"Do not try to kill me again. It makes me angry."
Standard disclaimer: this post and/or the comments may and probably will contain spoilers for the entire series. Previous episode posts here.
This is probably the weakest of the three episodes in the trilogy, with a heavy dose of palace intrigue padding out the plot. But it also contains some important events, none more so than John's trip to the cargo runner and the choice it forces on him of Scorpius or death. It's not just the choice itself but the way he enacts it that is so significant-once he realizes his options, he loses all of his fear, all of his reason. On the one hand, his confrontation with Braca is actually quite funny-because Braca is the ultimate Smithers to Scorpius's Mr. Burns, confident in the power delegated to him and, having never met John Crichton in person, sure that the threat of Scorpius is enough to yield to reason, only to end up dealing with a flailing madman. But John is quite sure that there are things worse than death, and Braca, and Scorpius, do not yet understand that about him, still view him as someone they can bargain with, persuade. So John calls Braca's bluff, and in the process embodies the term "crazy like a fox" because he's right--Braca can't risk harming him. Here is where all of the madness that's been building since the gammak base comes boiling to the surface. What's most amazing about his dramatic meltdown in the cargo runner is that he survives, because it's almost entirely unintentional. He's ready to get blown out of the sky, as long as that means staying out of Scorpius's hands-that's the sum total of the plan-and it's basically sheer luck and the malevolent voice in his head that leads him to make that desperate fling into space. The chip has only started to do its work; he still has his determination, and his choice here makes his very different choice at the end of the season, his willingness to turn himself in to Scorpius to end his misery, to maybe do a little good for his friends in the process, all the sadder. And it's the beginning of a pattern of increasingly epic risk-taking when he's backed into a corner.
I believe this is the episode that deals the most with the Zhaan/Moya B plot, and that's where some of the padded feeling comes from for me. The first time I saw this trilogy of episodes, I was pretty engaged with the Zhaan scenes, outraged along with Zhaan and horrified at Moya's fate, but I don't think they hold up that well to rewatch. That's quite an unusual situation for Farscape, which is an eminently rewatchable show, where knowing how things turn out often just allows you to appreciate more what the characters are going through on the journey. But the Zhaan B-plot in these episodes feels almost entirely plot-driven rather than character-driven; I don't think we really learn anything new about Zhaan or Moya or Pilot. I also think I'm attracted to the idea of Leviathans as biological creatures, just another strange alien species out there on the edges of space, and find the idea of them as manufactured beings imbued with sentience, with "soul," by god-like aliens dissatisfying. (The practical implications of this idea give me a headache, as well-if Kaheynu is so bent out of shape by Moya giving birth to a gunship, perhaps his ire is better directed toward the Peacekeepers who have enslaved so many of his creations and created a breeding program with the potential to produce more gunships, rather than at Moya, who really had no control over Talyn's conception, and for whom Talyn brings so much more grief than joy. But I guess nobody ever said god-like aliens had to make sense; Maldis is certainly Exhibit A for that argument.) There are certain aspects of the B plot that I still find touching-I adore the glimpse we get of Zhaan's relationship with Moya and Pilot, that she stays behind and sings for them, that the three of them have a relationship separate from the rolling chaos of the crew as a whole; and I like the way her mixture of desperation and righteousness and anger on Moya's behalf mirrors her relationship with her own spirituality and violence; and Pilot never fails to get to me, having hitched his fate to Moya at such terrible cost, now willing to die satisfied since he's gotten to see the stars. But this is one of the rare cases where the B plot on the show is totally divorced from the A plot, and between its plot-driven nature and the padding and the lack of connection between all of the characters, between all of the events, I find it pretty skippable now.
There are certain aspects of the palace intrigue that I like, like the way it plays to Rygel's natural strengths; he's good at this, capable of being a (still questionable) asset as well as a (definite) loss, and I love it that the show takes him seriously as a character and recognizes and exploits his abilities. Another is the contrast between female styles, between the overly made-up royal women, wearing white, and Aeryn with her lack of makeup and her total lack of guile. Even though they're both Peacekeepers, Aeryn is the anti-Jenavia and Jenavia is the anti-Aeryn-Aeryn's the soldier and Jenavia's the spy. Aeryn is blunt, direct, and unwilling to use sex or even emotion as a tool, incapable even of confessing to John that she want him to run away with her, although she knows it could make a difference; Jenavia's entire toolkit consists of manipulation and sex and skilful lying. And, at least as far as this episode goes, Jenavia gets what she wants and Aeryn has lost, and has admitted defeat by taking up with Dregon-a choice I would normally applaud, since I think it's entirely in character for Aeryn to find some distraction, but Dregon is so clearly not worthy that it's a little distressing.
Truth, justice, and love do not triumph in this trilogy, at least not immediately, and not without a tremendous amount of luck. John can be as fair and kind as he wants to ro-NA, but she's still going to sell him out for money. And John and Katralla may be in love with other people, but they go into this marriage with open eyes and a willingness to make it work because that's what circumstances demand, because this is where life has put them and they have to make the best of the future. It's a story that starts out as a fairy tale and takes an abrupt turn into the all-too-recognizable adult world of compromise and negotiation. One thing that makes the trilogy so terribly effective is that Katralla is likeable, as caught up in the situation as John is, trying to fulfill her responsibilities, in no way a stereotypical romantic rival for Aeryn. In their devotion to duty, in fact, the two women are remarkably similar. John and Katralla's marriage seems like a real and viable alternative for John; it's not getting home, and she's not his first choice, but he'll have a partner he can respect and a family. And best of all, there's no last minute save-the conflict of John's decision to go through with the marriage, the grim possibility that our heroes will be split up as John remains on the planet as a statue, becomes a surprising reality at the end of the episode, and the story moves to a new place entirely.
I feel it's worth mentioning that this episode also contains the best put-down ever: "It's not you, it's me. I don't like you." Sometimes I love Aeryn so much it hurts. [Edited to actually get the quote I am admiring here right.]
This is probably the weakest of the three episodes in the trilogy, with a heavy dose of palace intrigue padding out the plot. But it also contains some important events, none more so than John's trip to the cargo runner and the choice it forces on him of Scorpius or death. It's not just the choice itself but the way he enacts it that is so significant-once he realizes his options, he loses all of his fear, all of his reason. On the one hand, his confrontation with Braca is actually quite funny-because Braca is the ultimate Smithers to Scorpius's Mr. Burns, confident in the power delegated to him and, having never met John Crichton in person, sure that the threat of Scorpius is enough to yield to reason, only to end up dealing with a flailing madman. But John is quite sure that there are things worse than death, and Braca, and Scorpius, do not yet understand that about him, still view him as someone they can bargain with, persuade. So John calls Braca's bluff, and in the process embodies the term "crazy like a fox" because he's right--Braca can't risk harming him. Here is where all of the madness that's been building since the gammak base comes boiling to the surface. What's most amazing about his dramatic meltdown in the cargo runner is that he survives, because it's almost entirely unintentional. He's ready to get blown out of the sky, as long as that means staying out of Scorpius's hands-that's the sum total of the plan-and it's basically sheer luck and the malevolent voice in his head that leads him to make that desperate fling into space. The chip has only started to do its work; he still has his determination, and his choice here makes his very different choice at the end of the season, his willingness to turn himself in to Scorpius to end his misery, to maybe do a little good for his friends in the process, all the sadder. And it's the beginning of a pattern of increasingly epic risk-taking when he's backed into a corner.
I believe this is the episode that deals the most with the Zhaan/Moya B plot, and that's where some of the padded feeling comes from for me. The first time I saw this trilogy of episodes, I was pretty engaged with the Zhaan scenes, outraged along with Zhaan and horrified at Moya's fate, but I don't think they hold up that well to rewatch. That's quite an unusual situation for Farscape, which is an eminently rewatchable show, where knowing how things turn out often just allows you to appreciate more what the characters are going through on the journey. But the Zhaan B-plot in these episodes feels almost entirely plot-driven rather than character-driven; I don't think we really learn anything new about Zhaan or Moya or Pilot. I also think I'm attracted to the idea of Leviathans as biological creatures, just another strange alien species out there on the edges of space, and find the idea of them as manufactured beings imbued with sentience, with "soul," by god-like aliens dissatisfying. (The practical implications of this idea give me a headache, as well-if Kaheynu is so bent out of shape by Moya giving birth to a gunship, perhaps his ire is better directed toward the Peacekeepers who have enslaved so many of his creations and created a breeding program with the potential to produce more gunships, rather than at Moya, who really had no control over Talyn's conception, and for whom Talyn brings so much more grief than joy. But I guess nobody ever said god-like aliens had to make sense; Maldis is certainly Exhibit A for that argument.) There are certain aspects of the B plot that I still find touching-I adore the glimpse we get of Zhaan's relationship with Moya and Pilot, that she stays behind and sings for them, that the three of them have a relationship separate from the rolling chaos of the crew as a whole; and I like the way her mixture of desperation and righteousness and anger on Moya's behalf mirrors her relationship with her own spirituality and violence; and Pilot never fails to get to me, having hitched his fate to Moya at such terrible cost, now willing to die satisfied since he's gotten to see the stars. But this is one of the rare cases where the B plot on the show is totally divorced from the A plot, and between its plot-driven nature and the padding and the lack of connection between all of the characters, between all of the events, I find it pretty skippable now.
There are certain aspects of the palace intrigue that I like, like the way it plays to Rygel's natural strengths; he's good at this, capable of being a (still questionable) asset as well as a (definite) loss, and I love it that the show takes him seriously as a character and recognizes and exploits his abilities. Another is the contrast between female styles, between the overly made-up royal women, wearing white, and Aeryn with her lack of makeup and her total lack of guile. Even though they're both Peacekeepers, Aeryn is the anti-Jenavia and Jenavia is the anti-Aeryn-Aeryn's the soldier and Jenavia's the spy. Aeryn is blunt, direct, and unwilling to use sex or even emotion as a tool, incapable even of confessing to John that she want him to run away with her, although she knows it could make a difference; Jenavia's entire toolkit consists of manipulation and sex and skilful lying. And, at least as far as this episode goes, Jenavia gets what she wants and Aeryn has lost, and has admitted defeat by taking up with Dregon-a choice I would normally applaud, since I think it's entirely in character for Aeryn to find some distraction, but Dregon is so clearly not worthy that it's a little distressing.
Truth, justice, and love do not triumph in this trilogy, at least not immediately, and not without a tremendous amount of luck. John can be as fair and kind as he wants to ro-NA, but she's still going to sell him out for money. And John and Katralla may be in love with other people, but they go into this marriage with open eyes and a willingness to make it work because that's what circumstances demand, because this is where life has put them and they have to make the best of the future. It's a story that starts out as a fairy tale and takes an abrupt turn into the all-too-recognizable adult world of compromise and negotiation. One thing that makes the trilogy so terribly effective is that Katralla is likeable, as caught up in the situation as John is, trying to fulfill her responsibilities, in no way a stereotypical romantic rival for Aeryn. In their devotion to duty, in fact, the two women are remarkably similar. John and Katralla's marriage seems like a real and viable alternative for John; it's not getting home, and she's not his first choice, but he'll have a partner he can respect and a family. And best of all, there's no last minute save-the conflict of John's decision to go through with the marriage, the grim possibility that our heroes will be split up as John remains on the planet as a statue, becomes a surprising reality at the end of the episode, and the story moves to a new place entirely.
I feel it's worth mentioning that this episode also contains the best put-down ever: "It's not you, it's me. I don't like you." Sometimes I love Aeryn so much it hurts. [Edited to actually get the quote I am admiring here right.]