(no subject)
TSCC 2.22 - "Born to Run"
Oh, that was magnificent. I am distraught at the idea that this might be the last episode; at the same time, the story they're telling is vast and tight and interconnected, and I think I'd take this over a too-tidy last-minute wrap-up. And they are executing. I hope Ron D. Moore is off in some corner somewhere, taking notes and feeling his inadequacy. I can dream, right?
I continue to adore John Henry. It's both hilarious and fitting that he plays the geekiest of games, growing up as he is in the basement of a software company. And he's just found out that he's more than a machine, or rather that he's a very specific, individual machine. He exists only as that one collection of hardware--body and soul, as the tech says. He perks right up when he hears that; it's probably something he's been worrying about since his first chat with Ellison. And it makes him more human in a very important way: he's mortal now, because he can't download either.
The scenes between Cameron and John were fascinating and creepy and wonderful. He's becoming increasingly manipulative: in order to get Cameron to let him break Sarah out, he has to make her doubt her own usefulness to the cause, and substitute his judgment for hers. So he undermines her very reason for being there, protection. But in her own way, she's sincere, and sincerely worried. She knows what she's been made for, knows that it's always there, lurking. She gets him to feel up her power source (at least that's what I assume it was, since cold meant good), and it has all of the outward trappings of a sexual encounter, an erotic intimacy, but it's really all about her being a machine. After the jail break, Sarah observes that Cameron looks like hell, but the first thing John does is ask her if she's all right. And he's distraught when she's gone. (Her, not the body. She exists as that one collection of hardware and software, the chip, too.)
Sarah didn't want any of this; she wanted John and Cameron to run. She had it all arranged; there was no secret message. The woman who delivers the package, who has been through her own personal massacre, adds her own message: that we lose everyone we love. This John doesn't seem willing to accept that: he breaks Sarah out of jail, he goes after Cameron. He puts himself on another path. When the time machine starts, Sarah steps back and lets him go.
It seems clear now that Catherine Weaver was the thing in the case on the Jimmy Carter; now she has turned John Connor's question around on Cameron, and it seems that Cameron's answer is yes.
And oh, Ellison. He knew there was something funny with Catherine Weaver, and he knows about the machines, but it's still too much. His place is in the here and now anyway, just like Sarah's; they're meant to act in this time, and I'm excited about the prospect of them working together at last.
And when Catherine Weaver melts into the scenery, John Connor's left alone in the future to make his way. He meets up with Derek (DEREK!) and Kyle Reese, who don't recognize his name, and Alison. That means he's come to the point before he sent Kyle back to conceive him; he doesn't exist yet. (And if he doesn't exist, the metal wouldn't have a reason to capture Alison; that's all ahead of them.) There's such a loopy quality to the timeline of this show; there are eddies and pockets that exist outside the main stream. We've all been assuming that he lived through Judgment Day, and grew up in what came after, but that might not be true at all. Or rather, that might have been true up until now, but won't be any longer after this, because he might have jumped ahead. If that's the case, John Connor has it even worse than we thought, because he's still just a kid, still fresh-faced and hopeful and unwilling to sacrifice those he loves. Maybe that's exactly what the future needs?
* * * * *
John Rogers gives Castle the thumbs up and, more importantly from my current perspective, links to this awesome manifesto for the Cult of Done, which I now have hanging in my cubicle. I particularly like: "Laugh at perfection. It's boring and KEEPS YOU FROM BEING DONE." I don't have to worry about the boring part (hi! I write software manuals for a living!), but the perfect is so very much the enemy of the done for me.
Oh, that was magnificent. I am distraught at the idea that this might be the last episode; at the same time, the story they're telling is vast and tight and interconnected, and I think I'd take this over a too-tidy last-minute wrap-up. And they are executing. I hope Ron D. Moore is off in some corner somewhere, taking notes and feeling his inadequacy. I can dream, right?
I continue to adore John Henry. It's both hilarious and fitting that he plays the geekiest of games, growing up as he is in the basement of a software company. And he's just found out that he's more than a machine, or rather that he's a very specific, individual machine. He exists only as that one collection of hardware--body and soul, as the tech says. He perks right up when he hears that; it's probably something he's been worrying about since his first chat with Ellison. And it makes him more human in a very important way: he's mortal now, because he can't download either.
The scenes between Cameron and John were fascinating and creepy and wonderful. He's becoming increasingly manipulative: in order to get Cameron to let him break Sarah out, he has to make her doubt her own usefulness to the cause, and substitute his judgment for hers. So he undermines her very reason for being there, protection. But in her own way, she's sincere, and sincerely worried. She knows what she's been made for, knows that it's always there, lurking. She gets him to feel up her power source (at least that's what I assume it was, since cold meant good), and it has all of the outward trappings of a sexual encounter, an erotic intimacy, but it's really all about her being a machine. After the jail break, Sarah observes that Cameron looks like hell, but the first thing John does is ask her if she's all right. And he's distraught when she's gone. (Her, not the body. She exists as that one collection of hardware and software, the chip, too.)
Sarah didn't want any of this; she wanted John and Cameron to run. She had it all arranged; there was no secret message. The woman who delivers the package, who has been through her own personal massacre, adds her own message: that we lose everyone we love. This John doesn't seem willing to accept that: he breaks Sarah out of jail, he goes after Cameron. He puts himself on another path. When the time machine starts, Sarah steps back and lets him go.
It seems clear now that Catherine Weaver was the thing in the case on the Jimmy Carter; now she has turned John Connor's question around on Cameron, and it seems that Cameron's answer is yes.
And oh, Ellison. He knew there was something funny with Catherine Weaver, and he knows about the machines, but it's still too much. His place is in the here and now anyway, just like Sarah's; they're meant to act in this time, and I'm excited about the prospect of them working together at last.
And when Catherine Weaver melts into the scenery, John Connor's left alone in the future to make his way. He meets up with Derek (DEREK!) and Kyle Reese, who don't recognize his name, and Alison. That means he's come to the point before he sent Kyle back to conceive him; he doesn't exist yet. (And if he doesn't exist, the metal wouldn't have a reason to capture Alison; that's all ahead of them.) There's such a loopy quality to the timeline of this show; there are eddies and pockets that exist outside the main stream. We've all been assuming that he lived through Judgment Day, and grew up in what came after, but that might not be true at all. Or rather, that might have been true up until now, but won't be any longer after this, because he might have jumped ahead. If that's the case, John Connor has it even worse than we thought, because he's still just a kid, still fresh-faced and hopeful and unwilling to sacrifice those he loves. Maybe that's exactly what the future needs?
* * * * *
John Rogers gives Castle the thumbs up and, more importantly from my current perspective, links to this awesome manifesto for the Cult of Done, which I now have hanging in my cubicle. I particularly like: "Laugh at perfection. It's boring and KEEPS YOU FROM BEING DONE." I don't have to worry about the boring part (hi! I write software manuals for a living!), but the perfect is so very much the enemy of the done for me.