The Departing and The Soon-To-Be Departed (Review)

Series: How I Met Your Mother
Episode Title: "Last Time in New York"
Episode Grade: A-

I went on at great length last week about the emotional underpinnings of How I Met Your Mother, because I'm largely incapable of talking about anything without going on at great length. And it's that core of emotion that has enabled the show to achieve a kind of resonance that even well-crafted sitcoms lack.

But an emotionally resonant sitcom is still a sitcom, and it's fair to judge How I Met Your Mother on a comedic standard. That's largely where the show has fallen short in recent years, even while getting many of the emotional beats right.

"Last Time in New York" has some lovely moments, and we'll get to those. But above all else it is funny, a consistently entertaining half hour of television that provides reason to hope Carter Bays and Craig Thomas can make the world's most drawn-out wedding something we enjoy watching.

Writers tend to talk about "A" plots and "B" plots in episodes, but "Last Time in New York" really has two A plots. The first, which is more light-hearted, has Barney and Robin freaking out about the arrival of all their elderly relatives and the possibility that they might end up a bitter, sexless old married couple themselves.

The Barney-Robin pairing can raise a number of troublesome questions, but the chemistry between Cobie Smoulders and Neil Patrick Harris is sensational enough to quiet most of them. The two have an easy reporte built over the course of eight seasons, and it remains a pleasure just to watch the two bounce off each other and reveal just how perfectly, pervertedly compatible they are.

Barney and Robin spend most of the episode trying to find a naughty public place to have sex, but they're stymied by the hordes of elderly relatives who have descended on Farhampton (and who are inexorably drawn by uttering the words "Mandy Patinkin"). This is all pretty frivolous, and the jokes about old people trade more on hoary stereotypes than genuine wit.

But, again, it's fun. Watching Barney constantly misinterpret Robin's statements as an invitation for anal sex is fun. Watching Wayne Bradey sacrifice himself as if he's a doomed soldier in a classic war movie to the old relatives so that Barney and Robin can get away is fun. Smoulders wasn't necessarily asked to do much in the first couple seasons of the show, but she's evolved into a really outstanding comedic performer, and her work with Harris is always a highlight.

A-plot Two is Lily discovering Ted's list of things to do for the final time in New York. There's more of an emotional core to this, and not just because Ted expects to leave behind Robin and the rest of his friends. Ted's love for New York has itself been a theme running through the show's many seasons; his passion for the city's architecture, its energy and its beauty have been re-visited constantly. Sometimes it's been played for laughs, sometimes for drama, sometimes for thematic resonance, but it's always been there. And it's always been one of the better elements of Ted's character; he's hardly unique in fiction in having a passion for New York, but How I Met Your Mother's writing staff have done a remarkable job in keeping that passion from coming off as the insufferable arrogance you see from other fictional New Yorkers.

But this is also a consistently funny story. The to-do list is perfect Moseby: whether Ted is correcting the "Your a penis" graffiti on the corner (that's YOU'RE a penis, thank you very much), saying goodbye to the Empire State Building (he sometimes talks to it about life, OK?) or finally coming clean with the beautiful woman upstairs (she's an incredibly loud walker and can't play the bongos at all), the little cutaway gags developing from the list are funny.

"Last Time In New York" ends on something of a cliffhanger: Ted finds Barney to share a last glass of Scotch, only to be confronted by the fact that Barney saw him helping Robin dig in Central Park for her old locket last season. So the emotional stakes remain. But there are two syllables in "sitcom," and tonight was excellent proof that How I Met Your Mother is still aware of the second.

Notes

• The C-plot tonight is Marshall driving through a "hellish, cheese-infested wasteland" (Wisconsin) with Sherri Shepherd. Jason Segel was apparently quite reluctant to come back for a final season, and I wonder if the road trip plot is a way of working around his lack of availability, because he doesn't get much screen time tonight.
• Lily's awesome dress, which was both slutty and classy in exactly the right proportions, was ruined, which forces her to opt for her back-up dress, which is just classy.
• Marshall and Ted ruined the dress in a sword fight sparked by Ted's discovery of the old swords he and Marshall once shared. Marshall ends up raising a pretty valid point about the way Andre the Giant is disrespected in The Princess Bride.
• Of course, it turns out even Lily and Robin are unable to resist the allure of a sword fight, and they end up dueling. Lily apparently thinks Mandy Patinkin's famous line is, "My name is Rodrigo Montoya, you killed someone I love, prepare to dance."
• During the fight, Lily and Robin accidentally destroy the 30-year-old bottle of expensive scotch Marshall and Ted bought for the wedding. They replace it with cheap whiskey, chocolate syrup, ketchup and hand sanitizer. Ted can't tell the difference.
• Josh Radnor in a 1910-era bathing suit. Always comic gold. 

Portrait of a Magnus in Decline (Review)

Series: Rome
Episode Title: "Pharsalus"
Original Air Date: October 9, 2005
Episode Grade: C

"Pharsalus" is a perfect example of what we might call a "strategic anti-climax." There are moments in a story that an audience can recognize as momentous and epochal, especially when the story is based in well-known history. These moments present certain challenge and expectations.

Instead of taking these challenges head-on, the strategic anti-climax deliberately sidesteps them, disposing of the crucial event in a cursory fashion. The focus is placed on the lead up to, or aftermath of, the incident and how it shapes the characters involved.

There can be thematic reasons for this, such as an attempt to emphasize the importance of all the little things that contribute to the large event. In comedies, the strategic anti-climax can be played for laughs. In skillful hands, it's a storytelling trope that puts the audience off-balance by subverting its expectations.

"Pharsalus," on the other hand, is strategic anti-climax as cop out. It dispenses with its titular battle in a way that betrays a contempt for the audience and doesn't do nearly enough in the aftermath to make up for it. There's enough in the closing moments of this episode to keep it from qualifying as a true disaster, but it remains the worst episode of the series so far.

There are two choices here that creak and squeal like a rusty gate. In the first, the episode starts by showing Titus Pullo and Lucius Vorenus stranded on an island somewhere in the Aegean, most of the 13th Legion having been drowned by the massive storm we saw last week.

In the second, "Pharsalus" elects to elide The Battle of Pharsalus, in which Caesar destroyed Pompey's forces. The "battle," such as it is, is represented with a soundless, generic, 15-second vignette in which a few soldiers swing swords at each other and scream menacingly. This being finished, we cut back to an ever-so-slightly bruised Caesar riding triumphantly into camp.

And so Rome handles the first truly momentous, epic moment of its run: by waving at it from a passing car. I eagerly await the moment where the show grapples with Caesar's assassination by having Pullo say, "Hey, remember when those dudes stabbed Caesar last week? That was weird, wasn't it? Anyway, I like having sex."

Let's be honest about what this is: a bullshit-powered plot machine. Rome was famous as one of the most expensive shows of its day, but it has shown no stomach for shelling out the money required to truly do justice to a battle like Pharsalus. This episode is an attempt to make a virtue out of a necessity, and the necessity is an inability or unwillingness to grapple with the true scope of the moment.

Pullo and Vorenus, for their part, are stranded on their island so that they can't take part in the "battle," such as it is. If our two main characters were present the show wouldn't be able to get away with ignoring Pharsalus; the audience would expect to see the two in action. We wouldn't accept breezing past a moment that presented so much danger to Pullo and Vorenus. Throw a shipwreck at them, however, and the details of the battle become irrelevant.

Of course, the shipwreck plays a more important role in the story: bringing Titus and Pullo into contact with a defeated Pompey. The two escape their island by building a raft out of the corpses of their comrades, which is terribly innovative and interesting to anyone who hasn't read Watchmen. 

Titus and Vorenus wash up on the beach right in front of Pompey and his family, who are fleeing to a Greek port where they can take ship to Egypt and try to raise more forces. This is, again, an utterly ridiculous contrivance, a deus ex machina so ridiculous that it's partly redeemed later in the episode when Caesar lampshades its ridiculousness by suggesting these two men must have gods on their side.

For all that there is in this development to set one's eyes a-rollin', it does at least bring us the few moments that prevent the episode from a complete collapse.

Kenneth Cranham hasn't had much to do so far as Pompey, but he shines in his final episode. "Pharsalus" does well when it is exploring a defeated and humbled Pompey, and it is at its best when Pompey is interacting with Vorenus.

There are some cursory attempts to raise questions about power and influence in these post-Pharsalus scenes. Pompey's servants and soldiers all flee, one of them stealing the jewelry from his wife's neck as she sleeps. The guide and protector who's left, a creepy fellow named Lysandros (with a bitchin' metal nose), is impudent almost to the point of mutiny, harshly inquiring about his fee and refusing to move on to the Greek port when Pompey demands it.

Cranham handles all of this with a heartbreaking mix of wounded dignity and resigned acceptance, and he takes advantage of his first real chance to imbue the character with something more than simplistic arrogance. And Rome doesn't allow Pompey too unrealistic a transformation; he shows a flash of the old arrogance when explaining Pharsalus to Vorenus, defending his strategy as "right" while blaming its failure on the "cowards" in his army.

Vorenus, who had initially taken custody of Pompey after killing Lysandros, decides to release Pompey. He later tells Caesar that he didn't think a "broken" Pompey was a threat, what with his watery eyes and shaking hands, but his explanation to an aghast Pullo is a little different. The traditionalist, honor-bound Vorenus just doesn't think a man such as Pompey Magnus deserves to be trussed up and delivered like a slave to Caesar. It's a reasonable explanation that's consistent with what we know of Vorenus.

In the end, of course, all Vorenus does is give Pompey the freedom to die on the Egyptian shore. It's a moment that's handled with the kind of unsparing directness that I can only wish the episode had displayed with the Battle of Pharsalus.

For all of the good work turned in by Cranham and Kevin McKidd, "Pharsalus" remains an utterly disappointing and uninspiring episode of television. Yes, the scope and size of this moment is massive and difficult to cover. But it's a task Rome gave itself, and the magnitude of the moment should give the show an extraordinary amount of pitch and drama.

Instead, Rome opted out of the moment, and in doing so betrayed a crippling lack of ambition and creativity.

Notes

• The other significant plotline here is Atia dispatching a reluctant Octavia to ask Servilia for some men to guard the house. This leads, as it so often does, to a lesbian affair. I assume this will eventually prove to be part of Servilia's revenge plot, but right now it's just manipulative.
• There's a really good scene before the "battle" in Pompey's camp. Pompey wants to hound Caesar into a hunger-driven surrender without offering battle, but Cato, Cicero and Scipio play on Pompey's ego and talk him into an "honorable" battle.
• Caesar's reason for giving battle with his hungry, desperate troops: "We must win or die. Pompey's men have other options."
• Cicero and Brutus surrender to Caesar, who has a shockingly joyous reaction to seeing the two Senators. 
• Ciaran Hinds is good in relatively limited work here. He's charming with Brutus and Cicero and furious with Lucius Vorenus. 

Resurrection of a Franchise (Review)

Series: Marvel's Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D.
Episode Title: "Pilot"
Episode Grade: B+

(Editorial note: I've considered the pros and cons of repeatedly typing in the periods listed above, and after a careful analysis have decided to omit them in the body of the reviews. It's annoying, and you can send complaints to my copy editor)

The Avengers was more than your usual summer blockbuster. It was, in fact, less of a movie than the culmination of a marketing and branding strategy that began with the original Iron Man. Superhero movies are always mercenary, profit-driven affairs, but The Avengers was unseemly even by the standards of summer comic book flicks.

For all that, the movie was redeemed by Joss Whedon's deft, light-hearted direction; in an era of dark, gritty superheroes, The Avengers was as whimsical as a movie about fighting the end of the world could really be.

Agents of SHIELD is clearly just another branch in the trillion-dollar money tree Marvel is nurturing with The Avengers franchise. But based on the pilot, it also has plenty to recommend it, including a top-notch cast and a healthy dose of Whedon's irreverence.

Of course, Robert Downey, Jr., Chris Evans, Mark Ruffalo and Chris Hemsworth aren't available for a weekly television drama, so we instead get the delightful adventures of Special Agent Phil Coulson. You might remember Coulson as the guy who assembled the Avengers in the various Marvel movies.

You might also remember him as the guy who was killed about halfway through The Avengers. So far as Coulson is concerned, SHIELD Director Samuel L. Jackson faked his death in order to unite the superhero team. The reality is far more traumatizing, though we don't get the details in the pilot; our old friend Agent Maria Hill (hi Colbie!) darkly hints at some other back story. There's probably a cloning plot line coming up, or maybe straight resurrection, but, hey, it's a universe with Thor and The Hulk in it. I can buy this.

Clark Gregg always gives off an air of officiousness; he has always been perfectly cast as a government operative (back to his delightful appearances on The West Wing) who's just a little annoyed by everything going on around him. He's somewhat less well-suited for the role of idealist, but it's not a crippling flaw.

If there's a hole in this particular episode, it originates with Brett Dalton, who plays the blandly handsome Agent Grant Ward. Writers of superhero stories enjoy putting an everyman at the center of the craziness in order to provide the viewers/readers with a relatable entry to the universe. The problem is that the everyman is seldom of much interest himself, and Dalton continues that tradition here. Dalton is both boring and insufferably arrogant, which isn't much of a combination.

The plot of "Pilot" is compelling enough: an apparently average man witnesses an explosion at a building, then punches into a brick wall, climbs into the burning structure and rescues a woman inside. This being 2013, all of it is caught on video and posted online. SHIELD swings into action to find the man and bring him in.

There are some nifty little Whedon-esque tricks. For the first 15 minutes or so, an organization called "Rising Tide" is set up as the antagonist, one of their operatives providing a portentous, threatening voiceover...until it's interrupted when Coulson tracks down the van "Rising Tide" is using as a base and discovers the organization is a single hacker, played by Chloe Bennett.

"Skye," as Bennett's character calls herself, isn't a terribly well-rounded figure at this point. She's beautiful, she's good with computers, she has your standard network television paranoid politics and she's hiding an idealistic streak. All standard stuff. But Bennett has the right attitude for the part, and she's good with Whedon's dialogue, so we can afford to wait a bit for Skye to get fleshed out.

It turns out that the superhero from the opening scene, Michael, isn't a superhero at all. He is, instead, an unemployed factory worker who got roped into a medical experiment that somehow involves gamma radiation, Captain America's super serum and alien metal. There is, of course, a shadowy organization lurking behind the scenes, and the ghastly experiment in creating a super human causes insanity in the subject, as ghastly experiments to create super humans often do. Michael is also set to explode sooner rather than later. Again, your usual evil scientist side effects.

This all leads in fairly predictable, lockstep procedural fashion to a showdown at the local train station, and here's where Agents of SHIELD shows a little hint of becoming something more. Through Michael, the show explores the psychological ramifications that come with the existence of The Avenger; Mike is torn by feelings of inadequacy, brought on in part by the knowledge that there are "gods" above him and in part by his own economic ails.

The various resentments swirl together and get tangled up, and all Michael can really feel is impotence and the resulting rage.

This gets resolved in an annoyingly neat fashion, as SHIELD's science team rushes to the scene at the last minute and provides Ward with a magic rifle that can paralyze Michael, but not kill him. He's taken back to headquarters, the superhero device is removed and he's returned to his wife and kids.

There are a few paths Agents of SHIELD can take from here. It can become a procedural with nice branding and excellent production values; discover a new superhero or villain or science experiment every week, destroy it, find out a little bit more about the organization funding all this. Or, it can go deeper into serialization and explore its characters in depth.

A show like Agents of SHIELD is probably never going to be able to take a lot of risks; it's too important to Marvel's brand for the downsides that come with excess ambition. But between the presence of Whedon and cast members like Coulson and Ming-Na Wen, there's every reason to expect a consistent, quality product.

Notes

• Skye briefly talks with Michael before Coulson discovers her, and she insists she has an office. "Of course I have an office. A mobile off...I work...live in a van. By choice..."
• Coulson discovers Skye while she's loudly insisting that SHIELD will never find her, because Joss Whedon is clever, but he's often not subtle.
• That woman Mike saved? She was the doctor who implanted him with the alien device that gave him his powers. She's still alive at the end of the pilot.
• The show helpfully informs us that a scene takes place in "Paris, France," thus saving us from the inevitable confusion over whether or not they're actually in Texas.
• The fight choreography in Paris is really, really impressive. Very brutal.
• "I don't think Thor is technically a god." "You haven't been near his arms."

Final Beginnings (Review)

Series: How I Met Your Mother
Episode Title: "The Locket"/"Coming Back"
Episode Grade: B+

How I Met Your Mother has always been a show torn by different instincts. It is, of course, a CBS sitcom, and an important one for the network; it's been a tent pole show for CBS, and one that, as the Monday primetime opener, really launches the week's programming. That position carries with it certain duties, and the format its own tropes. As such, HIMYM can never veer too far from the standard sitcom atmosphere and plots.

But there's always been another side to How I Met Your Mother, a side with ambition and heart and an intense yearning that takes the show to places other sitcoms never care to visit. This sometimes shows in "gimmick" episodes in which Carter Bays and Craig Thomas play with narrative techniques such as scrambled timelines or an unreliable narrator.

More often, however, what distinguishes How I Met Your Mother is the emotion animating each episode. How I Met Your Mother is a show about love, about the heights to which it can elevate us and the depths to which it can drive us. That means a lot of swelling music and gushing admissions of love, yes; "Come On," season's one finale, is a truly extraordinary romantic comedy, an episode that achieves remarkable heights of true sentimentality.

But the show's central conceit also means that, in many ways, How I Met Your Mother is a show about failure and heartbreak. There's only one mother, only one successful relationship, and while Ted's revolving door of women is often played for laughs, the show isn't afraid to explore the effect all of this romantic futility has on its main character.

There is an undercurrent of sadness in the show, a frustration that anyone who's ever wondered at the persistence and ubiquity of loneliness can understand. It's a sadness that, remarkably, pairs well with the hope and yearning I wrote about above. The sense that all of this heartbreak will be in some way redeemed by the end of the series is the true appeal of the show, and it's that a little too neat and tidy for real life, well, who ever suggested that our art must always adhere to strict realism?

So How I Met Your Mother begins its last season, and it's an important one. Finale seasons are always crucial, of course, especially when we know they're coming ahead of time. It's our last exposure to the show, and everyone wants to go out on a high note.

But this final season, which began tonight with back-to-back episodes, is even more important for How I Met Your Mother's legacy. It will go a long way toward determining how we remember the show: an above-average sitcom with some nice moments and a lengthy decline phase, or genuinely one of the best comedies of its time.

Much of the show's decline these last two or three seasons has been overstated; season seven's "Symphony of Illumination" is one of the show's greatest episodes, and its exploration of despair and friendship is nearly unmatched in the recent history of sitcoms. But for all that, the decline has been real; the humor broader, the laugh track louder, the mugging for the camera more intense. How I Met Your Mother has been a pleasant enough show to watch these last few years, but it's largely been coasting on our stored affection for these characters.

This ninth and final season, then, is vital, and it represents the culmination of what the show has been working toward since (God save us) 2005. When your show is entitled "How I Met Your Mother," the season in which that actually happens takes on an out-sized importance.

It's heartening then that these first two episodes are so strong.

I want to begin at the end, with two Teds. One of them is sitting alone at the bar in the Farhampton Inn, doing a crossword puzzle while he waits for Robin and Barney's wedding. The other Ted is sitting at the same table, a year later, talking to his wife.

It's a scene that, in its juxtaposition of loneliness and unabashed sentimentality, could very well serve as a mission statement for the show itself. It is a moment of true, unalloyed hope, and a scene that's written with unwavering confidence.

Probably the most encouraging aspect of these two episodes is Cristin Milioti, who plays the still-unnamed future wife and mother. This is a difficult role. There are nine years of expectations weighing on it, and so the decision to cast a relative unknown like Milioti was probably wise.

She handles her part with aplomb. Lily, driven to Milioti's train both by Ted's insane road trip behavior and the kind of coincidences that fuel sitcoms, is actually the first to meet the mother, who's in the band playing at Robin and Barney's wedding. This is a good start for Milioti, who is given some funny lines, a good sense of humor and that kind of likably quirky personality that only seems to exist on network television.

There's only so much going on in these two episodes. Barney and Robin are afraid they share a Canadian cousin, Mitch, but then find out that he's only Robin's cousin by adoption (his actual parents were eaten by sled dogs). Marshall stresses out upon discovering that his mom posted a Facebook photo that revealed his decision to accept a judgeship and gets kicked off his plane back to New York (alongside guest star Sherri Shepherd). Lily desperately wants to view the photo so she can see her son, but doesn't want to be tormented by Mrs. Erickson's passive aggressive photographic sniping.

It's all set up, basically, moving plot pieces into place so that they're in the proper position for the more important moments later in the season. Marshall ends up renting a car with Shepherd, which gives the writers an excuse to keep him away from the wedding for most of the season and give him wacky adventures with a sassy black woman. Ted's voiceover indicates that he'll end up causing a fuss by making one last run at Robin later in the season.

But it's pleasant set up, and the final scene of "Coming Back" is as beautiful and touching as the show's last season deserves. There will undoubtedly be some rough spots during this season; the decision to turn Barney and Robin's wedding into a year-long affair effectively guaranteed that. But I fully expect enough laughs and tears to make the whole thing worthwhile.

Notes

• I didn't get at this much in the body of the review, but these two episodes are quite funny. More amusing than laugh out loud hilarious, but they consistently elicited a chuckle.
• Lily groans when Ted pulls out his leather driving gloves, but he makes the unassailable point that "in 99.9 percent of crashes, the driver wasn't wearing gloves."
• Ted has a massive travel binder of all the interesting sights between New York City and Farhampton. One section? "Mennonite Windmills," which drives Lily to the nearest train.
• How do we know the mother is a good fit for Ted? She also owns a pair of driving gloves, and Ted reminds his kids about the seven-hour side trip she made them take on the way to Disney World so the family could see the goat who could blow smoke rings.
• "Lady Tedweena Slowsby."
• Barney isn't worried about the potential incest with Robin, because King Joffrey's parents were related, and he turned out to be "a fair and wise ruler."
• Lily fondly remembers Marshall's calves, which "launched a thousand lady boners."
• There's a great running gag at the hotel, where Lily pays a bartender $100 to keep a drink in her hands at all times. He calls it "the Kennedy package."
• The Stinsons were cursed by a gypsy woman in 19th century to perpetual horniness. Oh, and the performance of awesome guitar solos.

Loyalty and Intimacy (Review)

Series: Rome
Episode Title: "Egeria"
Original Air Date: October 2, 2005
Episode Grade: B-

What kind of man is Rome's Marc Antony? We've seen a fair bit of him in the first five episodes of the show (and, in one memorable scene, we saw all of him), but Antony's characterization, while direct and entertaining, has been rather thin. James Purefoy is clearly enjoying playing the blunt, brutish counter-weight to Caesar's smooth manipulator, and it's fun to watch, but Rome is a little too fond of that juxtaposition, and hasn't really given Purefoy much of weight.

That changes a bit in "Egeria," which is very much an episode about Antony and his priorities. There's still a lot here that's groan-worthy, though Purefoy does his best with it. But there's also some genuine insight into Antony's character, all sparked by the episode's primary story development.

But first we get the thoroughly entertaining spectacle of Antony trying to oversee the governing of the city in Caesar's absence. Caesar is in Greece, chasing Pompey in the hopes of forcing a climactic battle, and he left Antony behind to "keep the peace."

This, it goes without saying, is a task for which Antony is singularly ill-suited, though he executes Caesar's will well enough. When he calls in the senior Senator remaining in Rome and tells him he will be co-consul with Caesar, the Senator points out that Caesar is already dictator-in-fact. Antony has enough cunning to reply, "It sounds so much better if he's consul. Much more amicable."

Again, Purefoy is excellent here; he's all pleasant malevolence in his conversation with the Senator, and it's possible to see in this early scene why Antony has a position of power. But this is Rome pounding home a certain point about Antony, and it's a point we've seen made plenty of times before.

Things truly get interesting when Caesar writes Antony with a plea for help. While Caesar was pursuing Pompey, assuming that the aged general was just mindlessly fleeing in an attempt to postpone the inevitable, Pompey was actually gathering legions from the eastern provinces. Now, Pompey out-numbers Caesar 10-to-1, and he is the one chasing Caesar, who wants Antony to bring the 13th Legion to Greece as soon as possible.

But Antony is given another path. An ambassador from Pompey visits Antony and makes him an offer: abandon Caesar and side with Pompey, and the general will give Antony immunity for any crimes, a great deal of money and a province to rule.

It's hyperbole to say that Antony is torn by this turn of events; as played by Purefoy, there's not much introspection or psychological torment in Marc Antony, and he receives Pompey's offer with his usual smirk and bravado. But he is clearly considering it; when he dismisses Pompey's ambassador, he tells the man to disguise himself, evidence that he's ashamed of the meeting. The ambassador has a smirk of his own in response.

This gets to a question at the core of Antony's character: namely, does this character have a core? Antony has been set up, in many ways, as an opposite of Lucius Vorenus' duty-bound sense of honor, a man of coarse interests and simple tastes, with no sense of loyalty to the idea of "Rome" or her traditions. He has here an opportunity to protect himself at the expense of his oldest friend.

And Atia paints him an even more interesting picture. Once she discerns that Caesar might actually lose the war with Pompey, she starts looking for a way out; as Caesar's niece, she is vulnerable to a backlash from Pompey's loyalists should he win. So she makes a rather startling proposal in the aftermath of yet another sex scene: marriage.

Antony's reaction ("Why on Earth would we want to do that, of all things?") is appropriately incredulous, but Atia is dangling a hell of a future in front of Antony. Abandon Caesar, accept Pompey's offer, marry Atia, gain the advantage of her name and wealth and become de facto King of Rome. The choice in front of Antony, then, is not just loyalty or survival, it's loyalty or unfathomable power.

But Antony, it seems, does believe in something more than himself, even if it's only friendship. He chooses Caesar over Pompey, Atia and the throne of Rome, and he leaves Atia's bed after an exchange of slaps (Polly Walker gets the worst of these, of course).

The course of history dictates the result of this storyline, of course; the writers couldn't very well have Antony betray Caesar at this point, not when there's a battle with Pompey to be fought and a famous assassination to witness and Antony's own renowned end to orchestrate. But there's still something to be said for the details here, and this is an excellent way of making us give a damn about Antony.

So Antony makes his decision, and the episode ends with Vorenus and Titus Pullo sitting in a ship on the Aegean Sea, surrounded by their comrades, sailing to Greece.

Vorenus is the focus of the episode's other main plotline, which is always good. It's primarily a small scale, domestic story, which is less good. Kevin McKidd is exceptional no matter the story he's given, but he is at his best when his honor and dignity are set against the larger cynicism of Roman power.

Regardless, there is real and remarkable tenderness in this story, which is yet another chapter in Lucius' attempt to make Niobe hate him a little less. And it works in this episode, even if that's less a result of anything Vorenus does and more of Niobe making a decision to forget Evander, the man who fathered her child while Vorenus was away soldiering (Pullo and Octavian killed him in last week's episode, you might remember).

I haven't written a lot about the work Indira Varma has done as Niobe, and to an extent that's because the writing for her has been workmanlike at best. She's a put-upon wife uncomfortable with her absentee husband. It's not terribly original stuff.

But she shines in this episode, and when placed alongside McKidd, the chemistry between the two is outstanding. The awkwardness of their early scenes together is continued in this episode, only to fade in a way that is both genuine and consistent with the characterizations we've seen. The few days of bliss that Niobe and Lucius share feel earned, as does the sadness on display when Vorenus has to leave for Greece.

Notes

• One other plotline in this episode: Pullo takes Octavian to a brothel to lose his virginity at Atia's urging. It's an insignificant little affair, though it ends with Octavian having sex with a prostitute whose accent seems vaguely Russian (well, probably. We never see the act itself, and it's possible Octavian wimped out at the last second)
• "Octavian, have you penetrated anyone yet?" Oh, Atia. Never change.
• Atia tries to get in good with Servilia by sending her a jeweled turtle (everyone's favorite Christmas gift) and a well-endowed slave. "A large penis always welcome." Oh, Atia. Never change. 
• Antony holds court with his beloved dwarf aide by his side, something that offends Vorenus to no end. 
• Lucius and Niobe are in the middle of a pleasant romp when their daughter interrupts. "Father, that dwarf wants you." Hell of a cockblock right there. 

Programming Note

Brief notice for both of you reading the blog. My reviews of Rome, which have been appearing on Saturdays, will now appear mostly on Sundays.

With the end of The Newsroom, there's nothing forthcoming on Sundays night that I anticipate reviewing. By contrast, Saturdays for the next few months will be taken over by college football. And I expect to review at least a few episodes of Saturday Night Live.

Mark your calendars accordingly.

Like 500 Lawyers at the Bottom of the Sea (Review)

Series: Brooklyn Nine-Nine
Episode Title: "Pilot"
Episode Grade: B-

A few weeks ago, when writing about Rome's first episode, I made the entirely obvious and cliched point that pilots are exceptionally difficult (and like any good, ass-covering 21st century ironist, I defused my lack of originality by pointing it out). This is doubly true for comedies. It can take a while for the writer's room to find its voice, and network executives often excise anything original or innovative from pilots in an effort to make them more familiar to viewers. The humor is often broad and wacky, and characters reside on the extreme ends of personality spectra.

Keeping these factors in mind, Brooklyn Nine-Nine is an exceptionally fine start, and if the episode grade doesn't seem to reflect that, it's important to recognize that there's a healthy foundation here.

Because Brooklyn Nine-Nine is largely a vehicle for SNL alum Andy Samberg, secondary and tertiary characters aren't sketched out in much detail for the pilot. But Samberg's performance here is strong enough and likable enough to carry the initial episode.

Samberg has always been a funny, enjoyable presence; handsome in a goofy, non-threatening way, with a sense of humor whose target is usually himself. Those are important traits for Jake Peralta, the police detective he plays in Brooklyn Nine-Nine, because the wrong actor could make this character utterly insufferable and un-watchable.

Peralta is, in the pilot at least, largely a comedic archetype, a cocky man-child with a rebellious streak. I don't blame you if you fell asleep during that description, but it works here. This is partly the result of solid writing (Samberg never does anything too grating), but it's mainly a product of the work put in by Samberg, who's aware enough to deflect much of the humor back on himself.

The plot here is strictly workmanlike and paint-by-numbers: the precinct gets a new captain, Ray Holt, played by Homicide veteran Andre Braugher. Braugher is the other stand-out in this episode, which was probably to be expected considering his skill and pedigree. Captain Holt's something a tough, no-nonsense type, and again, this is the farthest thing from innovative. But Braugher brings a little smirk to the role, a slight humorous edge that keeps him from being a true stereotype.

The other characters are introduced in the clumsiest fashion possible, by way of blatant exposition in which Terry Crews, playing the precinct's squad leader, flatly lays out the traits of all the detectives. Rose Diaz is tough and sassy. Charles Boyle is not terribly bright, but he works hard. Amy Santiago, Samberg's partner, is competitive, driven and intent on proving herself.

There's an indifferently written murder plot here that intersects with a sub-plot where Braugher insists that everyone wear a tie and Samberg resists him. The only thing of interest here is the revelation that Captain Holt is gay, a piece of information that is delivered matter-of-factly and with little attempt to draw attention to it. We'll see how Brooklyn Nine-Nine deals with this moving forward, but it's an encouraging start.

And that can be said about the show as a whole. There's work to do with the other characters, and at some point there has to be a plot or two that's worth a damn. But the pilot episode succeeded in doing what pilot episodes are supposed to do: bring the viewer back for another episode.

Notes

• But is it funny? Yep. Not uproariously so, but consistently and frequently. There's a lot of humor mined from Peralta's arrogance, and Samberg's delivery and timing are, as always, excellent.
• "They called me Terry Titties, because I had large, um...." "Titties, yes, I remember."
• Joe Lo Truglio does admirable work as a character who is almost literally described as average and boring. You don't want to turn him into too much of a sad sack, but he's quite funny in a sub-plot where he tries to ask Rose out to a classic movie festival.
• "OK, I'll do it. I'll pick a better movie than Citizen Kane."
• Samberg is quite upset to realize that he missed the signs of Braugher's homosexuality, including a newspaper clipping with Braugher's picture and a headline that says "NYPD's First Openly Gay Captain."
• "Damn, I am not a good detective."
• The show's not above lampshading the stilted nature of its introductory exposition, as Terry Crews' character admits that he "talked a lot about Jake in my departmentally mandated therapy sessions."
• "Humility over. I'm amazing."