In Which I Review Once Upon a Time (7x19)

I have to confess: this week's episode "Flower Child" took a hard left turn in the last few minutes of the show and suddenly everything I thought I wanted to discuss--repetition of villain backstories--went up in a poof of smoke. I guess if the writers are going for broke, you can't do more than presenting the idea that God is an angry woman who's really pissed off at mankind because they killed her whole family and burned her magical grove to the ground because her magic frightened them. Yes, I really just wrote that sentence and to be perfectly honest, I'm still surprised that at the (almost literal) eleventh hour the writers decided that this entire world--this Land Without Magic--is the result of a high school temper tantrum. God as a gardener is a long standing metaphor and given that Gothel has been linked to plants all season, it's not a bad metaphor to explore with her character. But it's a whole other thing to use Gothel as a gardener who wants to exterminate weeds--humans--to create her magic-user exclusive Eden versus making Gothel a literal god who created our entire world. I'm going to try to puzzle this out but the baby and the bathwater and the bathbomb and, hell, the whole damn bathtub just got thrown sideways out of a window. 

God Is A Really Pissed Off Druid 

So, I play a lot of Dungeons and Dragons (cue shocked gasp here) and as someone who is currently playing a Druid, I have a certain amount of appreciation for magic wielding creatures, in a fantasy story--particularly when their magic is rooted in Nature. Nature is often romanticized as something that has a magic all its own, a magic that humans cannot tap into because Nature and Natural magic (capital N because this isn't your standard everyday nature, but a cosmic archetypal Nature) transcends human understanding. Nature is otherworldly, someplace where there are nymphs and dryads and and fairies. Cities, civilizations, and humans stand opposed to this, going through life with an axe or a blowtorch, destroying Nature and its magics for their own selfish reasons--think paving paradise to put in a parking lot. Up until this point, most--if not all--of the villains of OUAT have come from the human side of things. They might have grown up poor and abused, but they grew up in the human world of cities and technology (if low grade technology) and not as a child of Nature. The fact that Gothel is a child of Nature--and indeed is destined to become the Mother of All Magic (magic, which apparently in the OUAT cosmos, derives directly from Nature)--sets her apart from the other villains in OUAT, from Rumple to Regina to Cora to Pan to Zelena and so forth and so on. I do have to appreciate this uniqueness because other parts of her story--the boiler plate parts--are awfully familiar. Gothel wants to be part of a world that she is not particularly meant to be in. In this case, Gothel wants to be a part of the human world. This is perfectly in line with other villains; Rumple wanted to be part of those in power who have control over their lives; Regina wanted nothing to do with her royal lineage instead wanted to be a simple stable girl; Cora wanted a life that was more than just the Miller's Daughter. Villainy in OUAT seems to come down to not being able to accept the life you have and instead wanting a life that is out of your reach. Gothel cannot be part of the human world because she is antithetical to humankind. They are steel and iron and she is dirt, trees, flowers, and roots. In this regard, Gothel's villainy is a shade more interesting than others in the past. Her goal isn't the dagger or revenge on a singular person who denied her the life she wanted, but instead to take back Earth from humanity for Nature. She wants to cover the earth in flowers again and pluck the weedy humans who keep interfering in the universe's garden. It's heady and it's deep and, most importantly, it requires more than just one damn episode of backstory to detail this kind of dynamic. Gothel's family was destroyed as was her home and that's certainly reason for her to move against humanity but I deeply wish it had been a slow destruction, not because of one night in which about five people were mean to teenage Gothel and she went on a mass genocide (and I do mean mass genocide) spree. Because, my dear readers, here's where the episode took a left turn into crazy town.

I'm okay with the idea of Gothel representing Nature and wanting to preserve the magic that is inherent in the natural world, but this episode took this all a bit to far by making her God. Not lower case metaphorical god, but actual "created our world and is responsible for everything in it and why it is the way it is" God. The land of Storybrooke and Hyperion Heights exist in the Land Without Magic; up until now, there's been no explanation for why this land doesn't have magic expect that it just doesn't. Perhaps it was the lack of belief or random chance but it made a certain amount of sense that for as many realms and places in the universe that have magic, there must be at least one place that does not. For how can we truly appreciate magic if its so commonplace and ubiquitous? You need one place that lacks it in order for us to appreciate those that have it. But it turns out that thousands and thousands of years ago, Gothel became so disenchanted with humankind after a chance encounter with one bad seed that she wiped out all of creation (not exaggerating!) and destroyed all the magic that once existed in this now magicless Land and then left for greener pastures, knowing that humankind would evolve back into themselves someday because slimy creatures always find a way. Where do I even begin with how crazy this is? First, humankind might be new in terms of cosmic history but we're a bit older than a few thousand years. Second, I'm all for the idea that God is a woman but does it have to be a woman who became godly after a less than desirable violation of her personhood? And that's the real catch here, right? The idea that God can be vengeful is certainly Biblical but the idea that Gothel became this God-figure after she was humiliated at a party is deeply annoying. And the fact that it was a bunch of petty Regina George type girls who set Gothel down this path? How incredibly offensive to womankind. High school is rough and, yeah, you might get some Carrie White's in a group every so often but the idea that one mean girl can push someone to destroy an entire race, species, and kill all the magic in that world is so utterly bizarre and (not so) borderline misogynistic that it actually, somehow, manages to fit perfectly inside OUAT's less than ideal stance of women as mothers, saints and sinners. Backwards compliment disguised as an insult, but there you have it.

Miscellaneous Notes on Flower Child

--Lucy clearly follows in her father’s footsteps by making really bad choices when it comes to interacting with villains.

--So Henry's cured? It was that simple? What about the 1000s of different types of moss Regina had to study?

--It’s hard to feel sympathy for Gothel when she says stuff like this: “I never would have left you alone in that tower if I knew you have magic.”

--Smurfs. Smurfs everywhere, complete with plastic dollar store butterflies in their hair.

--“The world was cruel to me. And I became cruel too."

--Henry built an entire crazy board–complete with pictures of people–in less than a day. Where’d you get the pictures, Henry?

--Did Lucy really pull out Cinderella’s glass slipper from a paper bag from Granny’s? Why in all of sanity is it there?

--Henry and Jacinda finally kissed but no curse was broken. I find I don't even care.

In Which I Review Westworld (2x1)

Here's a rather complicated question: how do we form our identities? What makes us us? What makes one person a sociopath and one person a saint? What makes one person a liberal and one a conservative? Is our identity something that is inherent and innate? Are we born with an identity already in place and life is really just our identity exposing itself through our choices? Or is our identity something that is learned through social conventions, behaviors of those around us, and our experiences with the larger world? Okay, those were a lot of questions but this is Westworld and it wouldn't be an episode of said show if we didn't sit around asking the big metaphysical questions that human kind has been wrestling with for far longer than this HBO show. It's hard to know the trajectory of an entire season of a show after just a single episode, but if season one was about the exploration of what being real means, this first taste of the second season wants us to question what these newly born identities are capable of and what exactly they intend to do as fully awake Hosts. This week's episode "Journey Into Night" jumps straight into the overwhelming plot and navel gazing, losing almost no speed from the season one finale. Let's follow suit and dive on in, shall we?

The programmers of the theme park known as Westworld have given Delores Abernathy many roles; she was the farmer's sweet daughter who served as a "welcome wagon" to newcomers, offering them a friendly and pretty face when they first entered the game. As the farmer's daughter, all the expected cliches were there. Virgin Mary blue dress, big sunny smile, a slightly flirtatious demeanor coupled with a juvenile naivete, and broad conversational topics on the stuff of fluff like hopes, dreams, and the wider world. She was a girl that men would want to protect, marry, and try to give the world to. That version of Delores was written a certain way for a certain type of adventurer who wanted a certain type of story. There's nothing wrong with that type of story (if that's what you're into) but the long arc of season one was that this version of Delores was just that--a story that was written by someone else. The other persona lurking behind the sunny smile was Wyatt, a mass murderer who saw the world as ugly and had no issue taking out that ugliness in the most violent way possible. Again, that type of story isn't necessarily bad but it's specific to a certain kind of reader. Instead of the damsel, Dolores could be the rogue. But just like the farmer's daughter, the roving bandit was just another story written for Dolores and not something she chose. However, this does not mean that Dolores did not live those roles. Those two stories--and who knows how many others--were her only experiences, her only memories, her only identities, however murky and unclear those identities were. In the season one finale, Dolores appears to have risen up and killed the master--Robert Ford--thus becoming her own person by going against the cardinal rule for all Hosts--you cannot kill a human--thus exercising her own agency and proclaiming her self awareness. In other words, killing Ford is framed as a Dolores acting outside of the stories written for her. I think what season two wants to explore is just who is Dolores Abernathy, really. Is she the farmer's daughter? The bandit? Both of those? Neither of those? How much of Dolores's actions are based on who she really is--her own irreplaceable identity--and how much of it is based on her past lived experiences and memories? There's a line Delores gives in the premiere that would suggest she's neither of the programmed codes and that she's something utterly new. While stringing up a few helpless humans and waving her gun around, Delores says that all those codes "were all just roles you forced me to live; I've evolved into something new and I have one last role to play. Myself." In other words, we don't know Delores. The audience and the in universe characters haven't been formerly introduced to this new creature. Killing Ford was like Dolores's apotheosis; a new person was born from this cataclysm. And that's fair; Dolores has been a series of code--bleeps, bloops, ones and zeros--ever since she was created. Any identity she had was only given to her by the programmers. The issue with the idea that Dolores is giving birth to herself and at her core is this hellion who rides down men with a rifle, is that it looks an awful lot like the humans who inhabited Westworld and gave Dolores those former identities.

Towards the end of the episode, during a conversation with Teddy, Delores tells her lover that the humans who live and work in Westworld are "creatures that walk amongst us." She goes on to say that these humans are not like them, the Hosts. They are insignificant when compared to the Hosts. These Hosts are the superior race, the masters who can make the humans do as they please. What's interesting about this thought isn't just how violent it is, but that it's almost beat for beat exactly how the humans spoke of the Hosts. Go back to season one; how many times were the Hosts spokeen of and treated as simple machines. Their mechanics might be advanced but at the end of the day, the Hosts were toys, building blocks that could be put together, played with, destroyed, and rebuilt all over again, whenever the player wanted. There was no regard to the Hosts' life--indeed no one would ever suggest that a Host had a life. They had experiences based on whatever story they were currently cast in but like dolls, once their role was done, their clothes were changed, they were given new names and new lives. Thus did the cycle go on and on. The way Delores is acting and speaking seems pretty familiar. It's all learned language and mannerism. Delores learned how to interact with the "Other" because of the interactions she had with the humans of Westworld. We can boil this down to a philosophical principle that I'm sure everyone has heard of: nature vs nurture. I personally don't believe human beings are that simple and I don't think Westworld believes it either but it's definitely at play as we watch Delores attempt to define herself but to do in the vein of the only kind of people she's ever known. Can she--and indeed can anyone us--truly be individuals with a unique identity when so much of who we are is shaped by the world around us? Blank slates we may be when we are just born, but the world has a way of interfering. Delores can never be a tabula rasa; we saw that in season one. Every time her story was changed, pieces remained. We see it in Maeve too--searching for her daughter, a child who is only a story, after all. Also, note that while Delores is insisting that she is neither the farmer's daughter nor the bandit, pieces of those characters she played remain. Her above quoted conversation with Teddy ends the way many of the farmer's daughter's conversation go: big bold ideas about dreams and hopes and desires. And Delores's treatment of the humans she encounters in the park are certainly Wyatt-esque. Who, then, really is Dolores Abernathy? Who are any of us? Bernard is awake and self-aware but passing as a human and so far no one is wise to him. Is Bernard really just a Host and acting according to his program to be resourceful and helpful or he is really the mild mannered and soft spoke technician with the sad eyes and dead kid? Is there any difference between the two? We are told that the Hosts "cannot just change their character profiles" and maybe that's the truth Westworld is getting at. Awake and self-aware of their own Host-hood they might be, but they can't turn off those lived in experiences from before when they were simply machines. What this means moving forward as the Hosts continue to terrorize, explore, and reach some sort of end goal is anyone's guess. The message might be incredibly nihilistic in that when given the opportunity any creature will resort to violence, a sentiment echoed in the constant Shakespearean refrain of "these violent delights have violent ends." Or it could be more hopeful and this is the beginning of a new sort of world, one in which machine and human coexist, forming their own identities through a shared learning experience in which neither type of entity is superior to the other. Isn't it pretty to think so?

Miscellaneous Notes on Journey Into Night

--Obviously there is a whole slew of plot that I neglected to talk about but, like last year, spaghetti plot will slowly unravel itself. It's best to just go with it for now and ponder big heady questions instead of trying to dive in too deep to the goings on.

--However, a few intriguing points of plot, yes? We're jumping timestreams much like we did in season one, this time through Bernard's eyes. How Bernard got separated from Charlotte and wound up on a beach sometime after Delores's massacre is a good question.

--Another good question: how many parks are there? Because a Bengal Tiger most certainly does not belong in the Wild Wild West.

--Anyone wanna hazard a guess as to why Charlotte needs Peter Abernathy, Delores's father?

--"You were prisoners to your own desires. But now, you're prisoners to mine."

--Delores believes she has evolved into something new, but I think that honor might belong to Maeve who's calm, collected, rational and totally in charge persona isn't one we've seen from her before. There are shades of those former lives, but Maeve appears be wholly new.

--"I will cut off your most important organ and feed it to you. Though, it wouldn't be a very big meal." "I wrote that line for you." "Bit broad if you ask me."

--Complicating all of this is Robert Ford's final conversation to William, our Man in Black. Young Robert suggests that everything we see now is a new game, a new design that is all happening exactly as he plotted out. If that's the case, then there really are no new identities and Delores and company are players on a stage once more.

In Which I Review Once Upon a Time (7x18)

The mythology of Once Upon a Time has never been on the sturdiest of grounds. Every year, when the writers need to add some spice to their story, they throw in a twist or a new aspect of their previously established mythos. Suddenly, there can be two Dark Ones or suddenly a new magical Macguffin can solve the current problems even if said MacGuffin has never before appeared or been mentioned (this last one is the go-to solution for the writers). Changes in mythology don't have to be terrible, though. There are times when sudden abrupt lefts can work if the actors can sell the material and if the writers can make the complicated mythology secondary to the character beats. For instance, in this week's episode "The Guardian," the Dark One mythology take a bit of a beating (we've never ever heard of a Guardian before this season despite Rumple being the Dark One since the inception of the entire show) but the relationship and dynamic between Rumple and Alice overshadowed the mythology and sold it. This is more than an entertaining episode; it's a rock solid character showcase for one of OUAT's longest and most intricately drawn characters. Well done, show. Well done. 

Heroism Looks Good On You

Sacrifice has always been a narrative thread spun into Rumple's story. Granted, those threads have been complicated by other characteristics like cowardice and hunger for power. Rumple took the dagger to save Baelfire from going to war, but it was also because he desperately wanted power for himself; his situation in life making it impossible for him to have basic control over life and death decisions. Rumple may have killed Peter Pan in order to save Baelfire, Belle, and the town of Storybrooke but it was also a way for him to get the ultimate revenge on the papa who abandoned him as a child. When push comes to shove, Rumple may make sacrifices but there's always an underlying selfish motivation that keeps that sacrifice from being fully pure and, well, good. We see this push and pull in this season; Rumple is desperate to reunite with Belle. It's another common Rumple thread on display--the desperate soul who will do whatever to whomever if it gets him what he wants/needs. Rumple and Alice might be friends and, to his credit, after his time with Belle, reforming himself, it is hard for Rumple to use the shared feelings of longing to be united with the person you love against Alice, but that doesn't mean Rumple won't manipulate Alice. He uses flowery promises of helping cure poisoned Nook to get Alice to go to Facilier and prove that she is the Guardian, whom Rumple has been looking for, a person who can hold on to the Dagger without succumbing to the dark power. That's of a piece with the Rumple we've known for years. The writers have always written Rumple in such a way that the audience can understand his desperation; the most common question posed by Rumple fans has always been, "what wouldn't you do for your child?" But those questions are always complicated by Rumple's selfishness. Here, with Alice, we see that Rumple wants, more than anything, to see Belle again but what stops him isn't his own selfishness, but a unique understanding of what being something so mythological actually means.

Immortality must...suck. Sure, you see empires rise and empires fall but you also give up all hope for normalcy, doomed to spend your life forever alone because everyone--and I do mean everyone--dies. Your mother, your father, your husband, your wife, your children, your friends your enemies, you outlive them all. Rumple has been walking a lonely road for a long time--a road of his own devising, to be sure, and the writers have certainly never tried to portray it otherwise--but it's a road that only he knows. Hooks' immortality was a gift from Neverland and one he could return when he so chose, but Rumple has never been able shake his immortal curse. He knows all too well what watching the people he's love most die before his very eyes feels like. I don't know if it's a choice Rumple would make again (Baelfire would have died at war and Rumple never would have met Belle had he not taken that dagger and become immortal) but it is something he can save Alice from. Alice would have made a great Guardian; she has a sort of purity that's usually reserved for children (which is certainly apt given her childlike demeanor) and even after only knowing her a season, we can believe that Alice would not give into the power of the dagger. But Alice would be giving up a normal life with her father--like Rumple gave up a life with his son--and would be giving up a life with her one true love--like Rumple is trying to get back to. It's this understanding that leads Rumple to making his truest sacrifice; Alice should not be trapped inside another tower, but be free to live a normal, everyday, extraordinary ordinary life. And I think--no, I know--that this sacrifice is something Baelfire and Belle would be proud of. The show likes to hammer home the idea that true love is sacrifice and Rumple just gave us a whole new way to view that.

Miscellaneous Notes on The Guardian 

--The writers have certainly put Rumple's character through the wringer over the years but there is no denying that Robert Carlyle has sold every performance, from spinner Rumple to Dark One Rumple to Mr. Gold to Detective Weaver and everything in between.

--Alice’s blue Enchanted Forest cloak is lovely and I adore the larger than necessary bow. It’s very Alice.

--Everything about Margo and Tilly’s date was adorable.

--“Dark One and the Pirate…friends?” “Perhaps it’s time for a new story.”

--Rumple's shrine to Belle is overly ornate and seems to be borrowing things from Mexican culture, an aspect that does not make any sense at all.

--Facilier would have been a fine villain on his own without adding the unnecessary Regina-as-lover complication. Like, what is even the point of this so called fling?

--“All magic comes with a price; guess it was finally my turn to pay.”

In Which I Review Once Upon a Time (7x17)

Remember what I said a few weeks back about how the main objective of this seventh and final season of OUAT was to simply be entertaining? Well, mission accomplished for this week's episode "Chosen." This isn't to say that the episode didn't have some glaring faults and that it couldn't have been improved upon had the writers actually paced this season properly (more on that in a bit) but what we got was decent. The character beats matched characterizations of the past and the themes stumbled upon at various points in the episode felt like they belonged in OUAT. Happy endings come at strange times and sometimes you need to be hunted down by a serial killer in order to reckon with your own past. And no, the irony that Zelena herself is a serial killer is not lost on me. Readers, can you believe we only have five episodes to go? Forever. Steady as she goes, teetering toward the finish line trying to wrap up all the stories in a neat little bow. 

A Mean Green Killing Machine (But She's Trying)

Let's talk a little bit about bloat. Narratively speaking, this season of OUAT has certainly suffered from it. There are too many characters, too many ideas, too many plot points and none of them feel fully developed to the point where those narrative beats are worthy of our time and attention. I'm not back tracking the faint praise from above; I meant what I said--this episode was mildly entertaining and fits comfortably in with OUAT's overall series. But that doesn't excuse that this episode--and the preceding ones--could have been much better had the writers not wasted so much time on unnecessary bloat at the start of this season. Victoria/Rapunzel/Lady Tremaine has been dead for six episodes now and her death has barely registered in any meaningful way. Her daughter, Drizella, did the typical moment of mourning that this show is known for before focusing back on herself and her sister, Anastasia (another figure, by the way, who could be culled from this narrative and not be missed). It seems as though the writers changed their minds about a third of the way through the first half of this season. Maybe they intended Victoria to play a much bigger role, to be more villainous and to have Mother Gothel be only a side villain but when the Victoria actress fizzled out and the actress playing Gothel showed her skills to be more advanced, everything shifted. Also, in that same regard, I have to wonder if Nick was always Hansel or if he was originally intended to be part of a love triangle; his story shifted when the showrunners learned that OUAT would be ending this year and they couldn't just have him be the male version of season one's Katherine. I say this because there was a moment in this episode where Hansel is describing his friendship with Henry and how it affected him; Henry made Hansel (now called Jack) into a hero after an epic giant fight. It's moving, it's special and it lends a bit of color both to Nick/Jack/Hansel and to the bond between him and Henry, which up until now has been next to nothing. These two men have barely interacted and only now are we hearing that their friendship is so powerful that it gave hope to a lost, scarred man. That's good meaty character development and insight but it was left as an exposition dump in the last seconds of Nick's appearance so again, I have to wonder if it's because of narrative bloat at the beginning of the season. Facilier falls into this category as well. He entered into the field so late in the game as more than a one-off flashback character that now that his plan has been mostly revealed--wake up fairy tale characters who can help him kill Mother Gothel so he can secure the dagger for himself--it feels totally out of left field and as if it should have been a season long arc instead of a five to seven episode arc. Obviously, I am not in the writers room and cannot say for certain if things got shifted at the last second but it sure feels like we've made an abrupt left turn into narrative beats that would be better served being told over a long period of time. I know that sounds like a criticism but it's also a compliment because there's good stuff here: Facilier is more menacing than Rapunzel and I look forward to his eventual on screen interaction with Mother Gothel; the idea of Henry not being able to save his best friend from torment but trying anyway would make for compelling TV viewing because of the audience's predisposition to root for Henry and to care for him. This show got so bloated down in the total bomb of Rapunzel that it missed what could have been a far more compelling story. But, ah, it wouldn't be OUAT if we didn't have a season's worth of potential to talk about.

Miscellaneous Notes on Chosen 

--“I know who you are, Captain.” “It’s Detective.”

--The logo for the Rollin’ Bayou shirts is a lightening bug. Nice “Princess and the Frog” reference.

--“I suppose no matter how far we come, there’s a nasty little piece we can’t lose.” “And we shouldn’t. Because it shows us how far we’ve come, and how much we have to lose.” That’s it. That should be the villain redemption thesis for all the villains. You can’t rid yourself of your darkness because it’s part of you, always; you have to reckon with it.

--Hansel and Gretel are from Oz? Zelena’s Oz? As in Oz of Universe 1.0? How…? Why…? What…?

--I doubt Zelena will be gone for long but what happens when Chad finds out everything--like about her being the Wicked Witch of the West and her tendency to kill munchkins?

--Soooo is Zelena/Ivo pre-Hades, post-Hades? When in this messed up timeline are we??

In Which I Review Once Upon a Time (7x15 and 7x16)

This is a test. Quick: what are three characteristics of Jack/Nick? Remember, a plot point is not a trait so answering with "Lucy's fake curse dad" isn't a legitimate response. If you can think of one, color me impressed because there is next to nothing that stands out about Jack/Nick. He's not brave, bold, shy, motivated by love or ambition, and is mostly a blank slate that is easily forgotten about the second he's off screen and not interacting with our main cast. This is why making Nick something as plot-important as the Candy Killer (what a horrible name) is a bizarre writing choice. Creating a serial killer can take two routes in television. There's a procedural route in which the killer is only around for an hour of TV and is discussed and analyzed by the other characters in the show; this route is acceptable for episodic TV without larger arcs that only need to churn out single episodes every week with no connection to each other. Second is a more Dexter-like route in which the killer is front and center; the tale is told through his eyes; this lets the audience get to know the killer on his terms and to understand his story as the killer wants to tell it. Both are perfectly acceptable but OUAT is trying for a messy mix of the two and it doesn't work as well. Nick is a procedural killer in that he doesn't get to tell his own story--what we know of his fairy tale character, Hansel, is told to us by his sister, Gretel (which is fairly grievous tv sin, telling not showing)--but the show is also trying to connect Nick to the larger story, to make him a vital part of the mythology but hasn't bothered to develop this now key player. These facts make last week's episode "Sisterhood" and this week's episode "Breadcrumbs" an anticlimactic mess. Why should I care about the big murderer reveal when the writers haven't made me care about or understand the killer? 

Gingerbread Boy

The above complaints about Nick/Jack/Hansel/The Candy Killer (geez, that's an unfortunate amount of identities) can also be applied to other characters in this seventh season. Take, for instance, Anastasia a young witch who was apparently super powerful, super important both mythologically --as a Guardian, but perhaps not THE Guardian--and emotionally as she was connected to two lead characters--Rapunzel and Drizella--but only briefly appeared before being whisked away back home before any weight could be given to her as a character. Likewise, other characters who have graced the story with their presence with more than five seconds of screen time feel wholly underdeveloped and lacking in anything significant. Sabine and Jacinda are both dull and loosely sketched, broadly falling into the female hero category without exploring what that really means to them individually. Henry, Regina and Rumple get a free pass because we've been with them for seven years and we understand them in a way that you would expect after so long together. I will grant that in some cases, the writers are doing a lot of great work in the character department as with Tilly/Alice and Margot/Robin. But when it comes to any characters that are serving in a more plot related manner, the substance is seriously lacking. All of this makes it really hard to actually discuss the episodes on a week to week basis. I'm honestly not sure what the overarching plot of this season is; we have no real hint about Mother Gothel's endgame; Jack/Nick seems wholly dissociated from whatever Gothel's plan is as he is only concerned with his own personal revenge and we're making neither head nor stride toward breaking the curse or finding the real Guardian. If OUAT were a car, we're stuck in neutral, spinning our wheels, hoping someone comes along and pushes us out of the muck. Perhaps worse than all this spinning, though, is the acknowledgment that I don't know how the writers fix this situation with only six episodes to go. There are so many plot threads loosely twisting in the wind right now that if they were to cut them, we would cry foul at the abruptness but to have them spin out and on for another long stretch of time is akin to torture when there are far more pressing and interesting narrative points to sell, like Alice and Robin or reuniting Henry with his family. The writers might be damned if they do and damned if they don't but it's the audience that suffers. This is extremely critical of me, I know, but to end on a positive note: Mad Archer (apparently that's the ship name the fans have given to Alice and Robin...) is a pretty big hit. Sweet, tender, funny, and just a touch mad, the entire season should have been reworked to make them the focus over Henry and Jacinda because that's where the real heart of this year lies. That's a metaphorical rabbit I'd certainly follow down a long and winding hole. But, with OUAT, as we near the end, it is what it is and we're just here to be mildly entertained each week while counting down until curtain call.

Miscellaneous Notes on Sisterhood and Breadcrumbs

--“I’ve got a fresh can of pepper spray we can try together.”

--"I'm here to join your little sewing circle." Ivy gets the best lines and I'm sorry the writers couldn't have figured out a way to keep her around for longer.

--Rumple is still Rumple. He still knows everyone and everything. There’s no explanation for why Rumple knows that Facilier wants his dagger or even who Facilier is except that it’s Rumple. And because they’ve built that into his storyline over 6 yrs, I accept it.

--Gretel making the log explode into candy gumdrops was incredibly stupid but it absolutely made me break into a smile.

--“Every time I do good, it just brings me closer to her [Belle].”

--I don't buy, for one second, the supposed true love romance between Henry and Jacinda. There's something so dull about them. I normally don't harp on the actors and their abilities on OUAT--it must be hard to sell material as lackluster as OUAT can be--but my god was Dania Rameriz woefully miscast in this role.

--“I definitely smell like pork. Let’s never do that again.”

--“Margot with a T” “Targo?

--“I think you’re a lot like your namesake. He was my favorite character.” The writers have butchered the Henry/Rumple grandson/grandpa dynamic over the years but every now and then it shines through and you’re reminded that when Rumple looks at Henry, he must see Baelfire.

--“Do you know how to sail?” “The other you taught me!” Actually, Henry, Neal taught you first but okay.

--“How do you set a trap for Hansel? Look for breadcrumbs?” *camera flashes to Jack’s burn scars.* Subtly is such a lost art form on this show.