Joanna Robinson and Rob Mahoney reunite to break down the two-episode premiere of FX’s new series Shogun. They open by unpacking the premise of the historical epic, its early adaptation choices, and its ties to the James Clavell novel of the same name. Next, they discuss the introduction of the show’s trio of main characters (John Blackthorne, Yoshii Toranaga, and Toda Mariko), their respective positions in the story so far, and the ensuing power struggle among the Council of Regents. Later, they close by highlighting their favorite production aspects, including the intricate set design and the immaculate costuming.
Hosts: Joanna Robinson and Rob Mahoney Producer: Kai Grady
The universe of Frank Herbert’s Dune is famously dense, littered with a mishmash of terminology about as complex and varied as the languages J.R.R. Tolkien made up for The Lord of the Rings. Dune takes place thousands of years into humanity’s future, within a vast interstellar empire built upon the foundations of human history, dating back millennia. The result is a lot of weird religious stuff, a lot of non-English words, and a lot of groovy psychedelic drugs.
In preparation for the release of Dune: Part Two, the second installment of Denis Villeneuve’s epic adaptation, we’ve compiled a reference guide like the chunky appendices in the back of every Dune novel. Come for a refresher on who’s who in the endless conflict between House Atreides and House Harkonnen, stay for a lengthy description of what “Kwisatz Haderach” actually means.
This dictionary may have minor spoilers, we suppose? This book is decades old.
Arrakis: The world in which most of the events in Dune take place; a desert spice planet. Arrakis is the third planet orbiting the star Canopus (a real star), possessing two moons, one of which has a giant crater in the shape of a human hand. Arrakis is habitable to a degree, supporting some human life as well as a number of local fauna, but it’s mostly made of endless plains of sand, giving it the colloquial nickname “Dune.” Arrakis is also the only place where you can mine spice, a hallucinogenic drug on which the entire interstellar economy is based. (These books were written in the 1960s.)
Atreides: One of 10 major Houses in the galactic-wide Corrino Empire that make up a sort of feudal U.N. assembly called the Landsraad, the governing body in charge of the imperial economy. Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet) is the young male heir of this House, meant to succeed his father, Duke Leto Atreides (Oscar Isaac). House Atreides is simultaneously popular in the galaxy and hated in the galaxy because of that very popularity. (In the Dune universe, being at all well-liked makes you a target, and everyone is constantly trying to figure out sneaky ways to kill each other.) At the beginning of Dune, the Atreides are presented as the good, normal family fighting against the weird freaks. At the end of the Dune series, the last Atreides heir is himself a weird freak. Really makes you think!
Baliset: A nine-stringed zither-like instrument that is Dune’s version of a guitar. House Atreides’s war master, Gurney Halleck (Josh Brolin), is a fiend for the baliset, and word on the street is he plays a song or two in Dune: Part Two.
Bene Gesserit: The witchy order of highly trained, semi-psychic priestesses that not-so-secretly run basically everything in the Dune universe. They do this by using a combination of superhuman abilities, government infiltration, and religious manipulation. Duke Leto Atreides’s concubine, Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson), is a Bene Gesserit priestess who ignited the ire of her sisterhood by changing the sex of her unborn child from daughter to son (they can do that) because she loved Leto so much. That son is born Paul, an outcome that essentially wrecks the centuries-long breeding program the Bene Gesserit had devised to create the all-powerful Kwisatz Haderach (see below).
The dealings of the Bene Gesserit are overseen by an extra-powerful Reverend Mother (Charlotte Rampling) who has access to the “genetic memories” of every Reverend Mother who came before her. An offshoot of the Bene Gesserit called the Missionaria Protectiva has spent the last few hundred years subtly preparing all of the planets in the empire for the coming of the Kwisatz Haderach by sowing mythology and prophecies into their respective religions.
Butlerian Jihad: The fanatical war waged against any and all “thinking machines” hundreds of years before Dune begins, and the reason why there are no computers in the Dune universe. Way before the events of Dune, the fledgling human space empire was taken over by man-made artificial intelligence, and the centuries of struggle against the machines led to a near-religious hatred and fear of computers in all forms. No one is even allowed to build computers anymore, according to one of the central tenets of the Orange Catholic Bible: “Thou shalt not make a machine in the likeness of a human mind.”
The Butlerian Jihad is in essence a plot device for Frank Herbert’s vision of a far-future society where everything is analog, and where the algorithmic and navigational computations that would normally be done by machines are instead done by drugged-up humans with ultra-enhanced cognitive abilities.
Crysknife: A Fremen weapon made of the tooth of a sandworm. Once unsheathed, the incredibly sharp and usually poisoned blade can’t be put away until it has drawn blood. Knives are the weapons of choice on Arrakis, since the use of guns or body shields would create vibrations that attract sandworms.
“Fear is the mind-killer”: The most iconic part of the Bene Gesserit’s Litany Against Fear, a mantra about controlling your body physically and mentally against outside stresses.
Fremen: The native humans of Arrakis, a desert-dwelling society that wages guerilla war against whichever noble House is mining spice from the planet’s surface. The Fremen are experts at navigating a dry, desolate world, and as such, water has become sacred to them—so sacred that when a person dies, they hook them up to a machine that sucks the moisture and blood out of their body and recycles it. Fremen live in underground communes called “sietches” and have kept their true numbers secret from the empire. They’ve also been waiting for the coming of the Kwisatz Haderach, and are prepared to follow a proven leader to liberate their planet with fanatic devotion.
Gom jabbar: A deadly poisoned needle often used by the Bene Gesserit to test a person’s humanity—i.e., whether they were controlled by their instincts or by their mental awareness. “Gom jabbar” is also very fun to say out loud.
Harkonnen: The other major Noble House in the Dune universe, and House Atreides’s mortal enemy. The Harkonnens, stationed on their homeworld Giedi Prime, are a brutal family of greedy bureaucrats and warmongers, overseen by their leader Baron Vladimir Harkonnen (Stellan Skarsgard), an enormous and terrifying villain who moves around using a hover suit. The Dune series begins with the Harkonnens’s reign over Arrakis being handed over to House Atreides, and the Harkonnens hate that.
Josh Brolin’s poetry: Josh Brolin wrote a bunch of poems about his Dune co-stars for a coffee table book about the making of the two movies. It’s called Dune: Exposures. Here is a very melancholy treatise on Timothée Chalamet’s youth:
Kanly: The practice by which two noble Houses officially and publicly feud with each other, with the end result being either a truce or the obliteration of one bloodline. House Atreides and House Harkonnen have been engaged in kanly since the Butlerian Jihad ended. Drama!
Kwisatz Haderach: “The Shortening of the Way,” a term derived from Hebrew (almost every non-English word in the Dune universe is derived from another language) referring to the prophesied messiah that would set the empire on the “Golden Path” towards a new enlightenment. Paul Atreides is proven to be the Kwisatz Haderach, possessing powerful precognitive abilities that allow him to see into the future, as well as his ability to use the powers of the Bene Gesserit, something men can’t do without going insane. The Fremen have their own words for this, inducing “Lisan al Gaib” from Arabic, meaning a foreign prophet, and “Mahdi,” also from Arabic, meaning “the one who will lead us to paradise.”
“May thy knife chip and shatter”: A threat used in Fremen pre-duel shit-talk. It essentially means, “I hope your weapon breaks,” but its deeper essence refers to the Fremen practice of water preservation: If your opponent’s knife breaks, the duel will finish quickly, and less water (blood) will be wasted.
Mentat: A highly trained human computer whose mental abilities have been honed by discipline and psychotropic drugs. The mentats are used by the noble Houses as advisors and calculators, and they’re used by the Spacing Guild (see below) to navigate their interstellar ships.
Movie theater: The place you’ll want to go to see Dune: Part Two. None of this “waiting for streaming” nonsense.
Muad’dib: The Fremen nickname for Paul Atreides, which is also their word for the hopping mouse found on the surface of the desert, as well as one of the moons that looks like it has a mouse-shaped mark on its visible side.
Padishah Emperor: The ruler of the human empire and master of the Known Universe. The Padishah Emperor at the time of the Dune series is Shaddam IV of House Corrino (Christopher Walken), who feels threatened by the popularity of the Atreides, using their beef with the Harkonnens to his advantage. The Padishah Emperor is protected by his own army of loyal Sardaukar, terrifying bloodthirsty warriors who have their own war-centric religion.
Popcorn bucket: The vessel through which you will eat your popcorn if you see Dune: Part Two at an AMC theater. Fashioned to resemble the mouth of the iconic sandworm, the bucket requires you to stick your hand into a many-toothed opening—not unlike Paul Atreides sticking his hand into the Reverend Mother’s box of pain—which apparently feels about as good as it looks.
saw david lynch’s dune at amc so ofc i got the worm bucket. here’s my review of the product: terrible. the teeth feel awful. if you grab a fistful of popcorn it’s a challenge to lift out all the kernels w/out them getting scraped back down into the worm. 10/10 i love this bucket pic.twitter.com/Lhqpc5eSjC
Sandworm: The famed local animals of the planet Arrakis. The giant sandworms are hundreds of feet long and patrol the desert, breaching the surface and eating anything tasty like a giant killer whale. Only the Fremen know that the sandworms aren’t simply an ecological nuisance—the worms create the spice that every House wants to exploit Arrakis to get. The creatures were inspired by the dragons of European mythology that jealously guard hordes of treasure. Fremen often ride the worms using “maker sticks” that fasten onto their bodies and keep them from diving under the sand.
Shai-Hulud: The Fremen term for sandworm, also derived from Arabic. To the Fremen, the sandworms are the physical embodiment of the god who created the universe, and so they are sacred. The Fremen also call them “makers,” referring to the sandworm’s ability to make spice. Bless the Maker and His water:
Spacing Guild: The organization of mutated humans and their ships that facilitate space travel. The Spacing Guild is secretly the society that controls everything else in the empire—without the Guild, no people or goods could get from planet to planet, the trade organization called CHOAM would collapse, and planetbound fiefdoms would fall into isolation. The ships are flown through space by Guild navigators, humans that have been mutated beyond recognition to use spice for faster-than-light travel. Like the mentats, the Guild navigators are the result of the anti-machine crusade.
Spice: The most important substance in the universe. Spice, also called “melange,” is mined on Arrakis and taken as a drug to prolong the user’s life and give them higher physical and cognitive functions. For some, like the Bene Gesserit and the Guild navigators, spice gives the user precognitive abilities one can use to travel space or see into the future. Spice is highly addictive, and its users develop startling “blue-within-blue” eyes after prolonged use.
Stillsuit: The bodysuits used by the Fremen to walk around the desert of Arrakis. Stillsuits are designed to cover all parts of the body except the head to preserve the most water possible, constantly recycling the wearer’s bodily fluids—yes, they pee in the suits and then drink the pee. In the first movie, we see the Atreides’s local guide, Dr. Liet Kynes, remark to Paul that he’s attached his stillsuit shoes “slip-fashion,” like a native would, despite never having set foot on Arrakis in his life.
Thumper: A device the Fremen use to summon a sandworm. Sandworms respond to any regular vibrations coming from the surface of the sand, like those given off by machinery or a person walking (that’s why you have to “walk without rhythm” on Dune), and a thumper makes a noise that can be heard by a sandworm miles away.
Voice: A special vocal timbre used by the Bene Gesserit to control the actions of another person, or to get someone to give information they otherwise would keep secret.
Water of life: The substance used in the “spice agony” that turns Bene Gesserit priestesses into Reverend Mothers. Taking the water of life involves drinking a liquid created by drowning a larval sandworm, and it’s lethal to anyone without the total mental and physical control of the most highly trained Bene Gesserit. In a Fremen sietch, when their Sayyadina (their own type of Reverend Mother) is close to death, another future priestess undergoes the spice agony to gain the Sayyadina’s genetic memories before they’re lost.
Emma Stefansky is a writer based in New York City who covers television, film, and books. Her work can be found in Vanity Fair, GQ, IndieWire, and Thrillist. Follow her on X @stefabsky.
Yip yip! Time to dive into the hotly anticipated first season of Netflix’s Avatar the Last Airbender (09:57). The Midnight Boys discuss what the newest live-action adaptation of this beloved cartoon gets right and mostly wrong, what could make some good adaptations, and the struggles of bad adaptations.
Hosts: Charles Holmes, Van Lathan, Jomi Adeniran, and Steve Ahlman Senior Producer: Steve Ahlman Additional Production Support: Arjuna Ramgopal Social: Jomi Adeniran
Rachel Lindsay and Jodi Walker begin this week’s Morally Corrupt by dissecting the idiotic comments made by Sandoval in his interview with The New York Times magazine (1:10). Then they launch into a recap of Vanderpump Rules Season 11, Episode 4 (12:30) and discuss the Season 13 finale of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills (25:18), before Rachel is joined by Callie Curry to break down The Real Housewives of Miami Season 6 finale (41:26) and the Season 8 premiere of Summer House (54:25).
Sean and Amanda are joined by Ringer contributor and beloved “Mean Pod Guy” Adam Nayman to discuss Drive-Away Dolls, the latest solo Coen movie—this time directed by Ethan and written along with his wife, Tricia Cooke (1:00). After that, it’s the first iteration of The Big Picture Book Club. Sean and Amanda dig into The Path to Paradise: A Francis Ford Coppola Story, what it reveals about the highs and lows of Coppola’s career, what it tells us outside of the already well-known mythology of Coppola, and—with Megalopolis likely coming out this year—the ways it contributes to Coppola’s presence in the film zeitgeist in 2024 (24:00).
Hosts: Sean Fennessey and Amanda Dobbins Guest: Adam Nayman Senior Producer: Bobby Wagner
Van Lathan and Rachel Lindsay discuss the Alabama Supreme Court ruling that’s resulted in the halting of IVF treatments (5:18), before reacting to Tiffany Haddish’s trip to Israel (20:41). Then they break down a viral TikTok account called Biracial Lounge(38:16) before welcoming the founder of the X for Boys Life Preparatory School, King Randall I, to discuss a recent post on safety during police interactions (47:33).
Hosts: Van Lathan and Rachel Lindsay Guest: King Randall I Producers: Donnie Beacham Jr. and Ashleigh Smith
Take a look down at your phone. SOS mode? Yeah, you’re not alone. Cellular providers across the country are apparently experiencing outages. And we’re not talking just one company. Verizon, AT&T, T-Mobile, and US Cellular are all reporting outages.
Is this it? Is the apocalypse upon us? You can’t keep a good dog down for long as folks were quick to find a computer and voice their concerns on the internet. Heaven forbid we go a day without our cell phones permanently drawing attention from our eye balls.
I’m sure with each passing hour, specific providers will post updates and things will slowly get back to normal. But what if for one day, we all went outside and touched some gras- WAIT. I HAVE FULL SERVICE!
No streaming service can pull off a perfect batting average with its original programming, but when it comes to Netflix’s live-action anime adaptations, the company has long been hitting below the Mendoza Line. Storied animes likeCowboy Bebop and Death Note arrived on the streamer with plenty of fanfare, only to be eviscerated by the very communities to which Netflix was trying to cater. Every live-action anime adaptation faces a unique challenge: the fantastical, seemingly limitless possibilities of animation are something even the best special effects can fail to capture. But Netflix has kept trying despite those high-profile early failures because the shows tend to come with a large built-in audience. If an anime adaptation can appease the fandom and become a hit with the rest of its subscriber base, Netflix could be sitting on a gold mine—perhaps even the next Stranger Things.
To the streamer’s credit, Netflix finally made some progress on the live-action anime front last year. The first season of the One Piece adaptation, which premiered in August, was beloved by critics and fans alike for embodying the kinetic energy of the manga. (The show has since been renewed for a second season. The only problem: One Piece creator Eiichiro Oda still hasn’t finished writing the series, which has been active since 1997. In theory, Netflix could roll out a dozen seasons of One Piece and barely scratch the surface of the source material.) Then, in December, the streamer dropped a live-action adaptation of Yu Yu Hakusho. While Yu Yu Hakusho didn’t carry the same hype as One Piece, it also scored favorable reviews—in fact, the biggest complaint about the show was that its first season was far too short.
After so many whiffs on the live-action anime front, Netflix was suddenly two for two on major titles, which appeared to bode well heading into arguably its buzziest adaptation to date. Whether the Nickelodeon animated series Avatar: The Last Airbender qualifies as anime is something even its own creators debate, but at the very least, it’s heavily influenced by the genre. (Dante Basco, who voiced Prince Zuko, considers it “American anime,” which is a solid compromise.) In any case, Avatar is a franchise that’s treated with the kind of reverence that’s rare among American animation: a story that gracefully touches on mature themes such as genocide, war, and imperialism for a younger audience. (The animation itself is also stunning, echoing the esteemed works of Hayao Miyazaki, another major inspiration for the show.) In the nearly two decades since Avatar first aired on Nickelodeon, it’s been widely regarded as one of the best animated series ever made.
With all the adoration surrounding Avatar, however, an adaptation of the series is a terrifying prospect. (Even the sequel series made by the original creators, The Legend of Korra, divided the fandom—and it was very good!) The last time the world got a live-action Avatar adaptation, M. Night Shyamalan’s The Last Airbender, it was universally panned. How bad was it? Well, the film earned a whopping 5 percent on Rotten Tomatoes—when something as notoriously reviled as Dragonball: Evolution has better reviews, you know something went horribly wrong. Surely, Netflix’s adaptation (also called Avatar: The Last Airbender) couldn’t fumble the bag as badly as Shyamalan, right?
Fans certainly had reason to worry when the original Avatar creators, Bryan Konietzko and Michael Dante DiMartino, left the project over creative differences. The promotional rollout for Avatar didn’t exactly inspire confidence, either, with showrunner Albert Kim explaining that the adaptation would bypass many of the story’s side adventures and that character traits deemed “iffy” were removed entirely. But despite all signs pointing to the live-action series being a misfire, that’s not what transpired. The new Avatar is just … fine.
For the uninitiated, Avatar takes place in a fantastical world composed of four nations related to one of the classical elements: Water, Fire, Earth, and Air. Gifted individuals from each nation are capable of “bending”: essentially, manipulating their native element in an elevated form of martial arts. But one being, the Avatar, is able to master all four elements and maintain peace among the nations. Similar to the Dalai Lama, the Avatar reincarnates and passes to a different nation with each life cycle. Before the start of the series, the Fire Nation eradicates all of the Air Nomads, knowing that the Avatar lives among them: the first step in an ambitious plan to conquer the world. A young Airbender named Aang (Gordon Cormier in the Netflix series), the Avatar in training, isn’t with the Air Nomads during the fateful attack; instead, he’s caught in a terrible storm, and his Avatar State (a heightened ability that’s akin to going Super Saiyan) freezes him in a block of ice for a century as a defense mechanism.
In the time that the Avatar disappeared, the Earth and Water nations have isolated themselves from the rest of the world in a handful of cities: the last strongholds standing in the way of the Fire Nation. The story begins with two siblings from the Southern Water Tribe, Waterbender Katara (Kiawentiio) and her sardonic older brother, Sokka (Ian Ousley), inadvertently stumbling upon Aang as he awakens from his century-long slumber. Aang’s reemergence quickly captures the attention of Zuko (Dallas Liu), the Fire Nation’s exiled prince who has spent years searching for the Avatar—his only hope of being welcomed home by his father, Fire Lord Ozai (Daniel Dae Kim), the show’s Big Bad. With threats lurking around every corner, Aang and his new pals must travel the world so that he can master the other three elements and stop the Fire Nation before it’s too late.
Netflix’s Avatar broadly covers the first season of the animated series, during which Aang focuses on mastering Waterbending while traveling to the Northern Water Tribe to help defend it from a Fire Nation assault. Along the way, Aang must contend with what’s happened to the world in the century he’s been gone—the extermination of his people, the loss of hope among the other nations—and what sorts of sacrifices are required to become a fully realized Avatar. As far as adapting the story to live action, it’s a pretty seamless transition, aided in part by a young cast that not only looks the part, but also largely embodies their respective characters. Ousley, in particular, absolutely nails Sokka—someone whose constant wisecracks hide a well of insecurities that he’s not the fearsome warrior he makes himself out to be.
Really, the show’s greatest strength is its ability to lean on such gripping source material. While some story lines from the original series are meshed together for the sake of brevity, all of the rich character dynamics remain intact: the relationship between the emotionally wounded Zuko and the kindly Uncle Iroh (Paul Sun-Hyung Lee) will once again tug at the heartstrings; Sokka, somehow, remains the franchise’s most eligible bachelor, spitting game at warriors and princesses alike. Perhaps the show’s finest improvement on its animated predecessor is a secondary antagonist from the Fire Nation, Commander Zhao, whose guile and arrogance are given new dimensions by Industry’s Ken Leung. (Performance-wise, Leung and Lee are at the top of their game, with few weak links in the sprawling cast.)
The biggest problem for Avatar is a familiar one for many live-action adaptations: By streamlining the narrative into eight episodes, the show loses sight of the idiosyncrasies that made the animated series so beloved in the first place. Some of the best moments in the original Avatar happened during Team Avatar’s side adventures, which weren’t just important from a character development standpoint, but also allowed the viewer to become engrossed in the world. This version of Avatar is like doing a speedrun in a video game, rather than savoring every little detail: you may get to the finish line faster, but the journey isn’t nearly as memorable. In fact, the characters bounce between major locations so quickly—the Earth Kingdom city of Omashu, Kyoshi Island, and so on—that the world can’t help but feel smaller in the process.
Of course, it wouldn’t have been possible for Avatar to adapt the entirety of the animated series without Netflix spending the equivalent of a small nation’s GDP. What we do get visually, however, is a bit of a mixed bag. Appa the flying bison and Momo the winged lemur have been impressively brought to life with CGI, but some of the bending sequences more closely resemble PS2 cutscenes. (The same sentiment applies to the show’s many locations: Omashu and the Fire Nation’s throne room are clear winners; the Water Tribe communities look glaringly artificial.) Thankfully, the show does excel in some of the finer details: Each nation is inspired by Asian and Indigenous culture and folklore, which is reflected in everything from the set design and artwork to the food. (Not gonna lie: I wanted to devour every tastefully presented meal.) It’s the kind of authenticity that Shyamalan’s The Last Airbender notoriously lacked, so seeing that cultural representation realized on-screen is commendable in and of itself.
All told, a solid if unspectacular Avatar adaptation is probably the least interesting outcome. After months—if not years—of anticipation, Netflix has delivered neither a masterpiece nor a colossal failure; instead, the show gets a passing grade, at least from this fan of the animated series. I’m much more curious to see how Avatar is received by people unfamiliar with the franchise, and whether this unique universe of benders, animal hybrids, mythical spirits, and ill-fated cabbages draws them in. If that does happen, then Netflix could have another massive hit on its hands, and, hopefully, a chance to improve on some of the show’s early shortcomings in future seasons. Trying to live up to the legacy of the original series was always going to be a losing battle, but while Netflix’s Avatar isn’t off to a flawless start, I still believe Aang can save the world.
Tyson and Riley are back with the last offseason episode to prepare us for the upcoming season of Survivor! They are joined by Survivor journalist Gordon Holmes to analyze the new cast of Season 46. They give their first impressions of the cast, highlight the cast members that stood out, and give their predictions for the season.
Hosts: Tyson Apostol and Riley McAtee Guest: Gordon Holmes Producer: Ashleigh Smith Theme Song: Devon Renaldo
Sure, sure. The AcademyAwards aren’t everything. It’d be silly to rank a movie’s worth based on whether or not it won any Oscars. But for too long now, the horror genre as a whole seems to have been altogether lumped and snubbed come award season.
We’re all adults here, it’s easy to say that there are incredible movies (horror or otherwise) that have never won an award. But hell, I’m gonna defend this hill or die trying. Here are the greatest horrorflicks that never got the recognition they deserved.
Matt is joined by Bloomberg’s Lucas Shaw to discuss Peacock’s strong start to 2024 and the prospect of a possible joint venture or “commercial partnership” with Paramount+, as reported by The Wall Street Journal late last week. They run through the logistics of a merger, the curious timing of the Journal’s story, the critical role live sports rights play, Warren Buffett’s sale of a third of his stake in Paramount Global, and who is most to blame for Paramount’s struggles. Matt finishes the show with a prediction about John Oliver’s HBO show, Last Week Tonight.
For a 20 percent discount on Matt’s Hollywood insider newsletter, What I’m Hearing …, click here.
You may have heard that Jennifer Lopez made her own autobiographical version of Cloud Atlas where she journeys through time and space to heal her heart through the redemptive power of self-love and flower petals. You may have heard that her journey includes a steampunk Flashdance homage and a Ben Affleck jump scare and that Jane Fonda leads a sort of Greek-chorus-meets–Inside Out think tank of celestial beings. And those rumors (all true) may have stirred up some questions in your soul like: why, how, who, and huh? But perhaps most importantly: What on Jane Fonda’s green earth did we do to deserve such a thing?
Now, the tone with which you ask that last question might depend on how you typically respond to the artistic stylings of one Jennifer Lynn Lopez. Do you see her as a visionary? A Hollywood septuple threat? An artist constantly reinventing herself? A star who’s outkicked her talent coverage but continues to iterate on a public persona that’s never been particularly convincing as a contemporary auteur?
Nah, not that last one—this movie rules. It is singularly weird, and should be treated as such!
This Is Me … Now: A Love Story (huge win for punctuation) makes not a lick of narrative sense, and yet it is a masterpiece—as long as the barometer for what constitutes a masterpiece is “being extremely Jennifer Lopez.” One thing I’ve always respected about J.Lo is that she is going to sell you J.Lo, whether you meant to walk into the J.Lo shop or not. Was anyone expecting a sequel to her 2002 album This Is Me … Then 22 years later? Certainly not. (Except maybe J.Lo—why else would she name her album that in the first place?) Was anyone demanding that J.Lo make a visual album? I don’t think so. (Except, again, J.Lo, who is never not saying, “I guess I’ll just have to DO IT myself,” about an artistic endeavor that is entirely and wholly about … herself.) But then Jennifer Lopez reunited with Ben Affleck, the man she dedicated This Is Me … Then to in 2002, called things off with three days before their planned wedding, then got back together with and ultimately married 20 years later. Such a reunion deserved something more than just a sequel album.
Screenshots via Prime Video
So, from the heart/soul/dreams of Jennifer Lopez comes a 55-minute-long narrative musical that Amazon paid to distribute, once again dedicated to the epic love she and Ben Affleck share. In one sense, This Is Me … Now: A Love Story is a visual album for This Is Me … Now, which also dropped on February 16. In every other sense, however, J.Lo has made a 55-minute movie about a Leo learning to love herself while singing and dancing her way through two decades of romantic misadventures. It is the most Jennifer Lopez thing Jennifer Lopez has ever done in a career that has always been fully devoted to performing at max Jennifer Lopez. It is the ultimate continuation of J.Lo telling what she sees as her hero’s journey: a mission to be understood by a society that has been inaccurately consuming her artistry and personal life for nearly three decades …
Casting yourself as the underdog with a self-funded budget of $20 million? Iconic behavior. There is no other celebrity this insistent upon reminding us that she is an artist. To be fair, though, I’ve never seen art quite like This Is Me … Now: A Love Story. It is as if Michael Scott was given an eight-figure budget to make Threat Level Midnight, or if The Room was created by a legion of astrology-obsessed musical theater nerds instead of Tommy Wiseau. Like those films, This Is Me … Now is pure camp most especially because of its creator’s sincere belief in its artistic significance. J.Lo is the FUBU of pop stars—everything she makes is for Jennifer Lopez, by Jennifer Lopez—and this celestial steampunk odysseyis no different.
I believe that Jennifer Lopez loves these 55 minutes of musical cinema she’s created, and that’s enough for me. But for anyone who’s not Jennifer Lopez, you may have some questions about the facts and figures of This Is Me … Now: A Love Story. The movie will not tell you outright why Jennifer Lopez’s robot heart is powered by flower petals, or why her character exclusively resides in terrifying futuristic homes made entirely of glass—so I’m here today to answer some common questions that may arise regarding everyone’s favorite new movie featuring both ellipses and a colon in the title.
Is this a musical? A movie? A musical movie? A movie musical?
Stunningly, This Is Me … Now: A Love Story is yet another entry into this year’s canon of films that don’t fully spell out that they’re musicals in their trailers. Sure, the This Is Me … Now trailer was scored by Jennifer Lopez’s “This Is Me … Now” song. But I kind of just assumed the movie would be that: scored. But no, Jennifer Lopez is breaking into song and dance at all times in this movie. That makes it a musical.
From the trailer, I’d also assumed this would be a feature-length film. But, again, no! It is a 55-minute movie that according to J.Lo should not be classified as a music video, yet it also isn’t nearly long enough to be feature length. So what is it? The trailer tells us it’s a “new INTIMATE, CINEMATIC, MUSICAL experience,” and you know what? I agree: Jennifer Lopez’s first self-written, self-funded, and self-starring creation certainly is a “new … experience.”
Does J.Lo play herself in this musical movie?
Let’s be absolutely clear: This Is Me … Now is autofiction. In the opening scene, we see Jennifer Lopez on the back of a motorcycle with a man who looks a lot like Ben Affleck (played, in silhouette, by Ben Affleck), which then crashes while traversing a lake, signifying the greatest heartbreak of her life. In the narrative of the film, J.Lo is reunited with that man once more after 10 years, three divorces, and a journey through time and song to find love with the most important person in her life: herself. These are not the precise details of Jennifer Lopez and Ben Affleck’s sprawling love story, but they’re close …
And yet, Jennifer Lopez’s character isn’t called Jennifer Lopez. She’s called “the Artist.” We only actually learn that from the movie’s closed captioning (“[The Artist laughs]”), as the movie works very hard to never call the character by a name—y’know, like Fleabag, if Fleabag was always doing intricate chest choreography instead of speaking directly to camera.
There are certainly indicators that the Artist is supposed to be world famous like J.Lo, but we learn absolutely nothing beyond the fact that she is permanently unlucky in love. “I know what they say about me, about hopeless romantics, that we’re weak,” the Artist says in one of her many monologues to her therapist. “But I’m not weak. It takes strength to keep believing in something after you keep falling flat on your face.” Some might also say it takes strength to produce nine studio albums and over 30 feature films and co-headline the Super Bowl … but that’s a story for a different for-J.Lo-by-J.Lo production. (It’s called Halftime, and she already made it, obviously.)
This movie is about love and love only. Ultimately, the Artist’s monologue ends with the line, “I believe in soulmates and signs and hummingbirds.” Because her name is the Artist, not the Writer.
OK then, so is Ben Affleck in this movie?
Ben Affleck … is in this movie. The entire point of the movie, after all, is that every mistake J.Lo has ever made in her life—every liquor-swilling boyfriend who’s ever broken any one of her metaphorical and also quite literal (in this movie) glass houses—has been leading back to Ben Affleck. So, obviously … in this movie … Affleck plays a TV commentator named Rex Stone, wearing a Donald Trump wig and a Mrs. Doubtfire prosthetic nose, and also occasionally proselytizing the news in the background of scenes. This character makes exactly no sense, but in one scene he does manage to deliver the film’s entire thesis statement when he says, “In 2012, the no. 1 question people asked was, ‘What is love?’”
Sorry, what people? Asked who? Why is 2012 the reference point here? The answer to all of those questions is: It doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters in the world is love. And if you’re wondering what the “top questions” people ask now are, according to Rex Stone, they’re: “Where my refund? Why women kill? Will I get laid? Is Europe a country? How I screenshot a Mac? Am I preg-erant? And why my poop green?”
It’s the funniest sequence of the movie, and I would bet my On the J.Lo newsletter subscription that Ben Affleck wrote that little diddy himself.
So how does this movie communicate a complicated timeline that spans 20 years, three divorces, and multiple time jump dream sequences?
In a word: bangs. Anytime we cut to J.Lo and she has bangs, we are in the present. Anytime she doesn’t have bangs, she is either in the past, in a dream, or in some version of the present (recent past) that she’s relaying to her therapist.
J.Lo’s bangs are ascritical to the plot of This Is Me … Now as the robot heart that’s powering the Artist’s metaphysical world (more on that in a minute). But because J.Lo is eternally ageless, at times we also have to rely on a basset hound puppy aging into an elder basset hound to understand that J.Lo has spent the last decade or so growing, healing, and preparing her heart to love Ben Affleck again.
What inspired Jennifer Lopez to make this movie?
Other than Ben Affleck, I have several theories: moments that occurred throughout the film that made me think, “This line/scene/image has clearly been rattling around in Jennifer Lopez’s head for a decade, so she decided to create an entire $20 million passion project around it.” They are as follows:
When she says to one of her future ex-husbands (played by the famously blond adult male Derek Hough), “You feel like home to me … but I left home for a reason.” J.Lo loves this line, you can just tell.
The movie opens with a million AI-rendered images of Jennifer Lopez depicted within the Puerto Rican folktale of Alida and Taroo … and I just know that Jennifer Lopez got one look at herself as a Greek goddess or a space explorer in December 2022 and thought, “I HAVE to get this imagery to the people.”
J.Lo learned a lot about astrology at some point, it made her realize a bunch of stuff about herself (classic Leo), and she decided to spend $20 million relaying that information to the public.
J.Lo did inner child work with a therapist. Quite literally, there is a dream sequence in this movie in which J.Lo apologizes to her younger self on the dark and dirty streets of the Bronx, and once she does, the sun comes out, and both J.Los break into song. Of course, we know it’s a dream sequence because the Artist is relaying it to her therapist, Fat Joe.
Is Fat Joe a licensed therapist?
From what I can tell, no. But he does wear a full beige outfit with all the confidence and gravitas of your richest aunt, so he’s at least believable as a therapist. Also believable? That J.Lo would try to pry personal details out of her therapist in order to bond. (“You’re such a Taurus. What sign is your wife?”)
You said we’d get back to this: Why is Jennifer Lopez’s heart powered by flower petals?
Right. After the Artist crashes on the motorcycle, signaling the greatest heartbreak of her life, we’re taken inside the Heart Factory, where an oiled-up and tank-topped Jennifer Lopez is yelling, “It’s gonna break!” I don’t know how to convince you that I’m not lying to you about the events of a J.Lo musical, but I promise I am not. There is a giant metal heart pulsing above the factory workers which has apparently reached “critical petal levels.”
That’s right. Jennifer Lopez’s heart is powered by flower petals, and the only way to save it is for Jennifer Lopez to get in a jumpsuit, walk a gangplank out to the heart, journey inside its destructing valves, and start feeding rose petals to the dwindling fire that powers it while simultaneously breaking into the song “Hearts and Flowers” (get it???) with the rest of the workers down on the factory/dance floor.
It’s not until a little later in the movie that we learn this was a dream sequence (no bangs—I should have caught it), and much later in the movie, we see the petal levels stabilize enough to repair the broken heart. So yeah, Jennifer Lopez is basically just Being John Malkovich–ing inside her own heart for like 20 years (well … earth years, robot-heart years may be measured differently), trying to save herself so she can marry Ben Affleck.
You’re telling me Jennifer Lopez’s Ben Affleck movie stages an elaborate reference to Armageddon?
That’s exactly what I’m telling you.
Are there any other dream sequences in this movie?
I’m pretty sure that any scene that doesn’t happen directly in the presence of Fat Joe himself is a dream sequence, or at the very least a recounting of a dream or memory by the Artist to her therapist, which, again, is Fat Joe. These include, but are not limited to: the aforementioned heart factory, a love addiction intervention, the shattering of a glass home via physical abuse, watching a healing round of The Way We Were on a custom monogrammed Gucci-esque couch, and, of course, a Singin’ in the Rain homage. So you might be wondering …
Is there a wedding montage in this movie?
Oh yeah, you betcha. And it’s amazing. The Artist married three men across 10 years, one song (“To Be Yours”), and several wedding dresses. The first wedding dress features two heart-shaped mesh cutouts that perfectly frame J.Lo’s crotch. Romance!
Perhaps more unexpected, however, is the couples therapy montage, wherein all three husbands sit in front of Fat Joe alongside the Artist (this feels like a psychiatric moral gray area, Fat Joe). Dialogue selections include: “I’m a piece of art in her collection,” and, “I feel like I’m just another thing in her house.”
What I wouldn’t give to be a Gucci-monogrammed sectional in J.Lo’s house! But ultimately, the Artist grows tired of all of these uninspiring men, leaves them behind in their own futuristic houses, and starts fucking around with a bunch of dummies. Her friends are forced to give her an intervention, and Fat Joe recommends joining Love Addicts Anonymous …
Is Love Addicts Anonymous a real thing?
Technically it’s called “Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous,” but yes,it is indeed a real 12-step program (though J.Lo makes sure to clarify that she is not a sex addict in her autofictional musical movie). At J.Lo’sLove Addicts Anonymous meetings, you’re led by veteran character actor Paul Raci, and you express yourself exclusively through modern dance.
A particularly rich piece of dialogue comes when Paul Raci tells the Artist, after her impromptu performance of “Broken Like Me,” that “I know you feel like no one gets you.” To which Jennifer Lopez—a woman who is in the middle of making an hour-long music video about herself—responds: “I don’t even get me.”
But that was J.Lo … then. And this is J.Lo … now. And this J.Lo … has read her birth chart.
Do you need to have a casual understanding of astrology to understand this movie?
It would certainly help! Even though the movie starts with a Puerto Rican folk tale that continues to proliferate through the movie in the form of a hummingbird (bet you didn’t see a J.Lo neck tattoo coming!), we’re really expected to come in with our own knowledge of the zodiac.
Bare minimum, knowing at least a little about all 12 astrological signs will really help color in the Zodiacal Council when it shows up …
What is a Zodiacal Council?
Oh, well it’s a collection of humanoid representations of the 12 star signs who watch over the Artist from the heavens as she fumbles her love life. They are exposition machines who say things like, “She’s smart, she’s beautiful, and she seems so strong—why does she always need to be with somebody?!” But most importantly, they are played by the likes of Keke Palmer (Scorpio), Trevor Noah (Libra), Post Malone (Leo), Sofia Vergara (Cancer), Jenifer Lewis (Gemini), and Neil deGrasse Tyson (Taurus), and, as aforementioned, they are led by Jane Fonda the Sagittarius. (Congratulations to all Sagittariuses for this iconic Monster in Law representation—and apologies to Aquariuses and Capricorns, who are straight up not represented on the Cameo Council.)
If you’re otherwise not a huge Jennifer Lopez fan, the Zodiacal Council scenes are pretty much the main reason to watch This Is Me … Now. It feels like a Super Bowl commercial in that none of these people ever filmed in the same room together, the narrative structure remains extremely thin throughout, a new person pops up with each new scene (hey look, it’s Jay Shetty!), and Post Malone is there, always seeming like he’s on the verge of performatively eating a bag of Doritos.
So did Jennifer Lopez make an hour-long, $20 million music video about being a Leo?
According to everything I learned about astrology from This Is Me … Now: A Love Story—yeah, she did. Leos are confident and assertive. Leos are enthusiastic, creative, and more self-conscious than you think. Leos are, above all else, hopeless romantics (at least according to my favorite Leo, Jennifer Lopez). And not only is Jennifer Lopez a Leo … she reunited with another Leo at the end of this movie whom she will eventually fall back in love with, marry, write an album about, and create an hour-long, absolutely bonkers, beautiful, gorgeous, perfect musical movie to accompany that album about …
And in a few weeks, This Is Me … Now: A Love Story will be followed up with The Greatest Love Story Never Told, a documentary about the making of this musical movie.
To drop a documentary about the musical you created about the album you wrote about your love story that the world has been consuming for over two decades, and to then call it “The Greatest Love Story Never Told,” well, I’m just gonna say it: classic Leo. Never change, Jennifer Lopez. And if you do, please make a musical about it.
But did you cry during This Is Me … Now: A Love Story?
So kind of you to ask, and yes, of course I did. The Artist healed her own heart through the power of time and Flashdance. She learned to love herself first in order to truly love another. She went back in time and space and told her 8-year-old self that she’s sorry and she loves her. She found Ben Affleck again on a beach in front of a giant, unexplained sand statue straight out of Game of Thrones.
This week on Guilty Pleasures, Jodi and Juliet talk through their feelings about the whirlwind-like quality and the “genius and camp” of Jennifer Lopez’s new movie This Is Me … Now, based on her album of the same name, which tells the story of her journey to love through her own eyes.
Hosts: Juliet Litman and Jodi Walker Producer: Jade Whaley
Rachel, Callie, and Jodi join together to talk about this week’s Bravo news
On today’s Morally Corrupt, Rachel Lindsay kick off the show with Callie Curry and the Bravo news of the week (1:16), then jump into a recap of The Real Housewives of Miami Episode 16 (14:00). Then, Jodi Walker joins Rachel to discuss the third episode of Vanderpump Rules (30:22) and the penultimate episode of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills (52:45).
Host: Rachel Lindsay Guests: Callie Curry and Jodi Walker Producer: Devon Manze Additional Production: Ashleigh Smith Theme Song: Devon Renaldo
The running bit in True Detective: Night Country has been Liz Danvers repeatedly telling her protégé Pete Prior to ask the right questions if they’re going to solve the case. (“ASK ME QUESTIONS. QUESTION ME. ASK ME QUESTIONS. YOU WANTED TO KNOW. ASK ME THE FUCKING QUESTIONS. ASK THE QUESTIONS, PRIOR.”) Well, I’ll do my best with that. Here are eight crucial questions to ask ahead of the Night Country finale.
If Kate McKittrick and Silver Sky Mining are behind the killings, why are they so gruesome?
We are first introduced to Kate McKittrick as “mine bitch” in Episode 2, when Danvers asks McKittrick to thaw the corpsicle of naked Tsalal scientists stashed at the Ennis hockey rink (which is owned by McKittrick’s company, Silver Sky Mining). McKittrick doesn’t make many appearances beyond that until Episode 5, when she very conveniently spins the story that the root cause for the Tsalal scientists’ deaths was a “weather event.” She then tells Hank Prior to kill Ennis drifter Otis Heiss to keep him from leading Danvers and her partner, Evangeline Navarro, to Ennis’s subterranean ice caves—dubbed “night country” by the locals. It’s a bit of an awkwardly sudden reveal, but it’s still a reveal, which forces us to ask: If McKittrick is the kingpin behind all of this, why is she stabbing people—or at least ordering these stabbings—32-plus times, cutting out tongues, and stripping scientists naked in the freezing cold? Does she have an even darker side that will be revealed to us in a snappy conversation between her and Captain Connelly in the cold open of the finale?
(It just can’t be Kate McKittrick who killed all these people. We’ll get to more on this later.)
Will Pete Prior, the epitome of innocence, be able to rally after killing his own dad (and then cleaning up the body)?
It’s over, Petey. The story about you blowing a hockey game for a kid whose father just suffered a stroke is cute and all, but the knight-in-shining-armor schtick wears thin when you kill your own father and agree to dispose of his body without much hesitation.
Look at the positioning of Hank’s gun when Pete fired a bullet square into his dad’s temple at point-blank range:
Screenshots via HBO
That’s a little too quick and a bit tooaccurate for my taste. Yes, Hank was raising his gun to shoot Danvers minutes after shooting and killing Heiss, but convince me Pete can’t adjust the aim just a tad to rock his dad with a shoulder or even a chest shot. Is there some risk that middle-aged Hank takes either of those gunshots in stride and still shoots Danvers? Maybe! But even if he does, he’s hitting her in the hip or thigh at best with that gun positioning. I know a killer when I see one. (Hank literally said he wasn’t one, even if that’s technically no longer true.) Even if Pete was a choirboy before all of this, the soft, pillowy exterior propped up by his youth and relatable juggling of an overdemanding boss, a marriage, and a child died with Hank that night. I’m not saying the next installment of True Detective—let’s call it Day Country—will have an Episode 5 reveal that Pete is a serial killer who targets anyone that reminds him of his dad, but I’m not not saying it.
Kidding aside, the arc of Pete trying his best to not be Danvers just to end up in a worse place than she ever could be is a nice touch from the show’s creators. In the same episode in which Pete scolds Liz for covering up the William Wheeler murder, Pete in turn murders his dad and jumps at the opportunity to cover it up. Do I think this would realistically have some pretty gnarly permanent effects on my boy’s psyche beyond the occasional one-eyed polar bear flashback? Yes. Do I also think the show will tie it up a bit prettier than that to the point that killing his dad actually somehow throws him back into a healthy marriage and work-life balance? Probably.
Will Navarro survive? If so, will Mr. SpongeBob Toothbrush (Qavvik) ever have a healthy relationship?
With her haunting visions growing in frequency, I realize Navarro is getting dangerously close to following her sister’s literal path into the frozen sea. Still, I’m going to venture to guess that Eve comes out of this alive. Navarro at times feels like the true protagonist of the show, and her arc is destined for a much softer landing, one that pushes her away from continually throwing fists at the world and instead into the arms of her sweetheart, Qavvik.
The first time we see Navarro and Qavvik together is when she physically submits him into having an orgasm and subsequently steals his SpongeBob toothbrush. Not even the best couples therapist in the world will be able to handle that kind of power dynamic. Cracking this case—and finally knowing who killed Annie Kowtok—has to distance Navarro enough from her demons to pursue a healthy relationship with our boy Qavvik. (And it better! He’s a good-looking dude with a legit job in a tiny rural town. Ask Danvers how Tinder is going in Bumfuck, Alaska; I don’t think we’ve heard a notification pop up since the first couple of episodes.)
What’s the deal with the oranges and the one-eyed polar bears? Do they actually matter?
OK, this probably doesn’t fit in as the right question to ask; Danvers would not approve. We know the oranges following Navarro around throughout the series and the consistent run-ins she and Danvers have with one-eyed polar bears are both heavy-handed, inescapable symbols for our troubled duo. Surely, what they represent is infinitely more important than their potential connection to the murders of Annie Kowtok and the Tsalal scientists.
The oranges are a recurring symbol of the connection between Navarro, the living, and the dead. We don’t need anything more than the scene where Navarro throws an orange into the darkness and something dead or alive (or made-up) throws it right back.
The one-eyed polar bear stuffed animal is probably just a real-life reminder of Danvers’s son, Holden, who we know is dead due to context clues from recurring flashbacks. (But we also still don’t fully know that story … who was Holden’s dad? How did they both die? Are these the right questions, Danvers?!) However, when Navarro gets a visit from a real-life one-eyed polar bear in Episode 1, it suggests that there’s a connection between it and each of the detectives’ haunted pasts. That, and the one eye could represent that the pair might not be seeing the full picture or might be seeing only one half of the story.
I can hear Danvers screaming “WRONG QUESTION” already. But I don’t care. You can’t vehemently mix in citrus, real and stuffed one-eyed polar bears, the Carcosa spiral, a Rust Cohle family tree, and a potpourri of dead people walking around town and then expect people not to ask questions. When every inch of detail could be used as evidence in a murder case, it’s important to know whether any of this is real or not.
Where does Liz’s boy toy Ted Connelly fit into everything?
I know McKittrick has a low opinion of Connelly. She calls him a “political animal” and “weak” during her conversation with Hank right before the two form a plan to kill Heiss. But does that mean he’s completely innocent? Does he actually believe the very coincidental report that the cause of death for the Tsalal scientists was just a freak weather event? Or is McKittrick also greasing Connelly to pay him off or move him up the ladder as part of the cover-up? Navarro was pretty adamant in the closing scenes of Episode 5 that roping in Connelly would “bury” them all, but I guess it doesn’t matter to Danvers. She said the last time she and Connelly hooked up was the last time (actually this time), and her Tinder notifications are bound to heat up after she cracks the case.
How does Raymond Clark actually fit into all of this?
The leading suspect for most of the series, Raymond Clark, simply has to play a role in all of this, right? We know he’s the only living Tsalal scientist hiding in the “night country.” We also know he was the one convulsing in the opening scene of Episode 1 and who uttered the first mention of “she’s awake.” And we know that he had a “let’s get matching tattoos”–level relationship with Annie Kowtok. But when Danvers and Navarro eventually confront Clark in the caves Hank died trying to keep hidden from them, what will they learn?
My guess is Clark somehow escaped whatever killed his colleagues and has been too afraid to venture out of the caves ever since. If he was actually one of the bad guys in all of this, Clark would have run to McKittrick for protection a long time ago rather than freeze his ass off in the night country. Instead, Danvers and Navarro will find Clark in the caves scared shitless, and he’ll deliver the long-awaited “aha” moment of the series. I don’t want it to be a late-game spill of nearly all the relevant information to the case from a single source, but I think that’s what this is shaping up to be. (I blame all the time we spent chasing flat subplots!)
Have Night Country’s creators laid enough crumbs for a satisfying final twist?
OK, I’ll say it again: It can’t be McKittrick. If the series’ big reveal was actually in the penultimate episode when McKittrick and Hank talked in the car about wanting to hide the caves from Navarro and Danvers, I will riot in the streets of Ennis. We know McKittrick and Silver Sky funded the Tsalal station. We know McKittrick paid Hank to move Annie’s body and asked him to kill Heiss to help hide the cave entrance’s whereabouts. If that also means McKittrick was the ringleader in killing the scientists and Kowtok, I will be baffled in the worst way.
It just can’t happen. Someone, anyone else had to have killed them. Such an early reveal would run counter to everything True Detective diehards loved about previous seasons. That said, we must have missed something. McKittrick, Connelly, and Hank all played a part, but none of them killed anybody (outside of Heiss). They probably know who killed Kowtok and/or the scientists, but they didn’t make the order or deliver the final blow(s). There are enough loose ends (e.g., Sedna, Oliver Tagaq, Ryan Kowtok) for there to be a big reveal, but whether or not it’s satisfying comes down to whether it’s a key piece of evidence we all overlooked in the moment—like the kid’s drawing of the green-eared spaghetti monster in the first season of True Detective—or simply new information spilled out during one of the final conversations with Clark or McKittrick. (We’re all hoping for the former.)
For the final time, who done it?
It’s her. Whoever this scary woman Pete’s kid drew in the first episode is the killer. No, I’m not saying Sedna, the Inuit goddess of the sea and ruler of the underworld (though my colleague Ben Lindbergh’s deep dive into her lore is spectacular). I’m saying someone who looks like this!
Whoever killed Kowtok and/or the Tsalal scientists looked like this, which admittedly brings McKittrick into the fold again, but I’m ruling her out anyway. It could be Pete’s wife or her grandma or one of the women at the protests with Leah. I don’t know who she is exactly, but I know she’s awake.
:format(webp):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25294026/steampunk_jlo.png)
:format(webp):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25294025/movie_musical.png)
:format(webp):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25294023/ben_affleck_moto.png)
:format(webp):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25294022/the_artist_laughs.png)
:format(webp):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25294020/bangs.png)
:format(webp):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25294017/basett_hound.png)
:format(webp):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25294016/fat_joe.png)
:format(webp):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25294015/heart.png)
:format(webp):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25294014/heart_factory.png)
:format(webp):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25294013/jlo_flashdance.jpg)
:format(webp):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25294012/jumpsuit_jen.png)
:format(webp):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25294009/wedding_montage.jpg)
:format(webp):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25294006/wedding_dress.png)
:format(webp):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25294005/LAA.png)
:format(webp):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25294003/LAA_2.jpg)
:format(webp):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25294002/this_is_me_now_zodiac.png)
:format(webp):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25294001/zodiacal_council.png)
:format(webp):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25294000/ben_affleck_reunited.png)
:format(webp):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25293998/wedding_scene.png)
:format(webp):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25287465/Screenshot_2024_02_14_at_6.50.35_AM.png)
:format(webp):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25287461/polar.png)
:format(webp):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/25287460/killer.png)