ever seen. The set design presents a massive caricature of the bad sides of New York only seen on television, what with a chalk outline on the floor, Kimmy wearing a T-shirt with "drugs" literally written onto it, and Titus storming into the building with a lacrosse stick. Titus's acting coach turns out to be Dean Norris (AKA Hank from Breaking Bad AKA the most manly-man character ever); the heterosexual male stereotypes that ensue are outright hilarious. How can you not laugh at quotes like "No! Straight men leave a buffer seat!"?
Plus, I have to give a shout out to the single best outro joke I've seen in any show ever: Harrison von Harrison Jr.'s "Daddy's Boy." During the episode, Kimmy breaks up with Logan after he reveals some extremely selfish tendencies; he reveals that he himself is a daddy's boy, much in the vein of a long-forgotten fictional Broadway musical. We finally get to see this musical in the outro. It's a complete black and white parody of the golden age of musical theatre, perfectly capturing the spirit of Guys and Dolls and similar shows. Best of all, the parody features the talents of Broadway veterans Nic Rouleau (The Book of Mormon), Jefferson Mays (A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder), and John Cullum (Urinetown/On a Clear Day You Can See Forever). It's practically a love letter to hackneyed early 20th century theatre and it's my single favorite joke from any TV episode I watched this year.
I'd definitely recommend The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt to any interested viewer. While the show hasn't quite developed the sense of heart of some of the all-time great TV comedies, it certainly has the humor to back up its intriguing premise. I can't wait to see how the show continues to develop the characters and the relationships in future seasons. If the writing stays this sharp, we might have a true classic on our hands.
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| The best still from any episode on this list. |
I'd definitely recommend The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt to any interested viewer. While the show hasn't quite developed the sense of heart of some of the all-time great TV comedies, it certainly has the humor to back up its intriguing premise. I can't wait to see how the show continues to develop the characters and the relationships in future seasons. If the writing stays this sharp, we might have a true classic on our hands.
Number 6
"Paradise" - Trigun
That spoiler warning I presented in the introduction applies for all subsequent episodes on this list except for entries 5 and 3. Heck, the picture used to introduce this segment makes it pretty clear that a major character dies in this episode, so you should really skip this one if you haven't seen Trigun yet... or, you could be like me and have this death spoiled for you and enjoy the episode nonetheless.
Trigun is the best shonen anime I've ever seen. Granted, I haven't seen that many; my attempting to watch so many anime series over the course of this year has mostly been my attempt to catch up to the cultural grade curve. Yet shonen anime have nearly always presented themselves as either immature (Dragon Ball Z), melodramatic (Code Geass), or outright rancid (Death Note). Trigun defies all of these labels in the best way. It's got its moments of comedy and over-the-top histrionics, but the characters themselves are extremely adult. Vash the Stampede is one of the best protagonists in any young adult television series, a character haunted by his apocalyptic past but not defined by it. His enemies are truly monstrous, from his species-ist and über-utilitarian brother, Knives, to Knives's even more lethal and genocidal second-in-command, Legato Bluesummers. Yet Vash's most dangerous enemy ends up being his best friend: a preacher-gunslinger named Nicholas D. Wolfwood. Though the two save each others' lives on many an occasion, we eventually find out Wolfwood is an unwilling member of the Gung-Ho Guns dedicated to killing Vash and his friends. "Paradise" finally pits the two friends against each other. And the outcome is heartbreaking.
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| Yeah. The Biblical symbolism is pretty overt in this show. |
"Paradise" is full of exciting gunfights against a number of memorable opponents, not least of which is the brief fight between Vash and Wolfwood, but the real battle is one of ideology. Trigun is a very Christian show: the series might as well be an Aesop's fable for "turn the other cheek." Vash's main goal throughout the show is to defeat his enemies without killing them, trying to have them renounce their wicked ways on their own terms. Nonetheless, either innocents, turned sinners, or both end up dying anyways, as killers like Legato are all too willing to pull the trigger when Vash won't. Thus, Vash constantly fears whether or not he ends up destroying more lives than he saves. Wolfwood, on the other hand, is strictly utilitarian. He will do whatever it takes to save the most lives as possible. He follows this code even if it means killing Vash, whose body is a ticking hydrogen bomb, or killing children indoctrinated into following Knives's and Legato's genocidal manifesto. Wolfwood only joins the Gung-Ho Guns so to protect an orphanage of children from being killed by the other members. Vash stands in his way, criticizing Wolfwood for his point of view. It is better to try and save everyone without killing rather than sacrifice the some for the needs of the many. In the true climax of the episode, Vash offers Wolfwood a chance to permanently trade roles: should Wolfwood kill Vash, he must swear to never take another life, no matter the cost. Jesus Christ offers John the Baptist a chance to take up his cross.
While the philosophy of the episode is fascinating, it doesn't get in the way of traditional character development. The conclusion of Vash and Wolfwood's battle has as much to do with the 12 episodes of preceding character development as it does the characters' personal philosophies. As Wolfwood makes his choice, he's not just reflecting upon the purpose of his life; he's considering his friendship with Vash, the various things the two have done for each other, Vash's companion, Milly, whom he has come to love, his tutelage under Chapel, the most lethal gunman of the Gung-Ho Guns - all of these factors spiral into a few frames, but their impact is clear. We reflect upon exactly why we like both Vash and Wolfwood as characters. They're not merely physical embodiments of abstract principles; they're very real people we've come to care about via their banter, battles, and brotherhood. The choice has tremendous weight, on both a philosophical and a personal level.
Yet the episode's tragic denouement is a reflection upon what happens when choice is denied. As one could probably tell from the thumbnail, Wolfwood dies at the end of this episode, sacrificing his life to save his friends. However, he only dies because Legato, gifted with the ability to telekinetically control others' bodies, forces an unwilling Chapel to pull the trigger. As Wolfwood's lifeblood pours out, he questions exactly what choices he made in the past. If one was ignorant of the good choice, was one really guilty of performing the evil option? Were the choices he made in the past too damning for his sacrifice to count? Is dying itself a matter of fate or a matter of will? The lack of resolution haunts Wolfwood, as he declares "I did not want to die this way!" right before succumbing to his injuries. The cut to Milly crying after Wolfwood dies is the most punishing edit on the entire list.
"Paradise" presents an interesting examination of Christian values versus Benthamian utilitarianism through a gunfight between two friends. It completes one of the most important character arcs of Trigun. It's spectacularly animated, thrillingly paced, and genuinely affecting. It's the saddest episode on this list, but it's the kind of sadness that any television fan enjoys.
Number 5
"Threat Level Midnight" - The Office (US)
Guess who came late to The Office party? Back when I was in high school, The Office was the show all of my friends watched, quoted, and breathed. However, I didn't watch much television at all during high school, so most of the references and characters went completely over my head. For a few months, I didn't even know where the quote "that's what she said" came from. Now, having watched the show all the way through, I find its influence staggering. So much of the humor my educational cohort uses on social media is inspired directly from The Office. Indeed, our very sense of comedic timing seems to be derived from this show and no other, from the pauses to the delivery. While I can't say I love the show, as it wasn't as funny as many older comedy shows I've seen, I completely understand why it became the quintessential network television comedy of my generation. Thus, I've chosen the episode at which I laughed the hardest: "Threat Level Midnight."
Some might criticize this choice, as it isn't really an episode of The Office; it doesn't even follow the plot of the main series. It's mostly the airing of Michael Scott's home movie, "Threat Level Midnight," at an office party. The film in question is a film that's equal parts Michael Bay and Ed Wood: preposterously over-the-top in its action sequences yet so incompetent in its filming that it ends up completely lovable. Within the story itself, the secret agent, Michael Scarn, must stop the evil Goldenface from blowing up the NHL All-Star game. Meanwhile, the actual characters in the office must hold back their laughter lest Michael stop them from watching the movie so to protect his pride. Thus, there's a nice bit of tension between the fictional audience and the real audience: while we are laughing hysterically at all the bad jokes, they must try to watch the film as if it were serious.
"Threat Level Midnight" has two factors putting it above any other episode of The Office. The first, obviously, is the humor. I laughed more at "Threat Level Midnight" than any other episode. Most of the popular episodes of The Office focus more on the character interactions and dynamics than the jokes; however, speaking personally, I always found the jokes far more compelling than the relationships. While I liked the Jim-Pam friendship-relationship-marriage, it wasn't the reason I kept watching. Usually, each episode has at least one really funny joke, a bunch of less funny jokes, and a good amount of relationship drama. Are these inherently bad? No. However, I'd rather have an episode that keeps me laughing; on that end, "Threat Level Midnight" more than succeeds. Everything - from the stinted dialogue, to the preposterously bad special effects, to the bizarro plotting - is so bad it's good. For any fan of Mystery Science Theatre 3000, this is a must watch.
But the more important factor, oddly enough, is the episode's continuity and sense of detail. "Threat Level Midnight" was shot at the same time as the rest of the Office's seventh season, but the producers of the show make it appear as if the movie was filmed as the show's narrative was progressing. We see characters who only appeared in a few seasons, like Rashida Jones's Karen from Season 3, in multiple silly cameos. Not only that, but the cameos also span the entire length of the show, drawing upon every previous season. More crucially, every bit of costume and make-up design reflects the production of the movie in the continuity of the show. Jan's cameo was clearly shot in Season 4, when the character was in a relationship with Michael. Jim and Pam's scenes were shot in Season 2, when the pair's relationship was still on edge. All the bells and whistles fit, making "Threat Level Midnight" as much an ode to The Office's metahistory as it is an ode to Ed Wood movies.
"Threat Level Midnight" is a fun ride from beginning to finish. It made me laugh more than any other episode of television I saw in 2015. I'll leave you all with a request to "do the Scarn."
Some might criticize this choice, as it isn't really an episode of The Office; it doesn't even follow the plot of the main series. It's mostly the airing of Michael Scott's home movie, "Threat Level Midnight," at an office party. The film in question is a film that's equal parts Michael Bay and Ed Wood: preposterously over-the-top in its action sequences yet so incompetent in its filming that it ends up completely lovable. Within the story itself, the secret agent, Michael Scarn, must stop the evil Goldenface from blowing up the NHL All-Star game. Meanwhile, the actual characters in the office must hold back their laughter lest Michael stop them from watching the movie so to protect his pride. Thus, there's a nice bit of tension between the fictional audience and the real audience: while we are laughing hysterically at all the bad jokes, they must try to watch the film as if it were serious.
"Threat Level Midnight" has two factors putting it above any other episode of The Office. The first, obviously, is the humor. I laughed more at "Threat Level Midnight" than any other episode. Most of the popular episodes of The Office focus more on the character interactions and dynamics than the jokes; however, speaking personally, I always found the jokes far more compelling than the relationships. While I liked the Jim-Pam friendship-relationship-marriage, it wasn't the reason I kept watching. Usually, each episode has at least one really funny joke, a bunch of less funny jokes, and a good amount of relationship drama. Are these inherently bad? No. However, I'd rather have an episode that keeps me laughing; on that end, "Threat Level Midnight" more than succeeds. Everything - from the stinted dialogue, to the preposterously bad special effects, to the bizarro plotting - is so bad it's good. For any fan of Mystery Science Theatre 3000, this is a must watch.
But the more important factor, oddly enough, is the episode's continuity and sense of detail. "Threat Level Midnight" was shot at the same time as the rest of the Office's seventh season, but the producers of the show make it appear as if the movie was filmed as the show's narrative was progressing. We see characters who only appeared in a few seasons, like Rashida Jones's Karen from Season 3, in multiple silly cameos. Not only that, but the cameos also span the entire length of the show, drawing upon every previous season. More crucially, every bit of costume and make-up design reflects the production of the movie in the continuity of the show. Jan's cameo was clearly shot in Season 4, when the character was in a relationship with Michael. Jim and Pam's scenes were shot in Season 2, when the pair's relationship was still on edge. All the bells and whistles fit, making "Threat Level Midnight" as much an ode to The Office's metahistory as it is an ode to Ed Wood movies.
"Threat Level Midnight" is a fun ride from beginning to finish. It made me laugh more than any other episode of television I saw in 2015. I'll leave you all with a request to "do the Scarn."
Number 4
"Can You Face Your True Feelings" - Puella Magi Madoka Magica
Puella Magi Madoka Magica might be Japanese, but it's really Greek. To be unnecessarily more specific, it's a Greek Sophoclean tragedy, for hamartia, also known as "the fatal flaw," is the show's central mechanic. In PMMM, every character gets the deal of a lifetime: make one wish - with any scope whatsoever - and spend the rest of one's life fighting monsters as a "magical girl." Nearly every character is eager to accept the wish... except those who know the real outcome. As it turns out, one's wish is one's downfall. "Can You Face Your True Feelings" is the first time we see this happen, and the result is heartbreaking.
Sayaka Miki is my favorite character in PMMM, as her personality and character are the most complete. Madoka is little more than an avatar; Mami is a rather standard mentor figure who dies early on; Kyoto is a generic renegade; Homura is a walking, albeit sympathetic, plot device. Sakaya, however, is completely vibrant. She's a tomboy who wears her heterosexuality on her sleeve. She's caring, considerate, and compassionate. She's energetic, vibrant, absolutely joyful. She's thoughtful, cultured, and principled. Of all the characters, she's the only one that acts like a real teenage girl, a completely three-dimensional character rife with personal demons and emotional inconsistencies. We sympathize with her the most. Thus, when she makes a wish to heal a crippled teenage violinist and becomes a "magical girl," we're rooting for her. Sure, one of the other characters previously died on the show, but, certainly, Sayaka will be able to endure. Right?
Sayaka Miki is my favorite character in PMMM, as her personality and character are the most complete. Madoka is little more than an avatar; Mami is a rather standard mentor figure who dies early on; Kyoto is a generic renegade; Homura is a walking, albeit sympathetic, plot device. Sakaya, however, is completely vibrant. She's a tomboy who wears her heterosexuality on her sleeve. She's caring, considerate, and compassionate. She's energetic, vibrant, absolutely joyful. She's thoughtful, cultured, and principled. Of all the characters, she's the only one that acts like a real teenage girl, a completely three-dimensional character rife with personal demons and emotional inconsistencies. We sympathize with her the most. Thus, when she makes a wish to heal a crippled teenage violinist and becomes a "magical girl," we're rooting for her. Sure, one of the other characters previously died on the show, but, certainly, Sayaka will be able to endure. Right?
Wrong.
As the beginning of "Can You Face Your True Feelings" reveals, the real cost of becoming a "magical girl" is losing one's soul. PMMM's equivalent of Mephistopheles, Kyuubey, transfers the girl's soul into a gem so to give the body enhanced endurance. The body is technically dead, little more than a husk controlled by pure will. That's all that's left. The person, in essence, is a zombie with feelings, able to impart emotion to those aware of the pact but appearing as distant and lonely to everyone else. The Sayaka we've came to love died the moment she said "I wish." The loss of the soul in PMMM, commonly interpreted as an allusion to Goëthe's Faust, is, in a ways, an inversion of Faust. While Faust's pact is completed so long as he experiences one moment of perfect happiness, Sayaka's pact forever keeps that moment of happiness away. This level of complexity keeps PMMM interesting beyond its allusions to other media.
But could Sayaka's sacrifice be worth it? The episode gives us some hope by revealing the fate of Sayaka's personal rival, Kyoko. After revealing how her wish ruined her life, Kyoko implores Sayaka to never use her magical powers for the good of others and act like her: using her abilities to steal food, slay monsters, and enjoy youth. Yet Sayaka refuses to listen, vowing to use her magical powers for the benefit of others, regardless of the cost to her. For a moment, she becomes the Sayaka we knew from earlier episodes, in spite of the fact that her soul is now separated from her body. If anyone can break the cycle of wishes going wrong and ruining lives, she can. In fact, in the middle of the episode, she delivers a moving speech about the responsibility of using one's powers for the general good, leading up to one of the most emotionally uplifting moments of the show.
Note how I said "middle of the episode." There's a full ten minutes left. Within that time, we learn Sayaka is not so noble as she appears...
Sayaka's wish comes not from a desire to make the world a better place by bringing back a prodigious musician, nor from a place of merely trying to heal one person's injuries. No: Sayaka has Florence Nightingaled over her friend for too long and has fallen in love with him. But, like Hans Christian Andersen's Little Mermaid, after saving her beloved's life, her sacrifice damns her. When one of Sayaka's friends reveals that she, too, has affection for Sayaka's love interest, Sayaka realizes she must cede her opportunity of dating him to her. After all, who could love someone whose soul has been ripped from her body? Who could love a literal zombie? Worse than that, Sayaka realizes that her choice hasn't just taken away this relationship from her, but any future relationship. She can never get a job. She can never start a family. She can never feel the warmth of a kiss from anyone. All these thoughts come pouring out at once; even if not stated explicitly, we can see the full range of emotions racing through Sayaka's mind. The result is downright heartbreaking.
Subsequent episodes of the show reveal the full extent of Sayaka's downfall and the anguished plights of her other friends, but none hit harder than "Can You Face Your True Feelings." While most other episodes translate their deepest meaning only through symbolism, "Can You Face Your True Feelings" allows its very dialogue to question the deeper implications of hamartia and the Faustian pact. The art is spectacular and expressive, featuring great character models, backgrounds, and animation. The animators even incorporate a number of unique styles to differentiate between characters' perspectives. The episode is perfectly structured to build up the viewer emotionally before completely shattering our hopes, much like the pact does to Sayaka. By the end, the viewer is an emotional wreck. Yet, as sad as the viewer feels, Sayaka has gotten beyond her pain, as she embraces her soulless side and mindlessly hacks into the body of a witch she has killed. Over and over again.
 |
| Those with weaker constitutions, have your tissues on standby. |
Subsequent episodes of the show reveal the full extent of Sayaka's downfall and the anguished plights of her other friends, but none hit harder than "Can You Face Your True Feelings." While most other episodes translate their deepest meaning only through symbolism, "Can You Face Your True Feelings" allows its very dialogue to question the deeper implications of hamartia and the Faustian pact. The art is spectacular and expressive, featuring great character models, backgrounds, and animation. The animators even incorporate a number of unique styles to differentiate between characters' perspectives. The episode is perfectly structured to build up the viewer emotionally before completely shattering our hopes, much like the pact does to Sayaka. By the end, the viewer is an emotional wreck. Yet, as sad as the viewer feels, Sayaka has gotten beyond her pain, as she embraces her soulless side and mindlessly hacks into the body of a witch she has killed. Over and over again.
Number 3
"The Monsters Are Due On Maple Street" - The Twilight Zone
Ah, there are few things The Twilight Zone didn't do better than anything else. After all, it's the show that inspired the title to my blog. Yet, I have not seen every episode, or, indeed, a majority of the episodes. So, why do I praise it so much? A few years back, I saw a few sporadic episodes from the later seasons and loved all of them. But, when I did some research, I didn't even watch the most acclaimed episodes of the show. Thus, I've determined myself to watch every episode. Since then, I've used The Twilight Zone as a bit of a palate cleanser. When I watch a bad movie or a string of bad TV episodes from other shows, I turn on an episode of The Twilight Zone and take in all the brilliant writing, excellent acting, clever set design, and glorious atmosphere. In 2015, my favorite episode that I saw was "The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street" - one of the more popular episodes, to be sure, but undoubtedly one of the best.
When a suburban town suddenly loses power to all electronics, even battery-powered machines like cars, the townsfolk become considerably agitated. Suspicion begins to foment when one of the local boys, Tommy, describes a story he read in which aliens wiped out all power in a town and then used a sleeper agent to destroy the townsfolk. Most laugh Tommy off, but several coincidences make it appear as if some people might have more power than the rest. Soon, the citizens are at each others' throats, all accusing each other of being a sleeper agent intent on killing them. It's Cold War, Red Scare paranoia at its finest, with a twist ending perfectly suited to The Twilight Zone.
Most critics are content to merely describe "The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street" as a simple metaphor for McCarthyist America, but I think the parallel is more complex than the average review presents. All of the characters in "The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street" have their idiosyncrasies and quirks; these elements don't merely advance the plot but, rather, advance the metaphors of the episode. Pete Van Horn, the greatest victim of the episode, is a hard-working man merely trying to get his car to work. Being busy trying to find out what's going on, he stays away from the paranoid behavior of all the other characters. Ultimately, he's the only character to explicitly die in the episode, suggesting that the innocents are the real victims of Red Scare paranoia. Charlie Farnsworth, the most unlikeable character in the episode, is gluttonous and consumptive, nearly always chowing down on something while brashly accusing someone of being the sleeper agent. He fills in the capitalist stereotype quite nicely, proving the most cowardly and emotionally empty of the townsfolk. Les Goodman is an insomniac with few social graces; he's ultimately the first one accused, echoing the fates of foreigners in the US who haven't quite picked up all the social mores of the nation. They become the first scapegoats before the nation's people ultimately turn on each other. Helping all of this is the excellent acting: there's not one bad performance in the entire ensemble.
Yet the metaphor wouldn't work if not for The Twilight Zone's always immaculate pacing and editing. The tension of this episode mounts with each shot and musical cue. Every slight change to the status quo, from Les Goodman's car starting without warning to Van Horn ominously walking down the street, hammer swinging from his belt-loop, builds up momentum. Wide-angle lenses distort the human face as to make the townsfolk increasingly alien as the episode progresses. The final montage of chaos in the town is one of the most effective uses of montage in television history, perfectly accenting the horrors of small-town riots. The Twilight Zone never skimps out on detail, and "The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street" shows off the best of the show's film-level craft.
When a suburban town suddenly loses power to all electronics, even battery-powered machines like cars, the townsfolk become considerably agitated. Suspicion begins to foment when one of the local boys, Tommy, describes a story he read in which aliens wiped out all power in a town and then used a sleeper agent to destroy the townsfolk. Most laugh Tommy off, but several coincidences make it appear as if some people might have more power than the rest. Soon, the citizens are at each others' throats, all accusing each other of being a sleeper agent intent on killing them. It's Cold War, Red Scare paranoia at its finest, with a twist ending perfectly suited to The Twilight Zone.
Most critics are content to merely describe "The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street" as a simple metaphor for McCarthyist America, but I think the parallel is more complex than the average review presents. All of the characters in "The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street" have their idiosyncrasies and quirks; these elements don't merely advance the plot but, rather, advance the metaphors of the episode. Pete Van Horn, the greatest victim of the episode, is a hard-working man merely trying to get his car to work. Being busy trying to find out what's going on, he stays away from the paranoid behavior of all the other characters. Ultimately, he's the only character to explicitly die in the episode, suggesting that the innocents are the real victims of Red Scare paranoia. Charlie Farnsworth, the most unlikeable character in the episode, is gluttonous and consumptive, nearly always chowing down on something while brashly accusing someone of being the sleeper agent. He fills in the capitalist stereotype quite nicely, proving the most cowardly and emotionally empty of the townsfolk. Les Goodman is an insomniac with few social graces; he's ultimately the first one accused, echoing the fates of foreigners in the US who haven't quite picked up all the social mores of the nation. They become the first scapegoats before the nation's people ultimately turn on each other. Helping all of this is the excellent acting: there's not one bad performance in the entire ensemble.
Yet the metaphor wouldn't work if not for The Twilight Zone's always immaculate pacing and editing. The tension of this episode mounts with each shot and musical cue. Every slight change to the status quo, from Les Goodman's car starting without warning to Van Horn ominously walking down the street, hammer swinging from his belt-loop, builds up momentum. Wide-angle lenses distort the human face as to make the townsfolk increasingly alien as the episode progresses. The final montage of chaos in the town is one of the most effective uses of montage in television history, perfectly accenting the horrors of small-town riots. The Twilight Zone never skimps out on detail, and "The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street" shows off the best of the show's film-level craft.
Needless to say, "The Monsters Are Due on Maple Street" is a superb episode of one of the greatest television series ever made. The episode is an indisputable classic able to maintain a tremendous reputation and critical standing. It's got craft, character, and clever writing. I certainly had a blast watching it, and any viewer will certainly see the same. What are you waiting for? See it now if you haven't already.
Number 2
"Face Off" - Breaking Bad
It wasn't the second coming of Shakespeare, but Breaking Bad was pretty damn good.
Last year, I expressed some skepticism at the massive critical acclaim of Breaking Bad. I thought it was just another post-Sopranos television drama about an anti-hero caught up in a relentlessly violent world. The hero becomes the villain? How many times have I seen that story again? Hm... Citizen Kane, The Godfather, Star Wars, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Doctor Who... and that's not even getting into the number of times comic books and classic literature have done this. While the show certainly had excellent production values and some strong episodes - "And the Bag's in the River" being especially memorable - it certainly didn't seem like a masterpiece from the get go. The second season had some pretty spectacular mis-steps, with more than a few plot points stretching my suspension of disbelief to unnatural limits. A show dedicated to hyper-realism has two planes crashing into each other during the season 2 finale - really? I can expect that kind of insanity on House of Cards, but not on this show. Yet, by the middle of Season 3, I can't deny that I was completely hooked. Breaking Bad might not be particularly original, but the sheer quality of its craft can win over even the most skeptical viewer. Any of the episodes from Seasons 3-5 could have made this episode, but I had to go with the most satisfying season finale I've seen in a long time - "Face Off."
By the end of Season 4, high school teacher turned meth cook Walter White has gotten into a rut with his employer, the nigh-invincible drug kingpin, Gustavo Fring. By this point, White has killed multiple members of Fring's gang so to protect himself; the only reason Fring has not killed him already is White's usefulness in producing methamphetamine. By "Face Off," Fring has found his substitute and is ready to kill Walter White and his entire family at the slightest provocation. In the preceding episode, White's partner, Jesse, nearly kills Walter when he suspects him to have poisoned a child so to keep Jesse's loyalty; Walter convinces him that Gus is the one responsible. After all, we have seen Fring murder children on the show previously. "Face Off" presents Jesse and Walter White at their direst hour, itching to kill Fring but being uncertain of the means. Finally, an opportunity reveals itself: Fring regularly visits a nursing home to taunt a former drug enforcer who ruined his life. Walter White thus prepares his most dangerous move ever, and the conclusion is truly explosive.
Needless to say, "Face Off" has plenty of excellent plot and character development. Particularly, this is a spectacular end to Gus's character arc. Gus has been an omnipresent threat to Walter White for two entire seasons. He's a truly Machiavellian villain, not only seizing immense power throughout the show's run but also maintaining it with clarifying acts of violence and an appropriate balance of carrots and sticks. Yet Gus's takedown comes from the tiniest weakness, the sole instance in which a bit of his humanity and hubris shows. The only way Gus could have saved himself would be to abandon his soul entirely and to wholly subsume himself into the corrupt life he has led. In a way, the end to his story in "Face Off" is the perfect way for him to depart the show.
Walter has his great character moments, too. While the first half of the episode shows his peaks of depression and fear, the final moments of the episode are a somber reflection on just how far he has fallen. When he declares that he has "won" at the very end of the episode, the entire season becomes hollow. The full-out war between Gus and White becomes little more than a game, in which everyone else has become a pawn on the chess board. When the final shot reveals Walter White's true trump card, the audience feels sick for rooting for him for an entire season. More than any other episode in the series, "Face Off" shows Walter White at his most dangerous and foul; thus, it's one of the most engaging of the entire show.
But, aside from the character depth, "Face Off" is an intense thrill ride. Vince Gilligan certainly knows how to create suspense in the Hitchcockian sense. "Face Off" continues Breaking Bad's run of impeccable camera work, using all the right angles to highlight Bryan Cranston's excellent acting and emphasize central set details. There's a true craft to making something as unbelievable and occasionally ludicrous as Breaking Bad look believable; the show clearly mastered that craft come "Face Off." It's no wonder superficial fans of the show think they can behave in the fashion of Walter White or Jesse when the show provides so much cursory detail. The editing is excellent, the sound production is practically surreal, and the pacing is pitch-perfect. There's not a milliliter of extra chemical in this episode.
Really, my praising "Face Off" is actually redundant. You've all heard Breaking Bad is an excellent show. Hell, the majority of people reading probably watched it before I did. If you're late to the game, get started. It's worth it, especially for episodes like this. But, while Breaking Bad is undeniably great... it's not quite a masterpiece. That title can only go to one episode of television I saw this year.
Walter has his great character moments, too. While the first half of the episode shows his peaks of depression and fear, the final moments of the episode are a somber reflection on just how far he has fallen. When he declares that he has "won" at the very end of the episode, the entire season becomes hollow. The full-out war between Gus and White becomes little more than a game, in which everyone else has become a pawn on the chess board. When the final shot reveals Walter White's true trump card, the audience feels sick for rooting for him for an entire season. More than any other episode in the series, "Face Off" shows Walter White at his most dangerous and foul; thus, it's one of the most engaging of the entire show.
But, aside from the character depth, "Face Off" is an intense thrill ride. Vince Gilligan certainly knows how to create suspense in the Hitchcockian sense. "Face Off" continues Breaking Bad's run of impeccable camera work, using all the right angles to highlight Bryan Cranston's excellent acting and emphasize central set details. There's a true craft to making something as unbelievable and occasionally ludicrous as Breaking Bad look believable; the show clearly mastered that craft come "Face Off." It's no wonder superficial fans of the show think they can behave in the fashion of Walter White or Jesse when the show provides so much cursory detail. The editing is excellent, the sound production is practically surreal, and the pacing is pitch-perfect. There's not a milliliter of extra chemical in this episode.
Really, my praising "Face Off" is actually redundant. You've all heard Breaking Bad is an excellent show. Hell, the majority of people reading probably watched it before I did. If you're late to the game, get started. It's worth it, especially for episodes like this. But, while Breaking Bad is undeniably great... it's not quite a masterpiece. That title can only go to one episode of television I saw this year.
Number One
"Azure, Paler than the Sky" - Revolutionary Girl Utena
Some television episodes force the viewer to question the structure of the show. Some television episodes force the viewer to challenge his/her own perception of a character. But few television episodes force a viewer to question his/her own outlook on, well... life itself. But that's exactly what "Azure, Paler than the Sky" did to me. Aside from "Walkabout" from Lost, no other episode of television has ever affected me so viscerally as "Azure, Paler Than the Sky." It might not be as exemplary in its craft as "Lonely Souls," "Passion," or "Face Off," but it engaged me in a way no other television episode has ever been able to replicate.
Revolutionary Girl Utena centers around a group of students using a girl named Anthy as their personal trophy, or, rather, a means to "revolutionize the world." One of their classmates, Utena, determined to be a noble prince, rightfully objects to their treatment of Anthy and tries to put a stop to their nonsense by dueling them. But, though Utena is able to rescue Anthy, the students keep coming to take her back, each gradually revealing the complex and often disturbing reasons why they want to "revolutionize the world." Of these antagonists, the best written is Juri, a closeted lesbian determined to disprove the existence of miracles after her heart was broken by her best friend and love interest. In her first character-centric episode, she seemed little more than a spiteful girl trying to ruin love for everyone simply because she couldn't find it. But, as the seasons progress, we learn just how fraught and complex Juri's love life is.
Though Juri is a lesbian - in fact, she's the only character in the entire show that's explicitly homosexual (implicit homosexuality is all over the place) - her sexual orientation by no means defines her. She's a relentless perfectionist, a far superior duelist to everyone else in the school, unfailingly loyal, determined yet cold: she is not one to be defined by stereotypes of homosexuals. However, Juri does have a sinister way of defining herself: her relationship, or, rather, her lack thereof, with her once best friend, a girl named Keiko. Keiko is, to put it bluntly, a complete and utter b****. I do not say this to imply that Keiko has any obligation to have a romantic relationship with Juri. Far from it. The problem is that Keiko intentionally and mercilessly taunts Juri: she dates multiple guys wholly for the purpose of spiting Juri, openly insults Juri on multiple occasions, and even uses Juri's life energy as a weapon in the Black Rose saga (it's complicated). Yet, in spite of Keiko's best efforts, Juri's feelings for her persist. Juri doesn't actively pursue Keiko, but she still takes Keiko's abuse, even when it's very clear that Keiko is harming her just to boost her own ego.
Prhaps Juri deserves the pain. After all, she did toy with someone else's entire life for months prior to Utena's arrival at the school. She did try to destroy the concept of miracles and love for everyone. But, unlike the other students trying to control Anthy, Juri stops trying to revolutionize the world after one defeat. She realizes that her intentions were wrong and does what she can to repent. Making matters worse, most of Keiko's cruelest actions happen after Juri's conversion. Thus, the audience is put into a difficult moral place: is this a just punishment for someone who once manipulated another's entire life? These plot points lie in the background for most of the other episodes of the third season, waiting for "Azure, Paler Than the Sky" to bring them to the center. At the core of it all lies a single question: why do we love someone when that love only hurts us?
In the preceding episode, we meet Ruka, the former fencing captain who has been absent from school due to an illness. He's a highly formidable duelist; after all, Juri, the current captain, was merely his replacement. Upon his return, Keiko, so to spite Juri further, starts dating Ruka; the power couple's popularity certainly doesn't bode well for Juri's emotional health. Ruka also decides to take Anthy for himself, but he loses his duel with Utena. Seeing that Ruka is a new character, we don't care too much about him other than his past with Juri. We see Juri feeling inferior to Ruka, from both her dialogue and her body language. His dating Keiko is but another injury. Thus, by the time Ruka loses, we want him to fail not only because he's trying to control Anthy but because he's also hurting Juri all the more. But he's a good deal more complex than we'd expect.
At the end of the episode, Ruka publicly breaks up with Keiko, socially ruining her. As it turns out, Ruka was manipulating Keiko the entire time, making her think he had fondness for her so that he might draw out the full extent of Juri's rage. Ruka has realized that Juri's skills now surpass his own, and he wants to get her back in the game. When the emotionally-addicted Juri comes to Keiko's defense, asking that Ruka date her again, Ruka blackmails Juri into fighting in the duels again. Juri, indignant, demands that they duel to settle the matter. She loses. Thus, in the last ten minutes of the episode, Juri once again battles Utena for control of Anthy's life. But, this time, Juri's not fighting for the sake of controlling someone else. She's not even fighting for herself. She's fighting for her loved one's happiness, even if it's fake. Thus, the battle has higher stakes than any other prior duel.
Yet the battle between Utena and Juri is passionless as compared to the duel against Ruka, the one that actually mattered. Why? Thus, I thought more deeply about the situation and came to a realization. Juri isn't fighting for Keiko's happiness, but Keiko's enslavement. Ruka clearly does not care for Keiko; any relationship they could have would be hollow. Plus, Keiko doesn't really care all that much for Ruka as a person. The only reason she cares about their breakup is the social fallout from being rejected by the most popular boy in the school. The relationship's only function is that of spiting and hurting Juri. Thus, the only reason Juri keeps fighting is to chain herself to her own pain. It's practically masochistic... That's when I realized that Juri wasn't actually fighting for Keiko. She's fighting to keep herself in a state of constant suffering, as if that's what "true love" demands.
But, just when I thought I'd figured it out, "Azure, Paler than the Sky" throws a huge wrench into the mix. In every other duel in the show, Utena wins by cutting off the rose on her opponent's chest. In this duel, Utena accidentally cuts off Juri's locket - a locket holding a picture of Keiko. Utena falls, giving Juri plenty of time to cut off her rose and control Anthy's life once again. We've come full circle, with an opponent with a motivation pure enough (in her own mind, at least) to rival Utena's. Yet, right as we think Utena is about to lose, Juri cuts off her own rose. And it starts to rain.
Some might say that losing the locket means that Juri gets over Keiko and decides to fend for herself. The message is not clear cut. What's definitely clear is that Juri finally begins to question why she loves Keiko rather than accepting her love for Keiko as a fact. Why should she fight on behalf of someone who has done nothing but hurt her? Why does she intentionally harm herself out of a misbegotten sense of self-suffering unrequited love? Going further, does Juri need to feel like she should be in love with someone so as not to feel alone? As the last few minutes of the episode elapse, yet more questions come forward. Can two people who are alone provide each other solace? Or, can they only cause each other pain? Is overcoming a misplaced love a hopeful process, or does is the scar permanent? Each of these questions peels off the episode as the petals of Juri's rose, washing away in the rain.
The last two scenes of "Azure, Paler Than the Sky" are some of my favorite in any visual medium I've ever seen, manipulating shadows and sunsets to create a sense of emotional ambiguity that's at once inspiring and haunting. We see Juri functioning as an emotionally stable human being once again. Meanwhile, Ruka and Keiko, two people who both tried to use Juri for their own ends, have ends to their character arcs that offer up a great deal of redemption for both. Yet, as with everything in Revolutionary Girl Utena, we can't take what we see at face value. The dialogue keeps all conclusions ambiguous. That's what makes this episode all the more rewarding. It doesn't have a clear answer, and every viewer will come up with a different conclusion. Needless to say, it's the perfect ending to a perfect episode.
The National Review's contrarian/hack critic, Armond White, once claimed television could never be visual art, but only visual entertainment. "Azure, Paler Than the Sky" is proof his assertion has little to no merit. All of these episodes have artistic merit, but "Azure, Paler Than the Sky" is art for its own sake. It's got great animation, impeccable voice acting, marvelous scriptwriting, fantastic artwork, breathtaking pacing, and complex themes. This is the type of anime episode I was looking for when I started looking into more Japanese shows last year. It's the kind of episode I can wholly endorse, with no qualms about sexism, saccharinity, or stupidity. I absolutely encourage everyone reading this to track down Revolutionary Girl Utena and watch it: it's the kind of show that can seriously change the way one thinks about television. This episode certainly changed everything for me.
Revolutionary Girl Utena centers around a group of students using a girl named Anthy as their personal trophy, or, rather, a means to "revolutionize the world." One of their classmates, Utena, determined to be a noble prince, rightfully objects to their treatment of Anthy and tries to put a stop to their nonsense by dueling them. But, though Utena is able to rescue Anthy, the students keep coming to take her back, each gradually revealing the complex and often disturbing reasons why they want to "revolutionize the world." Of these antagonists, the best written is Juri, a closeted lesbian determined to disprove the existence of miracles after her heart was broken by her best friend and love interest. In her first character-centric episode, she seemed little more than a spiteful girl trying to ruin love for everyone simply because she couldn't find it. But, as the seasons progress, we learn just how fraught and complex Juri's love life is.
Though Juri is a lesbian - in fact, she's the only character in the entire show that's explicitly homosexual (implicit homosexuality is all over the place) - her sexual orientation by no means defines her. She's a relentless perfectionist, a far superior duelist to everyone else in the school, unfailingly loyal, determined yet cold: she is not one to be defined by stereotypes of homosexuals. However, Juri does have a sinister way of defining herself: her relationship, or, rather, her lack thereof, with her once best friend, a girl named Keiko. Keiko is, to put it bluntly, a complete and utter b****. I do not say this to imply that Keiko has any obligation to have a romantic relationship with Juri. Far from it. The problem is that Keiko intentionally and mercilessly taunts Juri: she dates multiple guys wholly for the purpose of spiting Juri, openly insults Juri on multiple occasions, and even uses Juri's life energy as a weapon in the Black Rose saga (it's complicated). Yet, in spite of Keiko's best efforts, Juri's feelings for her persist. Juri doesn't actively pursue Keiko, but she still takes Keiko's abuse, even when it's very clear that Keiko is harming her just to boost her own ego.
Prhaps Juri deserves the pain. After all, she did toy with someone else's entire life for months prior to Utena's arrival at the school. She did try to destroy the concept of miracles and love for everyone. But, unlike the other students trying to control Anthy, Juri stops trying to revolutionize the world after one defeat. She realizes that her intentions were wrong and does what she can to repent. Making matters worse, most of Keiko's cruelest actions happen after Juri's conversion. Thus, the audience is put into a difficult moral place: is this a just punishment for someone who once manipulated another's entire life? These plot points lie in the background for most of the other episodes of the third season, waiting for "Azure, Paler Than the Sky" to bring them to the center. At the core of it all lies a single question: why do we love someone when that love only hurts us?
In the preceding episode, we meet Ruka, the former fencing captain who has been absent from school due to an illness. He's a highly formidable duelist; after all, Juri, the current captain, was merely his replacement. Upon his return, Keiko, so to spite Juri further, starts dating Ruka; the power couple's popularity certainly doesn't bode well for Juri's emotional health. Ruka also decides to take Anthy for himself, but he loses his duel with Utena. Seeing that Ruka is a new character, we don't care too much about him other than his past with Juri. We see Juri feeling inferior to Ruka, from both her dialogue and her body language. His dating Keiko is but another injury. Thus, by the time Ruka loses, we want him to fail not only because he's trying to control Anthy but because he's also hurting Juri all the more. But he's a good deal more complex than we'd expect.
At the end of the episode, Ruka publicly breaks up with Keiko, socially ruining her. As it turns out, Ruka was manipulating Keiko the entire time, making her think he had fondness for her so that he might draw out the full extent of Juri's rage. Ruka has realized that Juri's skills now surpass his own, and he wants to get her back in the game. When the emotionally-addicted Juri comes to Keiko's defense, asking that Ruka date her again, Ruka blackmails Juri into fighting in the duels again. Juri, indignant, demands that they duel to settle the matter. She loses. Thus, in the last ten minutes of the episode, Juri once again battles Utena for control of Anthy's life. But, this time, Juri's not fighting for the sake of controlling someone else. She's not even fighting for herself. She's fighting for her loved one's happiness, even if it's fake. Thus, the battle has higher stakes than any other prior duel.
Yet the battle between Utena and Juri is passionless as compared to the duel against Ruka, the one that actually mattered. Why? Thus, I thought more deeply about the situation and came to a realization. Juri isn't fighting for Keiko's happiness, but Keiko's enslavement. Ruka clearly does not care for Keiko; any relationship they could have would be hollow. Plus, Keiko doesn't really care all that much for Ruka as a person. The only reason she cares about their breakup is the social fallout from being rejected by the most popular boy in the school. The relationship's only function is that of spiting and hurting Juri. Thus, the only reason Juri keeps fighting is to chain herself to her own pain. It's practically masochistic... That's when I realized that Juri wasn't actually fighting for Keiko. She's fighting to keep herself in a state of constant suffering, as if that's what "true love" demands.
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| My favorite shot in anything, film or television, that I saw in 2015. |
But, just when I thought I'd figured it out, "Azure, Paler than the Sky" throws a huge wrench into the mix. In every other duel in the show, Utena wins by cutting off the rose on her opponent's chest. In this duel, Utena accidentally cuts off Juri's locket - a locket holding a picture of Keiko. Utena falls, giving Juri plenty of time to cut off her rose and control Anthy's life once again. We've come full circle, with an opponent with a motivation pure enough (in her own mind, at least) to rival Utena's. Yet, right as we think Utena is about to lose, Juri cuts off her own rose. And it starts to rain.
Some might say that losing the locket means that Juri gets over Keiko and decides to fend for herself. The message is not clear cut. What's definitely clear is that Juri finally begins to question why she loves Keiko rather than accepting her love for Keiko as a fact. Why should she fight on behalf of someone who has done nothing but hurt her? Why does she intentionally harm herself out of a misbegotten sense of self-suffering unrequited love? Going further, does Juri need to feel like she should be in love with someone so as not to feel alone? As the last few minutes of the episode elapse, yet more questions come forward. Can two people who are alone provide each other solace? Or, can they only cause each other pain? Is overcoming a misplaced love a hopeful process, or does is the scar permanent? Each of these questions peels off the episode as the petals of Juri's rose, washing away in the rain.
The last two scenes of "Azure, Paler Than the Sky" are some of my favorite in any visual medium I've ever seen, manipulating shadows and sunsets to create a sense of emotional ambiguity that's at once inspiring and haunting. We see Juri functioning as an emotionally stable human being once again. Meanwhile, Ruka and Keiko, two people who both tried to use Juri for their own ends, have ends to their character arcs that offer up a great deal of redemption for both. Yet, as with everything in Revolutionary Girl Utena, we can't take what we see at face value. The dialogue keeps all conclusions ambiguous. That's what makes this episode all the more rewarding. It doesn't have a clear answer, and every viewer will come up with a different conclusion. Needless to say, it's the perfect ending to a perfect episode.
The National Review's contrarian/hack critic, Armond White, once claimed television could never be visual art, but only visual entertainment. "Azure, Paler Than the Sky" is proof his assertion has little to no merit. All of these episodes have artistic merit, but "Azure, Paler Than the Sky" is art for its own sake. It's got great animation, impeccable voice acting, marvelous scriptwriting, fantastic artwork, breathtaking pacing, and complex themes. This is the type of anime episode I was looking for when I started looking into more Japanese shows last year. It's the kind of episode I can wholly endorse, with no qualms about sexism, saccharinity, or stupidity. I absolutely encourage everyone reading this to track down Revolutionary Girl Utena and watch it: it's the kind of show that can seriously change the way one thinks about television. This episode certainly changed everything for me.
