Television review: Lost #605: 'Lighthouse'

605: 'Lighthouse'

Wr: Carlton Cuse & Damon Lindelof
Dr: Jack Bender

Synopsis: Hurley must convince Jack to accompany him on a mission, and Jin comes across an old acquaintance.

Review: 'Lighthouse' is something of a curious beast. On the one hand, Lindelof and Cuse's script has the same qualities as last week's stupendous 'The Substitute', maintaining steady momentum through the interweaving of intriguingly oblique and dramatically engaging narrative strands, However, on the other, it seems to falter occasionally, testing the viewer's patience somewhat by resorting to a number of tried, tested and rather transparent tricks that serve only to prolong the inevitable, to stall the progression of the arc plot. After six years, we've become rather accustomed to the producers' admittedly salient methods and in the absence of something especially unique, it becomes easy to drift and to feel frustrated with the inherent nature of what we're given.

The worst offender, it seems, is the flash sideways. Now, I will profess to being slightly biased against Mr. Shephard's stories, given that he's one of the least interesting characters on the show (I know, I know, scream "blasphemer!" all you like, but come on... he's no Locke is he?!), but even Matthew Fox has had his moments of brilliance. Sadly, 'Lighthouse's B-story isn't one of them; giving the guy a son is a very nice idea, and there are some hints at a more intriguing slant to the purpose of these strands (Jack doesn't remember having his appendix removed, despite it happening when he was seven, which seems to suggest a possible 'course correction' or change in history that he is not completely disassociated from), but unfortunately, very little is done with the story that is actually of much interest. The teleology is decidedly predictable - it's patently obvious from the moment that Jack's son starts ignoring him that a moral lesson will be learned by both parties within the course of the hour and that they'll reconcile, which robs the narrative of its lustre, making the denouement a foregone conclusion and exposing the transparency of the plot structure. It's also rather indicative of the 'neat and tidy' approach to storytelling in conventional television drama, wherein it is perceived that equilibrium must be restored within one sitting in order for the viewing audience to feel some sense of satisfaction. Lost is not normally guilty of this as consequence is a significant feature of the ongoing story, but here it feels too compact, tied into a neat little bow simply because there was a requirement to pad out the script. Admittedly, there are some well-executed moments within the strand, most notable of which is Jack's desperate attempt to find David, coming across his voicemail message while in the boy's room, but they are insufficient to make the whole thing truly memorable or engaging.

The problems are less significant on-Island but nevertheless, occasional lapses remain. The issue centres mostly on Hurley and Jack's sojourn to the lighthouse which is prolonged substantially through the episode's mid-section. At the end of the first act, it becomes clear that they are heading somewhere, but the destination is not reached until part-way through the third. This is not objectionable in itself but the interim sequences do not contain enough weight to distract the viewer from the fact that the plot is being stretched out over an unnecessarily lengthy period. The 'journey' scenes even seem to highlight the fact that they are somewhat extraneous: Lindelof and Cuse give Hurley dialogue along the lines of "this feels like the old days, you and me heading somewhere that we don't know for a reason we don't understand" which, instead of seeming like a pleasingly self-referential nod to the audience, actually just exposes its immaterial nature. There are further attempts at this sort of metatextual self-reflexivity: when Jack asks why they haven't seen the lighthouse before, Hurley responds that 'we weren't looking for it', which feels like a rather convenient excuse. Hurley also suggests that the skeletons in the caves that the Losties lived in during season one could be them, having travelled back in time and remained stuck there. This is a theory suggested by many within the fan community and, intriguingly, it isn't quashed here, but the inclusion does not feel at all organic. This reads like the grafted on wink to fandom that it is, coming completely out of nowhere and seeming rather superfluous to the story. It's there for its own sake, essentially, and sadly, comes across awkwardly. Coupled with the rather underwhelming flash sideways, these moments make the narrative feel like it's treading water during the middle of the episode, exposing them as little more than filler.

Conversely, however, everything that surrounds this is distinctly strong. The juxtaposing of Hurley's visitations from Jacob, and his subsequent realisation of his mission, with Jin's unfortunate encounter with Claire is a superlative piece of scripting that generates sufficient dramatic tension and beguiling mystery to ensure that the viewer remains firmly on the edge of his or her seat, scratching their heads in delectable bemusement. Once again, a substantial number of questions are generated, but hints at answers to others are incorporated too, to avoid a feeling of frustration. The sequences in the lighthouse are particularly indicative of this, as the structure itself is unusual enough to keep forums buzzing for a good week or two with discussions about the names on the gigantic compass and, more importantly, the 'mirror' that seems to allow the spectator, at the very least, to view the life of the individual denoted by a certain bearing (once again, the numbers afforded our Losties seem to correspond to Hurley's numbers, suggesting further significance, and 108 is Jacob's suggested bearing, which is both the sum of these numbers and the number of minutes between button-pressing in the fabled old hatch). It's entirely possible, of course, that this is far more than simply a lens and that it somehow provides a basis for Jacob's ability to appear off-Island, transporting him to the destination in question. For all its apparent science-fiction tendencies, it's a wonderful conceit and one that is superbly executed by the production department, the design of the device exhibiting a sort of archaic, confounding aesthetic that just makes you yearn to know more. We may never get the answers we seek, however, since Jack essentially has a big paddy, taking out his pent-up frustration on the thing, but this is an excellent moment in itself, perfectly in line with his character and symptomatic of the importance of his apparent journey for the remainder of the season. For all it appears, on a superficial level at least, that Jacob's reasoning for 'pushing' Jack rather than simply giving him all the facts, is rather flimsy, the sort of pseudo-psychoanalytic mumbo jumbo that typically attempts to excuse a slowness of pacing, it is nevertheless perfectly in sync with the character, since his reluctance to accept the fantastical (or rather, the machinations of 'destiny') necessitates a learning curve. Hurley, on the other hand, has always been receptive to that which he cannot explain, which helps to justify Jacob's straightforward approach throughout their relationship. Still, his duplicitousness does shine through when he reveals his ulterior motive for sending Hurley and Jack away, which potentially suggests that they are the preferred of his candidates or that he simply cannot afford to 'lose' them to Smokie. It's a rather callous move, given that it effectively 'writes off' Sayid and potentially Kate, Jin and Sawyer, and as such, helps to further complicate the apparent 'good/evil' binary between the two benevolent characters.

Meanwhile, over in the Monster's camp, Jin finds himself playing house with a somewhat affected Claire, whose three years in the wilderness have essentially turned her into the new Rousseau. Emilie de Ravin is excellent here, perfecting the character's transformation through a subtle manipulation of vocal delivery and body language, aided admirably by the costume and production department's combined efforts to make her look decidedly feral. There are some superbly disturbing touches to the mise en scene: the skeleton in the cradle, the presence of all sorts of weird and wondrous instruments in her little 'hovel' (needles, axes, you name it) that all work to make the sequences truly unnerving. By the time she's threatening the poor Other with the axe, she's so far removed from the tenants of her prior character that it's almost as if she's a new person altogether and one that we should most definitely fear. The addition of Smokey Locke to proceedings only intensifies matters, suggesting that he has manipulated Claire sufficiently with his influence to transform her into this paranoid, aggressive individual and this demonstrates a great deal of potential for the furtherance of the storyline; potentially, Locke and kooky Claire together will make for a formidable, and distinctly frightening, team. Perhaps the most engaging aspect of this whole narrative is its unpredictability and the highly effective manner through which, by the subtle manipulation of dialogue and representation, Cuse and Lindelof are able to construct an undercurrent of decidedly macabre apprehension.

'Lighthouse' is a difficult episode to assess. There are a great deal of enjoyable aspects to the narrative, particularly where the furtherance of the Jacob/Smokey dynamic is concerned, as once more, we are presented with several beguiling narrative strands (the nature of the lighthouse, Claire's transformation) that keep the viewer guessing and maintain a prominent level of suspense. Unfortunately, the episode seems to dip somewhat in its mid-section due to the noticeable padding of the plot, particularly when Hurley and Jack are walking to their destination, which, when coupled with the rather disappointing flash sideways, makes for a distracting and less engaging experience. Essentially, a third of the hour is a little sub-par, while the other two thirds contain just about enough that is good or excellent to keep things afloat. A tough call then. Let's go with an... 8.0

Television review: Desperate Housewives #615: 'Lovely'

615: 'Lovely'

Wr: David Schladweilder

Dr: David Warren

Synopsis: Susan causes quite a stir when she invites a former stripper (guest star Julie Benz) into her home, because former exotic dancer Robin will have a profound effect on the ladies of Wisteria Lane: with three teenage boys at home, Lynette will need to keep a watchful eye on them, Bree needs to pick up a few tricks to engage Orson, Katherine needs to find a friendly companion, and Gabrielle needs help with her troublesome niece - and Robin might just provide that help, whether she wants to or not.

Review: Oh Housewives, you were so close. You nearly had it. For approximately thirty five minutes of your latest moderately amusing instalment, you actually managed to remain consistently entertaining, barely raising so much as an eyebrow with your storylines or reeking of desperation with your attempts at humour. Thanks to a refreshing change of narrative structure and a tempered array of character development, 'Lovely' actually evokes the Housewives of old, far from critically outstanding but a jolly old romp nonetheless. And if only they hadn't gone there. If only they hadn't done it. If only Marc Cherry could've kept his desire for ratings bumps in his pants and consequently, kept his head screwed on correctly. Then, perhaps, he would've realised that turning Katherine Mayfair towards lesbianism might not be the most inventive or engaging idea he's ever had; that, in fact, it actually threatens to ruin the fabric of the episode entirely.

Now, let's get one thing straight (hah!) before we continue. The incorporation of a queer storyline into the Housewives framework, at its core, has the potential to be an excellent thing. The show's tried over the years, with varying degrees of success, but it's always reigned on its promises, never really delivering the goods, so to speak. Andrew got pushed to the wayside fairly quickly after he stopped being a thorn in his mother's side and as for Bob and Lee, well, when was the last time they even had a storyline? The revelation that Robyn is queer, if not lesbian (since she seems to suggest a 'shift' from men) is therefore very welcome, as it offers the opportunity for an alternative perspective on sexuality, visualising, if not normalising, the 'other'. It's also a character trait that we can buy into as we don't have a wealth of experience with Robyn; she's essentially a blank slate. Katherine Mayfair, on the other hand, is a different matter altogether. Having always appeared straight in the two plus years we've known her, never demonstrating any ulterior proclivities, as soon as an attractive woman enters her life who suggests the possibility of 'widening the net', she starts barking up a different tree? Okay, okay so she brushes the suggestion aside at first, but Mary Alice's voiceover hints that she's finding herself thinking - oh! shameful - thoughts about Robyn and you can only guess where this is liable to head in next week's episode. It is arguable, of course, that Housewives should be commended for demonstrating the fluidity of sexuality, contradicting the hegemonic, erroneous notion that persuasion is fixed and determined, and this would be a valid notion of these plots weren't so standard in American television drama, and if it didn't feel like such a throwaway attempt to 'get people talking' It's virtually guaranteed that Benz will disappear from our screens within a week or two and Katherine will return to yearning for the c**k. And in any case, it's frustrating that previously straight characters can so easily chop and change in TV (Party of Five? The OC? Any number of soaps?) simply because some homo comes along and gets them all hot and bothered about something different. God, if only it were that way in reality; whenever I find out that a guy I fancy is straight, it's the end of the possibility. It doesn't pique the boy's interest. We simply don't have that power, but Housewives and so many others would have you believe so. It's just so damn disposable as you know it'll have no lasting effect on anything in the future. Personally, I'd sooner we spent more time on the established gay characters, on Bob, Lee, Andrew even (bring him back!) instead of throwing gimmicky schlock stories into the mix left, right and centre.

Sadly, this leaves a rather bitter taste in the mouth as 'Lovely's conclusion significantly impacts on the overall quality of the episode. This is certainly unfortunate as, for the most part, all else is actually quite enjoyable. The story's unconventional narrative structure works in its favour, compartmentalising all the housewives' experiences of Robyn, thereby affording each of them a greater and more considered amount of screen time and also serving to three-dimensionalise her. We are treated to all manner of facets of Benz's character, which is certainly refreshing for a bit part, enabling the viewer to better engage with her. In effect, once we've witnessed her impact on Wisteria Lane, we actually begin to care about what happens to the gal, which is more than can be said for a great number of other guest roles in the show's history (I still don't give a c**p about Ana... thank God she's been shipped off to New York, no matter how ridiculous that is! I mean come on, Gaby's able to make a quick phone call and get her out of the state? Huh?! No, no complaining - at least she's off my screen!) Additionally, this provides an anchor for the narrative, lending the episode a cohesive feel that has perhaps been missing from Housewives for some time.

The actual stories themselves often prove to be quite amusing. Bree's narrative, in particular, is something of a howler, Marcia Cross proving particularly adept at bleeding every drop of humour from the most miniscule of plot details. Her 'striptease' is absolutely priceless, utterly cringe worthy and in the baddest of taste, but it's unrelenting, not ending until she herself is injured. With every passing moment, the viewer desperately wants her to stop but you just can't look away and Orson's bemusement works as the perfect counter to the sequence. Of course, it is questionable whether Bree would continue to so evidently embarrass herself when it's obvious that Orson has no interest in what she's doing, but the moment is amusing enough to brush off these concerns and the pay-off works nicely to restore some of the chemistry that had previously been lost between the two characters. Similarly, for all Mike and Susan's experience with the stripper is a fairly bog-standard run through a set of beats that are notoriously well-worn (Susan gets jealous because Robyn is suggestive), it's handled delicately enough and without 'crossing the line' into the OTT. It teeters occasionally, most specifically when Benz straddles Mike while in very little gear, but we are thankfully spared any additional excess, such as Robyn insisting that Mike relax in bed while she's fixing his back. Susan's jealousy is logical and it leads to a nice resolution, in which Benz determines that it is in her best interests to relocate. Then we have Lynette and Tom, whose anniversary is jeopardised slightly by Tom's suggestion that women only ever have sex with men due to their spending. his is a pleasingly realistic narrative, borne of a simple, throwaway remark, that leads to some enjoyable dialogue and even gives the grossly underused Parker some airtime.

On the whole, 'Lovely' is a genuinely enjoyable episode, bereft of anything too ludicrous or patently unrealistic. It's good to see a peripheral character given such prominent attention (do you think this could be to make us care when she's executed by whomever targeted Julie and killed the girl in the restaurant? Calling it now!), which has the consequence of improving the quality of the central cast's respective narratives and lending the episode a better level of cohesion. It's a shame, then, that the writers feel the need to ruin their efforts by including such a blatant attempt at ratings-grabbing as the hint that Katherine might have some lil' ol lesbian tendencies. Once again, an American television drama is treating queer sexuality as something disposable and schlock-worthy, rather than as just a basic fact of life. For all I want to believe that this will lead to something engaging and fresh for the show, I have no faith whatsoever that it will last beyond the next episode. Katherine will go back to being hungry for c**k, Benz will disappear and Bob and Lee will get precisely no screen time. It's a real shame that this has to be the coda as it puts a substantial dampener on an otherwise fine instalment. Stop tripping over your own feet Housewives, you need to be able to stand tall. 7.0

Television review: 24 #809: '12.00am - 1.00am'

809: '12.00am - 1.00am'

Teleplay: Chip Johannessen & Patrick Harbinson
Story: Alex Gansa
Dr: Brad Turner

Synopsis: As Farhad Hassan and Josef Bazhaev prepare to complete the Uranium transaction, Rob Weiss suggests that Renee Walker be blamed for the terrorists getting ahold of the weapons. Jack races to help Renee escape from CTU.

Review: Welcome to the wonderful, wacky world of 24 where high-ranking government officials in highly important and risk-heavy jobs are able to bunk off work in order to smite their illicit ex-lovers, with whom they committed criminal acts that were conveniently glossed over in their job applications. Where the current lovers of said individuals, who work within the same department and arguably have even more important jobs, can abandon their posts under the flimsy excuse of 'following a lead' in order to track down their partner and engage them in an emotional showdown, forgetting all about the pesky little matter of a nation-wide terrorist threat. Where supposedly competent staff writers and experienced executive producers actually seem to believe that this sort of pointless, unbelievable and excrutatingly abysmal storyline is the stuff of good drama; so much so, in fact, that they devote an entire final act, arguably the most important segment of the episode (if you want to maintain your viewing audience, at any rate), to its resolution. It's really hard to believe after eight years and 177 hours, but what do you know, Alex Gansa, Chip Johnnassen and Patrick Harbinson all seem to believe that this is what we need; that we're all just dying to see how Kevin, Dana and Cole are going to get out of this week's crazy scrape.

Well frankly, they're stark raving bonkers. There isn't a single shred of enjoyment to be derived from even a milisecond of this hopeless narrative; its continued presence merely amplifies an already substantial level of irritation, distracting the viewer from the central plot and sending the momentum screeching to an almighty, indignant halt. The only saving grace at close of play here is that both Kevin and his ridiculously incompetent and patently unrealistic cohort (oh yes, I know what to do now that we've been rumbled... stab my mate in cold blood and attempt to shoot the highly skilled, bad ass CTU agent(s) while drunk and most probably high! Makes perfect sense, no?) are dead as doornails, but sadly, it doesn't seem likely that this signals the end of the story. We have the small matter of Cole's repugnance to pay-off; he certainly isn't happy with Jenny's behaviour (and nor should he be) and given the prominence that this intrapersonal aspect has already been granted, it seems almost a given that this will be explored further in the coming weeks. We'll probably see some tired, woeful arc in which he calls off the wedding, decides never to speak to her again (except when forced to work with her, natch), this will come back to bite them both in the ass when it begins affecting their job performance and Hunchback Hastings notices, someone will discover the bodies, despite Cole and Dana burying/dumping them somewhere, and through the Miracle Technology available in 24 world, will connect them to the CTU agents, and then they'll be forced to face the possibility of one or both winding up behind bars. Which will probably bring them back together again. Or something. Whatever happens, there is no trajectory that would be even remotely rewarding, other than to completely brush the story aside and enable them to concentrate on the terrorist threat... which, you know, isn't exactly outside the realms of possibility given that all of this occurs within a single day. The likelihood of this occurring, unfortunately, is about as great as Queen Elizabeth showing up at my door tomorrow morning with a selection of sex aids; no, this is going to drag on and on, filling in more time while the actual suspenseful elements of the plot take a back seat. Hell, now that the evil Iranians (sorry, Kamistanis) have decided to change tactics and denotate Rod Stewart on American soil, they need a few hours to acquire all the necessary materials... so we'll need to fill the episodes out with more extraneous incident! Hooray!

As a result of this, you can bet your bottom dollar that we're going to see more of the depressingly familiar bueracracy storyline as Hastings will be forced to answer for the fact that he's made a duplicituous deal to get Renee off the hook. Yes, one-dimensional cardboard politician Rob Weiss will bear down on the one-dimensional cardboard head of CTU in the least exciting clash of wills in television history. Honestly, a single plank of wood could probably out-act both of these two; how awful is their telephone conversation? Weiss is just far too obvious, outlining the fact that his plan is duplicitous without so much as the tiniest of reservations, and uttering woefully cringeworthy lines like "you're my guy!" in the least organic manner possible. Honestly, who talks like that?! The less seen of these two the better really but it doesn't look like the story is going to go away any time soon. And while Annie Wersching continues to put in a stellar performance as the emotionally broken and battered Renee (how good is she while being interrogated and also in her gentle moment with Jack?), the idea of 'sending someone over from Justice' - in five minutes, natch! - to get in the way of necessary plot progression naturally does nothing other than infuriate the viewer. We don't want to see the individuals who are so obviously the key protagonists, the story's heroes, thrown obstacle after obstacle and forced to jump through a series of well-worn, tiresome hoops. Why does anyone have to 'take the blame' for the failure to retrieve the rods after all of two hours anyway? How about we just chalk it up to a poor set of circumstances? Being out of everyone's control? There's still plenty time to acquire them yet... nothing's bleeding well happened! But no, we need to inject some forced, grafted-on drama into proceedings in order to beef up the narrative. Oh, and to fulfil the perceived need for emotional gravitas since it allows Jack to swoop in and save his damsel in distress, demonstrating just how attached and devoted he is to the woman despite having only ever spent time with her for less than two days. Still, he attempts to choke the buerecrat, which we'd all like to do to be honest, and goes batshit crazy on the poor, unsuspecting security guard for the first time in nine episodes. Look, he's so honourably bad ass! He'll do anything for his woman! It's something of a groan-enducer this, although arguably worth it for the brilliant "son, you're gonna get hurt" and the subsequent tasering that Bauer's subjected to, knocking him down a peg. Nice.

When '12am - 1am' gets round to the business of dealing with the actual plot, things improve somewhat. There are a number of pleasingly unexpected twists peppered throughout the hour that lift the quality of the storyline: poor David Anders's summary execution comes out of left field, especially given that he seemed to be ready to step up to the plate at the end of the last hour and that he's one of the finest actors currently working on the show. Still, what he does get here is rather enjoyable: having Bauer and Sergei be upfront with Josef is a nice angle and leads to some enjoyably realistic exchanges between father and son. It's also completely logical for the kid to decide to let CTU bring him in, rather than espouse some worthless cause... just as Farhad unexpectedly does later in the episode. I gotta say, I didn't see this one coming at all. Kudos to the production crew for framing the plot in such a way as to cause the viewer to infer that the Evil Generic Kamistanis are going to do away with Farhad (the look between the leader and the guy that walks him off is conventionally telling), and then taking completely the opposite route. Again, the guy's reluctance to be involved in a patently terrorist act is completely in line with his character and adds a greater level of complexity, and tension, to events. It's refreshing to see bad guys who aren't simply indicative of the traditional 'we hate America!' paradigm, although this does seem to be where the story's headed in future episodes. It's worth noting too that the music and cinematography are excellent throughout these sequences, particularly as the Rod Stewarts are being unloaded. Unfortunately, a number of frustrating niggles remain, although they aren't anywhere near as objectionable as certain other aspects of the narrative. The ease with which Farhad is able to contact CTU seems a bit ludicrous, given that they're supposed to be a fortified, top secret (well, ish) organisation; what, does he just have Chloe's direct line on speed dial? Then there's the ease with which CTU are able to acquire a 'voice match' for Farhad... it takes ten seconds, for God's sake! Why must all technology be ludicrously advanced on this show? Why must the solutions be this easy? And why must villains be so stupid as to answer their private mobile telephones, on which they are doing duplicitous business, with the name of their benefactors when they don't even know who it is that's calling? Josef assumes Farhad is the guy ringing him at the opening of the episode and answers, 'Farhad, you're late', only to find his dad on the other end! Surely, if there was no name, a simple 'hello' would suffice? Ack!

Still, at least these are gripes rather than grievances, small problems rather than huge gaffes. For the most part, the progression of the central plot point, the presence of nuclear rods on US soil, is solid and engaging, containing a number of surprising twists that keep us all hooked and on the edge of our seats. It's a pity, then, that everything else pretty much makes us get out of them and stick the kettle on. There's simply far too much extraneous incident in '12am - 1am' for the episode to prove rewarding; the script spends a great deal of its time pissing around with utterly redundant storylines that do nothing of any consequence and go absolutely nowhere of any interest. The involvement of a buerecrat from the White House is the sort of worn out trope that should've been consigned to the scrapheap six seasons ago, serving to do nothing other than irritate. Worse still is the Kevin/Dana/Cole garbage which, frankly, nobody gives a flying frack about because a) we haven't spent enough time with the characters for it to have any impact and b) it slows the momentum down to a snail's pace, failing to generate any suspense whatsoever by virtue of its appalling execution and scripting. As Kevin goes all Forrest Gump and cries "JENNNYYYYYYY!!" in his final moments, it's hard not to laugh at how patently ludicrous this whole sorry scenario is. And don't fool yourself into thinking it's over now that the bad guys are dead; this is going to linger and linger, like that rash you never got treated years ago, sucking the life and soul out of the show until someone catches a clue and shoots all parties involved. But hell, at least no cougars showed up out of those woods, eh? 5.1

Television reviews: Supernatural #513 'The Song Remains the Same' and #514 'My Bloody Valentine'

513: 'The Song Remains the Same'

Wr: Sera Gamble & Nancy Weiner
Dr: Steve Boyum

Synopsis: To prevent the Apocalypse before it ever starts, Anna travels through time to kill Sam's parents before they conceive him.

Review: Trust Sera Gamble to take a plot premise that's been utilised on the show before and turn it into something resoundingly original and engaging. Season four's superlative 'In the Beginning' sees Dean transported back in time to before he and Sam are born, thrown into the lives of his lovestruck parents and given the opportunity to change history so that his mother never succumbs to the brutality of the Yellow Eyed Demon. The song essentially remains the same here, natch, as a frighteningly militant Ana throws herself back to 1978 in an attempt to prevent Sam from ever being born and the brothers follow suit, struggling to resist the temptation to interject 'for the better' and put an end to what they perceive to be their miserable existence. In the hands of lesser writers, such similarities would render the episode frivolous and predictable. However, Gamble and co-writer Nancy Weiner know better and what results is a top notch marriage of dramatic ennui and mythological advancement.

The key to its success is all in the pacing. From the moment that Ana interrupts Dean's somewhat risque dream, it's heads down, pedal to the metal, no turning back. The narrative commences its trajectory, with the viewer believing that Ana has returned for honourable reasons and that her mission is of the utmost importance. There is an immediate sense of urgency established which permeates the subsequent sequences as we move directly into the resolution of this trope, bypassing any extraneous incident or moments of character introspection. The story just gets on with it, throwing twists and turns at us in glorious succession. Very quickly, we discover that Ana isn't trying to help the brothers at all and that her time banged up in Heaven has changed her. Cue a spectacular fight sequence, some wonderful two-handers between she and Castiel and a breakneck narrative that captivates just as much as it mesmerises. In any other show, this would form the meat of the episode, but not here. Instead, this is merely the preface to the main event as the plot shifts a few gears after only the first act, becoming something entirely different in the later stages.

It's a somewhat brave move to transform your story in this manner and to do it in such a way that effectively decreases the momentum. As Sam and Dean are (re)introduced to their young parents, the motifs change dramatically; the characters inevitably find themselves questioning what they can do, how they can prevent the seemingly inevitable from arising. While the show has touched on this before, it remains a relevant and realistic concept and is distinctly well-handled. Gamble addresses the issue and resolves it quickly, demonstrating to both parties that nothing can change. Essentially, they would be no better than Ana if Mary took their advice, divorcing John and running off into the sunset. It's heartbreaking to see them realise it, which is a testament to the strength of Padalecki and Ackles's respective acting talents, but it is a necessary epiphany and one that ties neatly into the episode's thematic web. Credit should also be given to the actors portraying Mary and John, who deliver whirlwind performances with what they're given, making it seem like they've been part of the show's framework since the very beginning, not simply since last season. John is particularly good when he discovers the truth about the demon world and even exhibits shades of Jeffrey Dean Morgan at times, most notably as he's insisting that he can draw the symbol on the wall.

Of course, in amongst all of this, there's the small matter of the debut of the one, the only, motherfracking angelic Michael to contend with. After easing the pace of the plot in the episode's mid-section, Gamble ramps it up again with this knockout of a sequence, mercilessly slaughtering Ana to begin and then unpacking a whackload of mythology on Dean's ass in a spectacularly shot and written scene. Remarkably for something so loaded with development, it comes across as rather methodical, feeling less like an information dump and more like a tempered, natural progression. Michael's likening of his own situation to Sam and Dean's and his rationale for occupying the Winchester's meat suit is very effective and adds further shades of grey to this already refreshingly murky paradigm. There's a notable sense of foreboding about the whole thing too, which is perhaps due to the eerily composed manner in which Matt Cohen plays the part.

A pretty darn spectacular episode then and one that recalls Supernatural's more recent penchant for playing with its own format, taking chances with its narrative and making brave and unconventional decisions regarding the structure of its stories. At once packed with mythology and resoundingly introspective, 'The Song Remains the Same' acts as a blueprint for how this show should operate, providing a thrilling roller coaster of engaging plot and insightful cornucopia of character examination at the same time. Predictably, Sera Gamble stands victorious again. Unquestionably brilliant. 9.4

514: 'My Bloody Valentine'

Wr: Ben Edlund
Dr: Mike Rohl

Synopsis: The brothers take on Cupid when the people of a small town start killing each other in the name of love. However, they soon discover that a greater power is responsible.

Review: You know you're onto a winner when your episode's named after a superlative cult noise act from the early 1990s. 'My Bloody Valentine' is a dastardly little rascal of an episode, a televisual upstart, if you will, that defies convention, flies in the face of expectation and simply refuses to sit still, flitting intermittently between genres and storytelling styles to produce a melting pot of scrumptious goodness, an encapsulation of all that is so bloody brilliant about this most flexible and daring of shows. And perhaps predictably, it's from the indomitable pen of one Ben Edlund, the man responsible for a plethora of Supernatural's most memorable moments (the talking Teddy bear? All Ben).

What is perhaps most remarkable about 'My Bloody Valentine' is its ability to present a number of genuinely comedic moments within a narrative that is chiefly concerned with the progression of the season-spanning narrative. At its heart, the central story is desperately bleak, focusing on the harrowing effects of Famine being free to roam the Earth. We're treated to a superbly macabre teaser sequence that moves from cliche-ridden schmaltz to one of the most grotesque ideas ever presented on the show. It's executed so seamlessly and with such verve that it remains with you long after the episode has finished and is one of those stark visuals that undoubtedly has a place in the annals of Supernatural history. People eating each other while having sex? Yeah, you're not going to forget that one in a hurry. There are a number of other superb conceits too, particularly the idea of the guy eating himself into an early grave and Castiel's craving for red meat, but the icing on the squeamishness cake has to be Famine's grand entrance in the cafe, which contains just about every gluttonous, debaucherous activity known to man and is genuinely terrifying (the guy putting his hands and head into the fryer? Jesus!) However, amongst all of this horror, the script maintains an undercurrent of humour that manages to work in con junction with the more serious elements to create something truly rich.

Evidently, some of the more hyperbolic moments of repulsive excess become humorous by virtue of their extremism (Castiel's penchant for burgers being one of them). However, there are other amusing nuggets here, the most notable of which is the debut of one of many Cupids. Edlund's writing is absolutely perfect, making use of every beat and nuance to manufacture something so patently absurd and contrary to every behavioural convention to which Sam and Dean adhere that it's howlingly funny. Every detail is spot on: from the guy's nakedness to his childlike enthusiasm for the concept of love; from his ridiculous 'handshake' to the moment he begins to cry when his feelings are hurt. And in order for all of this to work so well, Cupid requires a foil, something that Edlund takes great delight in delivering. The reactions of the central cast are just priceless: Dean gets angry, Sam feels awkward and Castiel, well, Castiel just doesn't know what to do and his laconic, aborted attempts at comfort are certainly enough to tickle your funnybone, if not have you in stitches. It's a neat idea at its core too, and one that slots nicely into the show's mythology: that Heaven might have a hand in orchestrating love, in determining who can and cannot 'couple up', so to speak, in order to ensure certain destinies come to pass, is both a nice notion and a somewhat scary one, since (again) it demonstrates the callous disregard that those upstairs have for free will.

This draws an uncomfortable parallel with the machinations of those downstairs too. Effectively, Famine is manipulating the entire cast throughout, robbing them of their ability to temper their hunger, to use their free will to prevent them from, say, sticking their heads in the deep fat fryer. Once again, Supernatural refuses to paint its apocalyptic war in demonstrable black and white, instead choosing to illustrate the murky and complex nature of everyone's motivations: hell, you need only look to the plight of poor Sam for evidence of that. His struggle to resist the temptation of chowing down on the ol' demon blood is harrowing to watch, especially when it's accompanied by a hefty slice of dramatic irony, since the viewer knows Famine's minions are heading to the hotel when Cas and Dean leave the poor boy there. And while it's neat to see him saving the day, albeit through the use of his dangerous powers, the effect is qualified by a saddening coda in which he finds himself forced into cold turkey, locked in the 'panic room' in Bobby's house until purged of all that he has consumed. Comparatively, Dean's juxtaposing character expose, while far less visceral, is no less heartbreaking. The idea that Famine cannot affect him because he's 'dead inside', incapable of feeling the way he used to, sits well with all that's happened to the character in the last season and a half and gives Jensen Ackles some decidedly meaty beats to play, to which he rises admirably (tell me you weren't a little choked up by that last scene... go on!)

All of this and we still haven't mentioned Famine himself, who is just fantastic, a real tour de force of casting and representation from all involved. Really, this guy is astoundingly eerie and is arguably one of the finest villains in Supernatural history which, frankly, is saying something. Still, in an episode so loaded with brilliance, it's easy to bypass a few things. Yet again, Ben Edlund provides us with a script bursting at the seams with engaging ideas and insightful character development, moving effortlessly between genres, throwing grotesque horror, superlative humour and highly suspenseful drama at us with reckless abandon and clearly loving every second of it. Five years and ninety six episodes in, Supernatural still surprises and delights with each passing week. If only more shows could follow suit. 9.3

Television reviews: Supernatural #511 'Sam, Interrupted' and #512 'Swap Meat'

511: 'Sam, Interrupted'

Wr: Daniel Loflin & Andrew Dabb
Dr: James L. Conway

Synopsis: The brothers must go undercover as patients at a mental hospital to get at a monster, but soon discover they have some mental issues of their own to deal with.

Review: Coming hot on the heels of a game-changing juggernaut like 'Abandon All Hope...', in which all manner of colossal events took place, including the summary execution of a few well-loved characters, 'Sam, Interrupted' feels a little too lightweight. Inevitably, a stand alone was always going to pale in comparison to a mythology-heavy piece so Dabb and Loflin really needed to up their game with this one and sadly, it seems that they decided to rest on their laurels instead.

The central concept - that Sam and Dean infiltrate a psych ward by telling everyone the truth about their lives - is a nice enough idea but it feels rather reminiscent of season two's 'Fulsom Prison Blues', especially given that, again, we have a guy on the inside providing the brothers with the tip-off. The villain, meanwhile, is moderately intriguing, yes, but there's nothing that sets it apart from the myriad other duplicitous beasties in the show's history. The wraith feels like just another throwaway bad guy, wrapped up in a fairly bog-standard narrative. The teleology certainly doesn't challenge: Sam and Dean arrive, ingratiate themselves, experience the dastardly goings-on, work everything out, target the wrong individual, realise who the right one is, do a bit of killing and then have an emotional realisation before bedtime. Ordinarily, this formula is sugar-coated with intriguing minutiae, sparkling dialogue or a challenging representational format but sadly, there's little of any of these here. Instead, we have a fairly perfunctory reveal (it's quite clear that the psychiatrist is not the perpetrator so the list of candidates is rather short) and similar denouement as the wraith's downfall effectively proves to be that she talks too much... just like every other rubbish villain in history.

Of course, 'Sam, Interrupted' isn't bad per se, it's just a little underwhelming. For an episode whose moniker contains the name of one of the central cast, it seems rather lacking in exploration of his psychological ennui. If this is supposed to be a treatise on Sam's inherent rage, his penchant to lash out, then it doesn't exactly do a very good job. The issue is addressed, along with Dean's avoidance tendencies, but no resolution is forthcoming. This would be fine, in itself, if the episode did a little more with the concept other than bring it up simply because of the perceived importance of character conflict. It feels like psychoanalysis for psychoanalysis's sake and, as a result, it struggles to resonate with the viewer. This impacts somewhat on the quality of the episode. Sure, there are a smattering of nice scenes - most notably the comedic elements as Sam is forced into a drugged state and the pair have to endure the suppositories - and the plot maintains a fairly steady level of momentum, but the abrupt and seemingly unnecessary nature of the introspective elements detracts somewhat from these positives.

'Sam, Interrupted' is one of the weakest Supernatural episodes in some time. It's largely a victim of its own chronological positioning, but the episode also feels more like a surface-scratching season one hour than a component of the complex, involved year five. It isn't bad, as such, and it certainly contains enough good to elevate the show above most other programmes on TV, but Dabb and Loflin are capable of so much more. 7.0

512: 'Swap Meat'

Teleplay: Julie Siege
Story: Rebecca Dessertine, Harvey Fedor & Julie Siege
Dr: Robert Singer

Synopsis: While the brothers are on a case, Sam is targeted by a high school student who has learned a body-switching spell. Dean discovers his brother is now more interested in getting drunk and hitting on women, while Sam has to deal with the teenager's home and school life.

Review: Once again, that pesky little thing called the Apocalypse can wait another week while Sam and Dean muck about in a small town, helping passing acquaintances of their father's from years prior. Forget about the fact that Lucifer's roaming the Earth and that, you know, everything could turn to dust in a few seconds flat: we need to deal with the poltergeist that's terrorising poor little whatsername!

And that, perhaps, is a little harsh. For all this is effectively another stand alone, and just about everyone and their uncle desperately wants the show to just get on with it, it is, nonetheless, a pretty fine and considerably entertaining episode. The story itself is rather neat, transforming from one thing to another within the first act and then doing the same in the later stages; essentially, the witchcraft narrative is just an aside to the real meat (if you'll pardon the pun) of the plot. The inclusion of the mythology arc is certainly commendable, especially since it's executed in a perfectly logical and refreshingly unintrusive way. These warlock-wannabes are aware of Sam and Dean and they darn well should be: the Winchesters' reputations would most certainly preceed them now that they're essentially the vessels for the (final?) battle between good and evil. It's nice to see ancillary characters afforded a role within the arc; there are no big names here, no Lilliths, Lucifers, Allisters or Azezils, and yet the threat remains decidedly potent. This is thanks, in no small part, to the skills of Everwood's Sarah Drew, who is able to convincingly turn from lovesick high school girl to brutal demon biatch in the blink of an eye. Her potrayal of the character's possession is wonderfully eerie, delivering each line with a sinister gravitas that sorta makes you wish she'd stick around for future instalments.

The guest cast are all pretty strong, in fact, and special note should be given to Colton James as Gary Finkel, who effectively carries a large proportion of the narrative on his own. It's refreshing to see someone so young not come off as forced or mawkish, hitting the appropriate notes for the relevant responses at all times. Indeed, he and Jensen Ackles play very well off each other, creating some pleasingly comedic two-handers, particularly the scenes in the bar and at the site of the witch's burial. Credit too to Jared Padalecki, whose 'Sam trapped' is killingly funny; it's all in the nuances with this guy, most notably as he's checking out his new meat suit in the kid's room or attempting to explain everything at dinner with the folks. It is a little unusual, however, that Sam refers to Gary as a virgin upon discovering his Star Wars obsession, given his own geeky proclivities. Such a callous remark feels rather out of character, the kind of thing that Dean would have no trouble uttering, for example. His comforting of the boy at hour's end, the reassurance that actually, life isn't so bad after all, feels much more in line with his personality, although the conclusion itself is rather perfunctory, tying things up a little too quickly (would Gary and Nora really be this well-adjusted in the aftermath of their friend's death?) Still, we are treated to a nice moral lesson about being grateful for what you have. Let's just sweep the fact that the show's done this more than a few times before under the rug, shall we?

'Swap Meat' is an entertaining diversion from season five's arc plot, providing a fairly taut script that takes a number of interesting twists and turns and contains a strong mixture of comedy and drama to boot. It's a shame that it doesn't do more with the mythology, especially now that we're all gagging for a little more Lucifer (nudge nudge, wink wink), but at the very least, it's engaging enough to leave you satisfied. Now here's hoping the stand alones are about to take a back seat... 8.3

Television review: Lost #604: 'The Substitute'

604: 'The Substitute'

Wr: Elizabeth Sarnoff & Melinda Hsu Taylor

Dr: Tucker Gates

Synopsis: Locke goes in search of aid to further help his cause.

Review: It says something about the strength of a show’s central concept when, after six years and over a hundred episodes, it still manages to run rings around virtually the entire competition with every single episode. ‘The Substitute’, Lost’s latest offering, is yet another example of how to write hugely suspenseful drama while offering a wealth of believable and satisfying character development at the same time. Sarnoff and Taylor’s script is pitched at the perfect pace to keep us on the edge of our respective seats, maintaining the sort of forward momentum that shows like 24 can only have wet dreams about. And what’s more, it slots a few more pieces into the collective jigsaw too, providing obliquely disguised answers (or rather, suggested answers) to a number of questions that have lingered for years, as well as teasing us with a slue of typically baffling moments that beg for further attention.

Inevitably, the majority of the more intriguing and head-scratching moments occur on-Island, as Smoke Monster Locke begins ‘recuriting’, in Ilyana’s words. This notion is fascinating enough in itself: what exactly is he recruiting for? His end game appears to be to leave the Island, but how many people does he need in order to do so and what purpose will they serve? As we discover at episode’s end, he wins Sawyer round to his side, which is a perfectly logical development for his character and also forms a wonderfully infuritating cliffhanger, the kind that makes you claw at the television set hoping for more, but his means of doing so are invariably predicated on manipulation. Effectively, he’s praying on the guy while he’s weak, when he’s at his most downtrodden in the wake of Juliet’s demise. Josh Holloway and Terry O’Quinn are excellent here, proving to be very effective foils for one another and delivering some truly stellar performances. Their final scene together in the cave is particularly intriguing, turning the previously established binary opposition between Jacob and Smokie on its head and suggesting that perhaps Marc Pellengrino isn’t quite the saviour that we’ve come to believe. The suggestion that he frivolously orchestrated the Losties’ plight in order to find a replacement for himself as ‘Island guardian’, when actually there’s nothing to protect it against, puts a rather interesting spin on things. It certainly isn’t outside of the realms of possibility within the show’s framework and provides further proof that Lindelof and Cuse really are masters of their art. Even at this late stage in the game, they are able to manufacture enough ambiguity and intrigue to keep their audience yabbering around the watercoolers for eons. The ‘candidate’ concept slots nicely into the mythology, offering a solid explanation as to the presence of our favourite castaways on the Island, and also produces a wonderful visual with the revelation of Jacob’s ceiling scribbles. Significantly, the Oceanic Six (and Sawyer) are demarcated by those numbers, and Smokie’s hint that his compatriot ‘had a thing for numbers’ seems to hint at further significance, and perhaps an eventual explanation, for these wonderfully obtuse buggers. However, it’s probably more intriguing to freeze-frame the thing and puruse those names that are crossed out. It’s almost a given that there’ll be some interesting tidbits in there, in much the same vein as the Hatch Map in season two.

There are other beguiling mythology crumbs scattered across our path too. The scales at the entrance to the cave, despite being ‘an in-joke’, seem to recall the black and white stones found in the pockets of ‘Adam and Eve’ (you know, the dead bodies) waaay back in season one and symbolically suggest at least a superficial alignment with the conventional binary opposition of ‘good and evil’, although, inevitably, it will be nowhere near this simple. We are clearly supposed to infer this but knowing Lindelof and Cuse, they will take great relish, six or seven episodes down the line, in stomping all over our expectations. Smokie’s tet a tet with Richard is loaded with meaning too, although most of it is conveyed by expression. It’s an interesting twist to have Alpert so visibly terrified at the presence of the monster in Locke’s form, yet stand his ground so firmly. To take a character who has, up until this point, appeared all-knowing and powerful (he doesn’t age, for God’s sake!) and expose him as perhaps little more than Jacob’s lackey is a brave and fascinating move. And what about the notion that Smokie was once a man? What could have happened to transform him into a pillar of black smoke? Did the Island do this to him? Is that why he so desperately wants to leave it? Where does he want to go? Will something horrible happen to the Island if it is abandoned without a guardian or will it make no difference, as he seems to suggest? And just who is the boy that Sawyer can see but Richard can’t, telling fake-Locke that he ‘can’t kill him’ because ‘you know the rules’? And what does he mean by that? This is wonderfully oblique stuff, providing the viewer with significant food for thought while drip-feeding enough hints to reward perseverance.

Since this is a Locke-centric episode, O’Quinn is given a chance to shine and boy, does he. In Smokie, it’s quite remarkable that the actor is able to create someone so intrinsically yet, in paradoxical fashion, subtely different to his usual character. As Sawyer notes, it’s clear that this is not John Locke, but it’s sometimes difficult to pinpoint exactly how O’Quinn manages to achieve this. There are notable nods to the character, particularly in some of his dialogue (‘don’t tell me what I can’t do’ is a nice nod to seasons past) and this approach to those with whom he comes into contact (offering Richard water is a moment that springs immediately to mind). Regardless of the how, this is nevertheless a brilliant accomplishment, and it works well in juxtaposition with the self-doubting Locke of the episode’s flash sideways. It’s pleasing to see this element occupy the B-storyline position, thereby placing greater emphasis on the developments to the show’s mythology and avoiding the slight problem suffered by ‘What Kate Does’ of seeming a little futile at times. However, that doesn’t lessen its impact. There are some very interesting moments here, particularly the manner through which Locke comes into contact with fellow 815 passengers. Clearly, the show is illustrating that the lives of these individuals were destined to be intertwined regardless of the outcome of the flight, but thankfully, it is presented in such a way that it refrains from seeming hokum. Hurley’s inclusion in the narrative is completely logical, given that it was previously established that he owned the box company, while Rose and Ben’s appearances serve to make points about certain aspects of Locke’s character. Sarnoff and Taylor provide a nice mixture of the comedic and the emotional here, setting sequences such as the teaser in which John falls into the sprinklers in paradigmatic comparison with moments such as his unceremonious firing and, most importantly of all, Helen tearing up Shephard’s card. This is a wonderfully executed scene, really getting to the heart of Locke’s neuroses and providing a semblance of happiness and serendippity for a character who has suffered somewhat at the mercy of the writer’s pen over the years.

There are a few other points worthy of note too: the scene in which Sun, Ilyana, Ben and Lapidus bury Locke’s body is a brilliant slice of black humour, capped off by Ben’s confession. The cliff-face ladder descent is expertly harrowing, executed perfectly by the production crew to give the viewer vertigo just by watching a few seconds of it. There’s also a marvellous sequence within the first five minutes in which the camera takes the first person perspective of the smoke monster, which manages to add snippets to the established mythology by suggesting what it is that Smokie is doing when certain noises are made (eg the ‘tick-tick’ noises appear to be when he floats high over the ground etc.) It’s also exceedingly eerie, particularly as we are treated to a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it reflection in the window of one of the DHARMA houses. The only aspect of the episode that grates, really, is the inclusion of the ‘minor’ flashbacks within the standard narrative to demonstrate how Jacob entered the lives of his ‘candidates’ in the season five finale (and also the incorporation of shots of his death). These seem rather superfluous for a show that has as devoted and solid an audience as Lost. The show doesn’t really attract casual viewers and as such, virtually everyone watching will be aware of what is being referred to. It just seems a little unnecessary and doesn’t really treat the audience with the level of intelligence that the show so traditionally has. Still, this is a minor quibble and doesn’t have a great impact on the overall quality of the episode.

‘The Substitute’ is an expertly written episode that provides enough dramatic development, suspense and intrigue to thoroughly immerse the viewer in the experience and leave you desperate for more once the final, fantastic cliffhanger rolls around. There are also some lovely character moments on offer, particularly in Locke’s flash sideways, as well as a tonne of questions to pass the time in the office on Monday morning. Once again, Lost maintains its reputation as just about the best damn thing on television. What are we going to do when it’s all over? 9.4

Television review: 24 #808: '11pm - 12am'

808: '11.00pm - 12.00am'

Wr: David Fury
Dr: Milan Cheylov

Synopsis: Jack tries to convince Sergei that he is willing to broker a deal with him in exchange for the Uranium rods. Dana is being blackmailed by Kevin Wade and his partner for services to rip off more jobs. Hastings has Chloe get a statement from Renee, then have her get a psychological evaluation.

Review: It seems almost redundant to say it at this point but 24 really isn't what it used to be. Somewhere down the line, probably around two or three years ago, the writing staff decided to take their feet off the accelerator, prop them up on the dashboard and rest comfortably on their laurels, setting the narrative to auto-pilot while they whipped out their cuban cigars and had a cosy tet a tet. Fortunately for the poor, discerning public, the writers' strike happened, swiftly kicking the lot of them up their respective backsides and prompting an upsurge in creativity. Sadly, however, now that things have quietened down and the production crew have been able to relax their troubled selves a little, the momentum has waned once again . The writing process has transformed from determining how change can be made to ticking a series of perceptibly mandatory boxes, ensuring that every episode is little more than a series of well-worn narrative tropes strung together by the most depressingly bog-standard of stories. Jack demonstrates superhuman-like powers when attempting to escape from the bad guys? Check. There's a mole in CTU? Double check. No one believes Bauer, Chloe and just everybody else that's saved the world twenty times over in the last ten years when they claim that they're misinterpreting information? So checked, you could probably buy it in Topman. These concepts may have captivated and enthralled when they were first trundled out in 2001 (yes, it's been that long) but by now, it certainly isn't too much to ask that they're firmly put to bed.

Instead, of course, they're paraded in front of our eyes as if they're the most innovatively creative ideas this side of a Charlie Kauffman movie. Oh my God, Sergei's asked for immunity? Well I never! Would you Adam and Eve it? I just can't begin to get my brain around such a complex and radical concept! You would think, by now, that the poor guys at CTU would, at the very least, roll their eyes and exhale in frustration, if not have regulations in place that prevent the implementation of such deals. How many times have reprehensible criminals managed to escape the claws of the American justice system because they're able to broker a deal that sets them up with 'a very big house in the country'? "Oh yes Mr. Bauer, I know a great deal about generic terrorist threat x because, obviously, it doesn't stop with me, oh no, there's a greater conspiracy afoot, so if you spare me from being strung up by my pinky toes and sodomised for eternity, I'll divulge everything." And lo, in order to move the plot forward, the villain gets his wish, spills the beans and no one ever pays. It's far, far too easy a fix for the narrative and it's one that the writers resort to over and over and over and over, like a bloody monkey with a minature cymbal. Is it so difficult to find new ways of moving things forward? To come up with something a little less frustrating? Oh wait, this is 24. It has a formula to stick to, a recipe to concoct. To deviate would be sacrilege; there was no way Jack could escape the clutches of Faceless Torturer #746 (whose 'fun with electricity' was a little too reminiscent of the antics Bauer was subjected to in the later stages of season two) without introducing the most over-the-top and patently ludicrous developments known to man, was there? Clearly, the knife to the throat in '10pm - 11pm' wasn't enough for the production crew. David Fury plays a game of oneupmanship here and has Jack crawling along a pipe, which just so happens to be leaking, by the way, and then knocking the bad guy unconscious by wrapping his legs around him. Uh huh. Frankly, it looks ridiculous. For all it may paint Bauer as a 'bad-ass' (or some other such psuedo-masculine rubbish), it's so unbelievable that it's impossible to invest in it. And just to compound the problem, Fury also injures the man here, having him shot in the arm and also wounding his foot but no, it's okay, he won't need to go to hospital, just have it wrapped up a little. He'll be up and about in, oh, ninety seconds, acting like nothing ever happened... just like last week, when Renee brutally stabbed him in the stomach! Are we really supposed to accept this crap? Really?

Well, given that this is the show that just will not let up with the inclusion of utterly pointless, extraneous narrative strands, yeah, I guess we are. So the Kevin and Dana saga continues for the umpteenth week in a row, sucking the life and soul out of the plot and insulting the audience's intelligence about twenty times over in the process. There are so many objectionable elements to this story that you wonder exactly how the writers can rationalise it during the creative process and expect that any sane individual would ever derive enjoyment from it. About three or four episodes ago, it became depressingly evident that Kevin would never leave Dana alone, despite his claims that he would 'be through' with her once she completed her task, and that subsequently, we wouldn't be treated to the quick resolution that we so desperately want. Honestly, it's tempting to take a sledgehammer to the screen to stop this wanton waste of time from going on any longer. But still you watch, sucked in by the misguidedly optimistic notion that things can only get better, only to find that no, they really, really don't.

Kevin's already atrocious dialogue actually manages to get worse now that's drunk off his tits (and how exactly did that happen in, like, twenty minutes, huh? Has he been necking straight vodka?) Arlo gets even more irritating now that he's given an increased amount of screentime, poking his nose into what he believes are extra-marital activities and being eye-gougingly smarmy, Dana almost, but not quite, tells Cole everything but, naturally, someone interrupts just at the crucial moment and curses, she's not able to take this storyline in the only direction that might demonstrate any semblance of potential! Instead, from a conversation in which Ortiz basically tells her that he'll love her no matter what (not actually realising what that entails, in his future bride's case), she decides to take matters into her own hands, stalk Kevin by having a drink in a nightclub (um, WTF?) and brandish a gun about, presumably because she intends to put a bullet in his brain. Yes, because that won't get her into any more trouble, right? What better way to fix the fact that you've committed a heinous crime than to commit an even more heinous one? Agh! What part of any of this is even remotely entertaining? Evidently, it's supposed to create some form of suspense but it's all so sodding artificial that it's just plain boring. Oh, and how many times is this woman going to pop out of CTU for some pathetically transparent reason before Hastings catches a clue? Before people stop simply stroking their chins and realise that actually, employees can't just walk out without asking their superiors first? This entire narrative is absolutely, unequivocably abysmal and really impacts on the quality of the episode as a whole, removing any semblance of suspense from the story for very significant periods of time.

Unfortunately, at certain points, the remaining plot strands have the same result. The final five minutes of the hour are evidently supposed to be a veritable smogasbord of dramatic tension as the retrieval of the nuclear Rod Stewarts nears what we are supposed to believe is its conclusion. Except that there isn't a single viewer in the land who would buy that for one second. We're eight episodes into the season; to allow CTU to achieve their objective at this point would require a complete 180 degree turn in the narrative, wherein the emphasis would shift entirely. Yes, perhaps this would be a possibility if we were fifteen or sixteen hours in, but this early? No way. It is depressingly obvious that an obstacle will arise and furthermore, that said obstacle will be the intervention of the supposedly dutiful son. Given recent developments, wherein David Anders hasn't exactly been the happiest of chappies now that his brother has snuffed it at the hands of Daddy dearest, the trajectory of the narrative is hopelessly telegraphed. Consequently, this takes the wind out of the sails during the final stretch, robbing the ramp up to the cliffhanger of its desired dramatic effect. With the outcome as such a foregone conclusion, it really is hard to care about what's going on. Certain underwhelming acting choices don't help matters either. Hassan's daughter is resolutely unconvincing, delivering each line like she can't get her mouth around the words. Her story plays out exactly as predicted in weeks past, too: Hassan objects to her relationship with the required amount of knee-jerk callousness to make him feel really bad when she ultimately wanders blindly into danger in the coming weeks (yes, it will happen). And while Hastings actually gets some decent dialogue for once, the actor just can't make any of it convincing. His cadence is all wrong and, for whatever reason, he continues to walk around his offices like he's the freaking Hunchback of Notre Dame. Wassupwitdat? Oh, if only we had Annie Werschung to save us... but sadly, Renee's being debriefed and looked down upon at CTU so she's depressingly underused. Sigh.

There are a few positives to be found, however. This being a David Fury script, it's the little details that are the most pleasing - Ortiz adjusting the scared agent's gear, the inclusion of a nightclub, which is something we've never seen in eight years of 24 (or at least rarely: just hedging my bets there), Sergei cooking while plotting the sale of nuclear materials, Jack cutting his foot as he succeeds in his escape and so on. These minor doses of realism are most welcome as they enable us to buy into the story. There are even some priceless moments of black humour too, most notably as Bauer announces to Sergei that he's on the line with the President of the United States, prompting one of the finest and most perturbed looks in the show's history, and also as the dastardly Russian breaks down in front of Jack, confessing that he murdered his own son and our hero clearly has no idea what to do or say. In general, these two seem to play well off each other and now that Kensei has betrayed him, it looks like we might get to see a little more interaction between them in the weeks to come. And it's worth noting that the sequences in which Bauer and the Russians creep through the darkened house looking for one another are superbly executed, with Cheylov utilising a combination of slow shots, muted chiaroscuro and Sean Callery's pitch perfect underscore to create a truly tense atmosphere.

Sadly, however, these less objectionable elements are insufficient to salvage the episode. Fury's script places far too great an emphasis on unnecessarily extraneous plot developments, concentrating heavily on the car crash of a narrative that is Kevin and Dana Do D.C., which promptly sucks the life and soul out of the show. Just to make matters worse, generally, the remaining strands are lazily written, proving depressingly predictable and relying to a great extent on tropes and paradigms that became cliches, within the show's framework at any rate, years ago. It really is difficult to drum up any interest in the vast majority of what we're given here and as a result, watching 24 is becoming far more of a chore than a joy. Wake up guys, your show's sinking. Get your feet back on the accelerator before it's too late. 4.0