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My 2 Cents on Yo Way Yo
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Bilbo67
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Joined: Fri Oct 27th, 2006
Location: The Daisy Hill Cluster Lizard Farm
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 Posted: Sun Oct 7th, 2012 03:51 pm

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My 2 Cents on Episode 4.24: Yo Way Yo
(10/7/12)


I never wanted to make something mainstream—with a moderate appeal for a wide audience—I wanted to make something that had a deep appeal for the sick-minded people like me.
-Paul Donovan




It had to happen sometime.  But for my unconventional schedule and slipshod attention span, I’m sure it would have happened a lot sooner.  My last official Lexx review.  And just a scant decade and change after I foisted my first bite sized, creatively vacuous opinion piece on the Lexxian community.  I certainly didn’t think I would still be pecking away at this project during the last big push before the apocalypse when first I took to the Skiffy board and inelegantly sputtered a few random thoughts into the hopper.  Nor could I have ever imagined the support, encouragement or sense of belonging I would come to feel simply because I decided to log on and jot down a few idiosyncratic musings about a wonked-out Canadian sci-fi dramedy.  I can’t tell you what a blast I’ve had writing these pieces, nor am I articulate enough in the least to express just how much your support has meant to me over the years.  As I was fond of saying in the Bboard days, I feed off your feedback.  That’s as true, if not truer, now as it was then.  So before I subject the lotta ya to one last slow death by a thousand run-on sentences, I want to say thank you to everyone who’s ever flung even a few minutes’ worth of their day into the Bilbo Bank.  Hope I was worth your time, and I hope you don’t groan too hard (plays hell on the larynx) when I say you haven’t heard the last of me!

Now then, a quick (what I’m assuming tenuously fits the definition of) rhetorical question:


Did it really come as any surprise that the Sci-Fi Channel’s pouty-lipped redheaded stepchild was afforded slightly less than Jack Nanosquat in terms of pre-finale fanfare?  No countdowns or lead-ins, no cast and crew retrospectives, no best-of marathon. (Lexx Education, Lexx Addiction, OverLexxed…hell, commercial breaks could have been bookended by the beans and the regulars shooting the breeze and swapping on-set anecdotes in a makeshift pub called the Brunnen-G Spot.  The possibilities are endless!)  As it was, all I recall them doing was sporadically airing the same formatted weekly promo, hastily overdubbing “all new episode” with “series finale.”  Unless you’ve got a pressure-fed Ritalin IV nozzle permanently embedded in your cerebral cortex or are capable of distinguishing between sharp and flat dog whistle pitches, you probably barely noticed.  (I swear at one point the unenthused voiceoveress said, “all new series finale.”)

But you know…that’s A-okay by me.  Because the Supreme Bean said it himself: this was never a show for the masses.  It was for us.  The folks on the fringe.  The one-percent, as it were.   

And at least it got to go out on its own terms.  Or, more specifically, our terms.  It only recently came to my attention, but apparently Sci-Fi did not originally intend for the show to continue beyond season 3.  To their corroded credit, they relented when word of the impending ax fall triggered fan backlash sufficient to temporarily warm their icy, bloodless hearts. (I’m willing to bet real Freedonian currency that that microseconds-to-midnight miracle just happened to coincide with the breakdown of the opening round of Law & Order rerun negotiations.)  At the time I was more a casual fan than a dyed-in-the-Gigaslime Lexxian.  I’d seen about a third of season 2, snippets of season 3, enough of Giga Shadow to tenuously piece the back-story together, but that was about it.  I had no idea that the show’s future was hanging in the balance, nor that the fans were rallying to keep it afloat.  Like most things in the world, it turned out just fine without my meddling.  All the same, if I’d been the crimson-capped, protoblooded, “I fight for Xev!” extremist that I am today when the campaign was in full swing, you may never have come to know me by my forum handle.  To this day you would still refer to me—with reverence befitting a forty-minute-orgasm-inducing ice cream peddling god-king—as Generalisimo.  (Don’t think for a second that I can’t tell when you’re not saying it in bold!)  

Say what you will about season 4—I’ve made no secret of the fact that it is my least favorite of the bunch—the fact remains we lucked out.  So many great series, from smash hits to barely noticeable blips on the pop culture radar, are unceremoniously put down mid-stride with little regard for the storytellers’ vision or the audiences’ resultant emotional investment.  (One of the many reasons why I’ve all but given up watching TV lo these past few years.)  Love it or hate it, at least the little phallic-shaped engine that could got creator-guided closure.  For a show that many of us feel the network routinely treated like a burden—or at best, an embarrassing in-law—it’s everything we could have hoped for and then some.

Even if things didn’t necessarily turn out the way we’d hoped.  


You can’t always get what you want.  But every so often, you get what you need, and once in a great, great while, you get what you deserve.  Is that what we got?  Is that what the story and the characters we’ve grown to love like old friends got?  That’s for each of you to decide for yourselves; this is just my two cents.


So it goes, and so away we go.


As Priest has apparently taken the time to properly align his shirt buttons and tie off a serviceable eighth-Windsor without accidentally emasculating himself, we can comfortably infer that this episode opens approximately seventeen hours after the conclusion of the previous installment (which raises all manner of plot-specific contradictions and counterpoints, to which I simply say, “My dear dolts…just run with it.”)  On the approximate vicinity of his eighty-third prompt, the Chump in Chief takes to the podium to address a gaggle of Salter Street studio hands at whom Paul and the Paulettes randomly pointed and said, “Hey you.  Yeah, you, the one with the cleft eyelids.  Stand behind this camera and chatter mindlessly like a hearing-impaired bonobo going through nicotine withdrawal.  Mind that you don’t use any actual words though…we’d hate to have to pay you.”  He delivers his State of What’s Left of the Union speech with all the organic ease of a toddler repeatedly mashing the phone pad against his cheek while Mommy tries in vain to feed him lines to say to Gam-Gam using cuneiform cue cards and Daddy thoughtlessly eats the last cookie right in front of him.  Standard inside-the-beltway babbletyblab: coastal Japan has gone to live with a nice old couple on a farm up north, Constitutional originalists of the “Nowhere in our great nation’s founding documents does it state—explicitly or implicitly—that the citizenry are required to wear pants” stripe are free to resume their whiplash-and-vomit-inducing silent protest now that the tumescent terror of the carrot probes has bottomed out, the little people needn’t worry about their tax dollars falling prey to Uncle Sam’s unappeasable money toilet, as the President is hereby suspending any and all affairs of state for the foreseeable future, and since we’re ALL free to either go back to work or do whatever it is we want to do, it’s clear that unemployment and the very notion of scarcity have become things of the past.  Land sakes!  When this guy gets on a roll the laws of thermodynamics take a nice long hike.  Quick, who here is a wiz with white out and passingly familiar with breaking and entering?  Amendment twenty-two.  Do your worst (and take a quill while you’re at it…it’s the only way I can think of to finally put a stop this movie reboot crap).  If you need me for anything I’ll be back at the press conference pondering just how in the heck the Secret Service agent on Priest’s left managed to get his hands on Colin Farrell’s eyebrows, jawline, and facial tics without getting his hair parted with a Bailey’s bottle. 

Or not.  Leave it to one sleep-deprived sniper in the rafters to allow some unvetted worrywart to storm the POTUSium and bust up the feel-good photo-op of the fall with naught but a whisper.  Of course, it’s within Priest’s prerogative, both as leader of the free world and a dribbling dunce, to ignore him and carry on with the barely-there swimwear portion of the presser, but ol’ Reggie’s nothing if not a moonheaded manchild of action.  Off he storms, with precision guided purpose, to try and determine just how in God’s name a purple monkey managed to breach the perimeter and lay siege to his dishwasher.  Meanwhile, back at the Washington desk, Clip Onnington—already earlobe-deep in that most frequented of creeks without his ad lib idiot board—mutters a desperate Hail Murrow under his breath in the slim hope that a timely tornado or some paparazzo-pummeling hasbeen will swoop in and fill the dead air before the ratings riptide washes him out to sea with the rest of the nonbiodegradables.

Luckily for us, we have a Paul-access pass to the Oval Office (groan all ya want, I’m cleaning out my funny fridge!), where a military muckety-muck with a rather large head clues Reggie in to a rather large development.  Turns out the city-sized stomprock that scuttled amok all over Tokyo was but a loogie in Gaia’s highball compared to the real mothership.  They pointlessly speculate that the Tokyo asteroid may simply have been some sort of advanced probe or decoy (or perhaps some kind of perimeter-establishing defense measure, given its ordnance), which is entirely impertinent at the moment since they have exponentially bigger weeds to whack, and because I prefer to assume that the Lyekkas adhere to some eons-old conflation of buffet etiquette and lifeboat logic; if only for the Pyrrhic satisfaction of imagining that Stan blew up an Ass(teroid)load of snot-pistiled whelps and crotchety old coupon clipping crocuses when he indiscriminately flash-fried every last proto-organic molecule in the greater Tokyo metro area.  You’d think ho-hum little details like “It’s twice the size of the moon” are one of the first things the government’s many trillion-dollar sophisticated findomotrons would have confirmed during the months leading up to the asteroid’s arrival, but BLAH-BLAH-BLAH MAUDLIN SOCIAL COMMENTARY ON EXCESSIVE SPENDING AND BUREAUCRATIC INEFFICIENCY.  I’d much rather harp on important things that have a fundamental bearing on our real-world lives…like the fact that the mothership is currently hurtling past the moon, despite being depicted in tidal-shattering low orbit during the closing seconds of the preceding episode.  So what’s the deal, beans?  Covert nonlinear narrative?  Some other continent-sized mass of accreted crap floating just above our heads?  Or did the Lyekkas hear a song on the radio that they really dug and decide to coast around the block until it was over?  We’re entitled to some answers, and pledge from this day forth to hold our breath in perpetuity until you blow the lid off your grungy little secret.  (Not all at once mind you, because that would be too much work.  But if I can just scrape together 80,639 volunteers to hold their breath for seven and a half seconds a week, I think we could really shake up the system.  It’ll be just like those between-meal hunger strikes that some of us periodically go on.)


Y’all can flip a coin to see who gets to pull a name out of a hat to randomly select the person who’ll introduce a motion to suggest the time and place to draw the first straw for the big straw fight that will determine who gets to go second (pole position goes to whoever is last to make the little circle-on-the-hip hand gesture that I’m already making at this very second, wherever and whenever you happen to be reading this).  I’m gonna take just a moment to lose myself in the auralgasmic splendor that is the unabridged Yo-Way-Yo title crawl.  Last chance to sing along at home.  Don’t pretend for a second that you didn’t!


Last chance to scurry up to the Lexx and join our heroes on the bridge as well, so I hope you brought your souvenir chisels.  In keeping with my theory that we’ve been following a pair of curiously comparable total strangers around since early in the preceding episode, Stan and Xev are acting quite a bit touchier, feelier, and chummier than usual, which means we must have timed it just right for once and dropped in on them before their latest oxytocin-induced survivor’s high has had a chance to wear off.  Now that they’re finally free to leave Earth in their dust for the last time, plotting a self-serving, one-dimensional course has become the de facto order of the day.

*SIDEBAR*

To any of you fellas out there who have ever clung like socially malnourished skin tags to the pre-dawn-pay-cable-filtered Women In Prison fantasy (and this is directed as much—if not more so—at the curiously wrong looking stranger who brushes his teeth and brazenly steals my patented north-by-north-east scratching technique a mere eighteen inches in front of my face in varying states of gut-churning immodesty most mornings as any of the rest of you): take an afternoon off and go visit a women’s correctional facility.  And I’m not talking about one of those minimum security glorified Girl Scout camps.  I’m talking X-chromosome Alcatraz!  Oh, you’ll still wind up drooling like a Xenomorph with a retainer and stupidly muttering, “Woah…that’s hot!”  But really, what else can you say when seven out of ten conversational icebreakers employ some variation of, “The summitch didn’t use a coaster, so I lit him on fire.”


As for Stan’s other, hopefully Xev-specific vacation proposal, just remember: five liters of blood in the average human body and NO MORE.  Ladies, go poke the nearest sock monkey in the arm and get back to me.  Gentlemen…you’re welcome.


*LET US NEVER SPEAK OF THE SIDEBAR AGAIN*


There actually is a way to split the difference.  It’s not what you think it is (eeewww…), and Lexx-blasted Heaven knows what Stan thinks it is.  Thankfully, before he can opine us one more involuntary shudder closer to madness, his train of thought takes a hat-haired header into a ravine courtesy of what sounds like a thumbless dolly grip fumbling to tear the wrapper off a cheese slice three inches from an umuffled boom microphone.  Because apparently, special effects ammo dump notwithstanding, springing for Prince’s BAMF effect just one more time would have bankrupt the entire operation.

Never let it be said that ol’ Izzy doesn’t look bitchin’ in black.  (I’m serious, it’s your civic duty; and well worth the seventy thousand hours of court-ordered garbage spearing that comes standard with meting out the appropriate consequences in a public setting.)  Why our heroes—particularly Stan, who spent about a quarter of the previous episode being taunted by him—are the least bit surprised to see Prince up and about is whoever proofread the script’s guess.  It’s not like this is the first, or even fifth time they’ve watched him die, only to sputter, “B-b-but-but…I watched you die!” when he Hai Karates the dead guy musk into submission and resumes making their lives interesting.  Hell, Stan and Xev—who themselves have each died at least once—have spent the past six thousand years and change bumming around the multiverse with a guy whose foremost distinguishing characteristic is the fact that he’s dead, yet continues to perform a variety of functions that the dead are seldom seen doing, after escaping the clutches of a millennia-old ecclesiastical despot who had lived countless lives…one of which THEIR dead companion brought to a screeching halt right in front of their eyes.  There can be no doubt that Prince has dropped by to impose his sadistically annoying will on the crew.  They—and we—know him like he knows the back of Stan’s head (once a big spoon, always a big spoon).  But at this late stage in the game, I don’t care if they’re five minutes removed from watching him get ground up into Soylent sausage.  Surprise should have long since given way to deadpan wacky sitcom neighbor quips about changing the locks or buying a pit bull or just plain gazing skyward and bellowing, “Take me, I’m all yours!”

Don’t be surprised if that last tactic blows up in your face, though (it’s why Stan’s hat comes equipped with a seldom seen pair of drop-down goggles), because it turns out our cheerfully grim chum is nothing less than the Reaper himself.  Or so he claims.

*RECORD SCRATCH*

All right, if you’re like me, then


A) You just poured a cup of almonds on the floor and spent ten good minutes trying to flick them into your mouth with your big toe

B) When Prince formally introduced himself as Death, your first reaction was not to swoon and mutter a deliriously dreamy, “I can’t wait to die!” but rather, a clinically inquisitive “What the crap?!”


Alas, the Bboard belongs to the ages, but to the best of my recollection nobody preemptively jumped to that conclusion when we were playing deductive dodgeball with our increasingly implausible pet theories.  It was—and for my own part, still is to some degree—just too cut and dry in light of what little information the preceding episodes gave us to work with.  Never mind the fact that some of the leading theories at the time—he’s the devil, he’s a trickster god, etc—were equally formulaic, Prince = Death just didn’t seem to make sense.  At first.

For quite some time after season 4’s initial run I continued to dismiss the notion that Prince WAS Death…at least by design, anyway.  Surely there had to be more to it.  Perhaps, for lack of a better word, he somehow usurped the job, or ascended to the Reaper’s post through some form of cosmic chicanery.  Certainly sounds like something he would do.  Add to that the fact that for all his nifty little metaphysical parlor tricks, he—or, at least, a part of him—was as much a prisoner as any of the other denizens of Fire, and likely would have remained so indefinitely had the Lexx not drifted into orbit.  So what’s the deal? 

Well, for starters (and I’m speaking Bilbo-centrically here, so if any of the following doesn’t apply to you, point me in the direction of some sand and I’ll get right to work pounding it), I think you could chalk some of the initial disappointment up to dashed expectations.  When I get wrapped up in a story, particularly one that purports to be building toward some big twist or revelation, I can’t resist the urge to speculate.  I’m sure you’ll all agree that unchecked speculation almost always begets unrealistic expectations, which frequently beget dissatisfaction.  Many’s the time I’ve watched in self-important horror as a carefully cultivated wild guess crashed and burned.  Call it a karmic kick in the Kai-cup for intractably insisting “This is OBVIOUSLY the way it HAS to be,” or foolishly assuming, “Wow, if I can come up with something THIS ‘good’ (read: convoluted, farfetched, or profoundly unlikely), imagine what the writers must have come up with!”  (Because as we all know, exhausting every harebrained, half-assed, nonsensical potential plot twist that crusty-eyed, priority-challenged fanboys might just happen to pluck out of the aether before settling on something that makes sense just to spite them is a time honored cornerstone of the creative process.)

I used to think Prince was originally human.  I’m still open to the possibility that he was, and I’m not alone, as I’ve read more than a few excellent theories and fanfics that have eloquently made the case.  I even had a rough idea for one of my own, which I never got around to developing.  All I can remember off the top of my head is that “Isambard” would have been his real name, he would have lived in the phenomenally distant past, and he would have done something egregiously unforgivable toward the end of his natural life…perhaps deliberately triggering the Insect Wars.  That was part one.  Part two would have seen him awakening on Fire—perhaps for the first time, perhaps for the hundredth—with a new name, new persona…essentially it would have been a brand new story about a brand new character.  Like Mantrid and a couple of the other “star pupils” (as Den was fond of putting it), he would slowly begin to comprehend who/what/where he was.  He’d be the first inhabitant to successfully breach the atmospheric band and ascend to Water, a feat through which he would establish himself as a sort of messianic figure among the Firians (…look, I don’t feel like repeatedly typing out “denizens of Fire,” solright?).  Part three would have seen him secure his hold over much of Fire by cultivating a baseless hatred for Water, sowing the seeds of discord and rivalry among some of the other “special” individuals, and somehow attempted to reconcile the Prince who ruled over Fire with whatever the hell the Prince who tried newly deceased souls on the Beach was supposed to be. 

As you can see, I didn’t put a whole lot of nuts-and-bolts consideration into the matter.  Others have, and I’d encourage you to poke around and check out their respective takes on Prince’s origin, because it’s well worth your time (and not because they’ve got me chained to a writing desk in an airtight, eggshell white cellar thirty miles outside of Flagstaff that they’ve been gradually filling with a little more salt water each morning.)

While I haven’t entirely abandoned the abovementioned theory, this latest rewatch has inspired me to mull over the possibility that Prince didn’t ascend, usurp, or otherwise become Death.  Rather, Death took a downgrade and became Prince.  Plenty of pursuit angles from which to tackle this premise, but for brevity’s sake I’m going to lean on the presumption that for all its delightfully nihilistic sensibilities, there is some sort of higher power or powers—as far beyond human comprehension as we are beyond toe jam’s—governing the Lexx universe(s), if only apathetically (or incompetently.)  There’s too much evidence throughout the show’s run to suggest otherwise…at least from a certain point of view.  Kind of a moot argument, really, since we’re dealing with hypotheticals.  But, that in mind…

Am I the only one who finds it kind of odd that Death, when personified in visual or visually evocative media, is not depicted as being blind, ala Justice?  (Not exactly a folklore or art history major here, and my reference pool is almost entirely Western-centric, so if I’ve erred in that statement, by all means, discipline me as you see fit!)  It would seem only natural, for what is death if not the last word in objectivity?  Good or bad, young or old, rich or poor, weak or strong, guy who inadvertently flat-tired the back of my shoe with his shopping cart and then just smirked about it like vacant-skulled peon or guy who didn’t inadvertently flat-tire the back of my shoe with his shopping cart and then just smirk about it like vacant-skulled peon; they’re all equal in the end, because Death does not distinguish.  Death is impartial, imperishable, and above all impersonal.  But what if that all changed? What if one day, at some inexact point in the mind-bogglingly distant future-past, as a result of some nebulous process known as Damned If I Know, I’m Already In Over My Head Here, Death—that eternal, insentient lynchpin cog in the dynamic engine that is existence—became self-aware?  Aware of its own existence, aware of its purpose, and acutely aware of the enslaving sense of satisfaction that fulfilling said purpose begets.  It’s the pleasure principle—what some hold as the sentient being’s ultimate, if not sole-and-only driving force—applied to one of the fundamental building blocks of reality (can’t have life without death, creation without destruction, order without entropy, etc).  The ultimate indiscriminate…now the ultimate hedonist. 

Quite impossible to wrap our spongy little pea brains around such a notion: a sadistic, malevolent, self-directed eternal omnipresence.  To call it an entity—at least at this stage—would be an understatement of cosmic proportions, in my opinion.  The Oxfordians may disagree with me (like to see ‘em do it to my face!), but to me “entity” bespeaks something tangible.  Something finite.  Something with boundaries.  Death is beyond boundaries, physical, temporal or otherwise.  Death always has been and always will be, and for the purposes of this pointless, space-molesting rant, always must be if the balance that binds existence is to be upheld (think of it as the law of conservation of energy applied at a spiritual/metaphysical level…or something like that.)  So what’s a cosmic clockmaker to do when one of the fundamental building blocks of reality goes rogue?  Contain it. 

Something…
I don’t know what to call it, but something capable of or responsible for keeping all the notes on key, all the balls in the air, etc, took drastic action and “imprisoned” Death, both in a physical (though multidimensional, or so it would seem) location and in a physical form.  It couldn’t be expunged from reality, nor could it be replaced, and for all the sadistic pleasure it took in its job, it still had a unique and necessary function to carry out.  Absent its self-awareness, omnipresence and free will, the formerly upset balance is restored.  By this fustigated logic, one could posit that the Prince entity that Stan encountered on the Beach was Death’s hedonistic, self-serving id—for lack of yet another better term—painted into a cosmic corner and left to its own inconsequential devices.  I don’t believe Prince—THIS Prince, anyway—had any say whatsoever in who went to Fire or Water.  That was determined, however imperfectly, the instant the deceased crossed over.  Prince was essentially locked in the deepest, darkest level of Limbo, forever under the assumption that he was indulging in the sadistic pleasure that defined his existence when in reality his actions on the Beach bore no consequences or significance whatsoever.  Death, as a fundamental component of reality, continues to do what it was designed to do because Prince—the balled-up, penned in sentient subcomponent of said component—is locked in his room doing busywork.  As far as Prince is concerned (and circa season 3, this is arguably all he knows, and all he needs to know), he/it got exactly what he wanted.  Cosmic irony at its finest.

But of course that’s not the end of the story.  Because the Prince we met at the start of 3.01 was—or seemed to be—something else entirely.  I don’t have anything in the way of a comfortable assumption for how those two entities can possibly be reconciled, except to suggest that perhaps it was simply another failsafe mechanism.  Valdron frequently referred to Prince as “the smartest monkey in the zoo,” capable of seeing the bars on the cage, as it were.  Perhaps the aforementioned something that hemmed him in realized this (kinda goes without saying, seeing as he had already become self-aware) and essentially built a cage within a cage.  So some portion of Prince’s essence is able to slip through that first set of bars…big whoop, he’s still a prisoner whether he realizes it or not.  (Think of it like ADX Prison in Colorado.  The supermax facility, where the absolute worst of the worst are sent, essentially operates as a prison within a prison.  Bust out, and you’re still behind an impregnable wall of gun towers and razor wire.)  I really don’t think this portion of the theory is too much of a stretch, because for all his supposed power and influence, what kind of lasting, consequential effects could the Prince who fancied himself the ruler of Fire stake a claim to?  Nothing that really mattered.  “Better to reign in hell…” suddenly loses its luster when you realize that said reign is basically equivalent to being permitted to break rocks in the prison yard if you so choose.  But for the arrival of the Lexx, I can’t imagine any scenario under which those static circumstances may have changed (…unless Earth advanced to the point of casual interplanetary travel and discovered/interacted with Fire and Water.  By the time the Lexx drifted into orbit it was too weak to leave.  How might season 3 Prince have fared if he’d commandeered or sweet talked his way onto a craft capable of taking him offworld?)

I can’t help but wonder if the fact that season 4 Prince—who’s a step or two closer to clarity but still reeling from the engineered amnesia that helped keep him in check while he was imprisoned on Fire—is “connected” or seemingly bound to Earth is yet another redundant failsafe designed to keep him from causing too much trouble if/when he slipped through that second set of bars.  Once again, he’s the smartest monkey in the zoo, and enjoys what appears to be a degree of autonomy…but to what end?  So he makes a mess of one insignificant planet.  Once again, in the great scheme of things, big whoop.  Whoever or whatever engineered these containment measures is taking the longest of the long views, and if that means a few billion people on some Type 13 galactic backwater have to settle for being Prince’s playthings to spare the rest of the universe(s) from having to put up with him, then so be it.  Basic Vulcan economics right there.  If that strikes you as more than a little cynical or misanthropic, then let me be the first to say, “Hi there!  Welcome to Lexx.  Kick off your shoes, abandon all hope, and get back to me after you’ve worked your way up to this episode from the beginning.  I promise it’ll make…[*MUMBLES SOMETHING THAT COMES OFF LIKE A CROSS BETWEEN “SENSE,” “RUN,” AND “SCHMUH”*]…after that.  Yes…the guy in black is dead.  No, he’s not a vampire.  No, I don’t care to hear you tell me where he can bury himself any time.”

He can certainly kick himself though.  Because if the hideously deformed theory I just posited holds any water, then we have Kai to thank for reminding Prince of his roots.  Assuming the TV that periodically broadcast his essence to anyone within earshot who was either too unrefined or too cheap to drown their attention in my latest dozen-selling couch leveler was yet another form of containment, it’s entirely likely that Priest and Bunny could have locked him in the NORAD broom closet and been rid of him for all time.  At worst, he might have manifested himself in some other placeholder vessel if that one had been destroyed.  But in transporting his essence to the Other Zone, Kai somehow lifted what remained of the veil that had been blinding him to his true nature, history and purpose since the moment he was imprisoned.  He didn’t mean to do it, and for as much as the dead wish to be dead, surely pragmatism would have overruled his desire to continue their chess game if he’d had the slightest suspicion as to the unintended consequences he was courting (don’t hold me to this, because I doubt it, but I suppose it’s possible that the entire game and all of its associated trappings were an escape gambit on Prince’s part).  But the fact remains: Kai woke him from his daze.  He may be less than a shell of what he was when the cosmos first came into being, but at long last he knows what and why he is, and that self-serving sadism is as strong as ever.


Lotta Ancient Aliens logic in that screed.  Beggin’ your pardon while I check myself over for the telltale signs of a fleshy neck beard.


Whether or not anything I just said made the slightest shred of sense, Prince is certainly sold on the idea that he’s Death, which means our heroes are equally sold, because where they come from, the single most disrespectful thing you can possibly say to someone is, “Prove it.”  Despite having both crossed over and said, “Nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live here,” Stan and Xev defer all dying related matters to Kai, who appears genuinely puzzled when they ask him if he recalls seeing Prince at the moment of his demise.  He answers in the peculiarly uncertain negative…although who’s to say you’d remember seeing him?  After all, Stan clearly stated that he had no recollection whatsoever of his time in the afterlife.  The same almost certainly goes for Xev, which is all the more frustrating since her second death occurred after what we came to know as the afterlife had ceased to exist.

Earth too is about to cease to exist, or so Prince implies.  Whether he knows exactly how or when it will meet its end is never made clear, although I’m open to the possibility that he’s prescient to some degree or another.  It might even be that he can move about in four dimensions, or is otherwise unstuck in time, as the old Vonnegutism goes.  That would certainly explain why he knows some of the things he knows.  As for the things he appears not to know or have any control over, perhaps he’s as beholden to the cycles of time as everything else in the universe and as such, can’t actually alter or affect things on a grand scale.  Or perhaps there are just some things he chooses not to know.  After all, perfect knowledge of all events past, present and future would beget what Frank Herbert once referred to as “holy boredom” (which his ideological surrogate protagonist described as “good and sufficient reason for the invention of free will.”)  Even for a malevolent evil spirit, that’s no way to live.

Sticking around a doomed planet is no way to live either, so Stan naturally orders the Lexx to do an about face and head for the space hills.  Right on cue, ol’ man Murphy rears his beplugged head.  Lexx isn’t going anywhere.  Ever again.

We, however, are going back to Texas because apparently Paul Donovan is THAT angry with us.  With pride in his eyes and a gumless, glaucoma-inducing grin on his leviathanian lips, Doc Longbore surveys the completed Noah as he thanks what’s left of the Scooby gang for standing around and wheezing while the machines he didn’t actually build did all of the work.  They proceed to hold an impromptu pout-off while the Longer summons forth his crew of handpicked histocompatible hotties and Prince temporarily commandeers his laptop for an overly forward first stab at online speed dating.  Couple things…

1) Did anyone happen to catch #11 “Simpson, H?”  (Pains me to say it, but I wish Prince had come for him, and the rest of Springfield, at least ten years ago.)

2) Did Prince appearing before Dr. Longbore to preemptively call dibs on his soul seem a bit unnecessarily literal to anybody else?  Then again, perhaps that was intentional, since Prince is now fully aware—or thinks he is fully aware—of his purpose.  Kind of like how ninety-nine percent of the time we breathe or blink instinctively, without ever giving it a second’s thought, but can consciously and purposely do so at will whenever we choose.


Or like how Paul told the effects crew, “Fire at will.  We don’t get to keep any of this money, then neither do they!”  Infreakinsane.  That’s all I’ve got to say about the finished product.  Infreakinsane throughout.  It’s no exaggeration to say that the visuals—which were always great as far as I’m concerned—just kept improving as the show progressed.  Like the three season finales before it, this one was a thrice-fried feast for the eyes, and while I have no doubt that the beans have every intention of leaving well enough alone, I can’t help but wonder how season 1 might have looked with the season 4 effects budget and crew.  It’s probably for the best that I not dwell on it.  The human mind can only comprehend so much pure concentrated awesomeness at once.

Kind of like how an asteroid twice the size of the moon can only appear at cloud level over one hemisphere at a time.  Unless we’re to presume it somehow flattened out and took up some sort of concave shape, in which case London, Paris and Washington D.C. are simultaneous fair game.


Confession time: Lexx dying would have been significantly easier to swallow if they’d just blown him up in one fell swoop.  Not saying it wouldn’t still have stretched our collective heartstrings to their snapping point, but quicker is always better when it comes to death.  Nobody wants to see someone they care about slowly waste away.  And we care about the Lexx.  He’s as much a character as any of the other regulars, he’s got a personality all his own, and over the course of the preceding sixty-one outings we’ve forged an emotional connection with him.  Personally, I liken watching the Lexx wither and die to losing a pet.  And I’m sure I’m not alone, nor am I overstating, when I say that sometimes, that pain cuts the deepest.

I found it particularly affecting that as soon as 790 and Kai confirmed the inevitable, Stan’s knee-jerk reaction was to dismiss them, if only for a moment.  There’s your denial stage right there.  It’s a shame Paul didn’t have the time or the narrative wiggle room to formally address all five stages of grief, because I have a feeling Brian would have knocked those scenes out of the park.

“I’m getting a headache.”  At long last, Stan finally learns to say those game changing magic words!  Alas, Prince isn’t around to hear them (or maybe he is, since he’s in all time/space/etc…you probably want me to shut up about that and get on with it, don’t you?), but with survival hinging on a last-ditch return trip to Earth, his parting words are certainly ringing true.  They’ve all got a date with destiny, and like it or not, Stan’s going down. 

 
Anyone else curious how the Scooby gang managed to reload their roster so quickly?  I can’t imagine “WANTED: GREASY, PAPAYA-SHAPED, MOUTH-BREATHING BULLET SPONGES FOR UNPAID, VENTILATION-DEPRIVED 168 HR A WEEK INTERNSHIP.  ABILITY TO STICK FINGER IN NASA-CALIBER LIGHT SOCKETS AND TASTE TEST EXOTIC RADIOACTIVE ISOTOPES A PLUS.  WILLINGNESS TO DO SO IRRELEVENT.  PLEASE SEND A ONE PAGE RESUME WITH COVER LETTER, 3-75 MINUTE AUDITION SHOWER, AND UNMARKED, NONSEQUENTIAL THOUSAND DOLLAR APPLICATION FEE TO 1313 HORNY TOAD LN” turning a heck of a lot of heads, and to the best of my knowledge, career spazes seldom train apprentices.  For that matter, I don’t believe we ever found out what became of Tina, although given her chronically unscratched necro-itch, there’s a good chance she’s been spending most of her free time flashing entirely too much thigh at the local morgue.  (You couldn’t pay me to pretend I was capable of caring what happened to Dougal.)  Ah, but why waste your, my, and the universe’s time worrying about this latest over-doughy batch of nostril-mining intelligent design invalidation?  Ernie certainly didn’t.  Not enough to book them spots on the Noah, anyway (hard enough for a man with an environmentally friendly burlap ostomy pouch fanny-packed to his hip at all times to enjoy No Pants Thursday in peace without some boil farming fungusoid shouting “Pajama party!” and stripping down to his duct tape reinforced, wedgie-resistant, damn-you-Bilbo-to-the-sweatiest-corner-of-Hell-for-circuitously-corrupting-my-go-to-fireman-fantasy-with-that-image unmentionables), though he apparently has faith enough in their ability to activate a doomsday device, then stand around gawking and sucking the last remaining subatomic vestiges of cool out of the surrounding area to charge them with firing up a pint sized particle collider that will quickly calculate the mass of the Higgs boson and express mail the Earth to Singularity City.  (Which I guess is sort of like protesting lousy restaurant service by leaving the bathroom sinks running and jackhammer pumping all the urinal handles right before storming out.)  Hmm…so we’ve got eight fugly but otherwise able bodied Homo somethingorothers being issued a suicidal ultimatum by a brittle, unarmed paraplegic who’s well within spin-kicking distance.  Sure, he cooked up a few remote controlled murderbots in anticipation of an attempted mutiny, but it’s not like those drones can kill all of them.  I mean, they can…eventually…which is an extra added bonus. 

Between you, me, and that pervert leering at us from the bushes, it might be in the Scoobs’ collective best interest to call up their inflatable exes for one last “this means nothing” liaison and just take their medicine, because back amongst the Stridexed, things are starting to look mighty grim, as evidenced by the colossal alien tentacles that make short work of Sorry Charlie, or whatever it is the Engs are calling that bigass clock tower these days.  No time like the non-specifically near future for us Yanks to give isolationism another try.  But try telling that to our cosmopolitan Clod in Chief, who’s so anxious to suit up and stuff himself into a Grenada-era fighter jet that can’t possibly hold enough fuel to facilitate a transatlantic flight that his retinue practically has to slap him in leg irons and jam a gun barrel into his ribs to keep him from jumping up and down like the undocumented bean of the same name.  Unfortunately, he forgot his toothbrush, and as we all know, gingivitis is the third leading cause of dashing young airmen spending their Saturday nights alone.  Alack for his red state poll numbers, it looks like he’ll have to abort the mission.

Not if his Secretary of Oral Affairs has anything to say about it!  A body could lose his mind attempting to ponder just why in the pearly white hell Bunny carries around a fuzzy pink travel toothbrush with what appears to be either a Popple or some sort of desiccated land-sea urchin glued to the end, and with so much meandering speculation yet to be meanderingly speculated, we can ill-afford to overheat and succumb to inoperable snot-eyed encephaloss this prematurely.  Ergo, I propose we pluck that never-fail MST3K mantra from under the mattress, smile, nod, and move on.

His skimped out self-loading baggage insecurely stowed, Priest tearfully confesses what we’ve already known for the past twenty-seven broadcast hours: that he’s really a bad x 5 man from a bad x 3 planet (so by that logic he’s 40% worse a man than Fire was a place) who plunked down on Earth after it was reduced to a plasma-fried pebble x 10,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 by Xev.  I’ll leave the righteously redundant “Thanks a whole helluva lot for that, Xev!” to whichever one of my trusty pinch hitters wishes to step up and collect an insultingly paltry percentage of the less than nothing I stand to make off this review; I’m getting back on Prince for a moment.  (Stan, I swear it’s not what you think…we were partnered up in CPR class, and that was it!)

So Priest knows—and has always known—who he is and where he came from, while Bunny—like the rest of the displaced souls—is in the dark (forgetting how to blink midway through the act will do that to you.)  That the former was a deliberate move on Prince’s part pretty much goes without saying, although in hindsight, since he was able to “put it in everyone’s mind” to pull the lever for Reggie, I can’t help but wonder why he didn’t just cut out the middleman and make himself President.  (Hold on a tick: unchecked, iron-fisted, multi-administration-spanning control over one of the nation’s leading federal law enforcement agencies, chronically cowed sinecurial superiors, a possible penchant for ladies’ eveningwear [you’re damn right I’m making a ruling on the nightshirt]…my God, it’s Hoover Redux.)  For that matter, and I’m sure I’ve touched on this before, what purpose was there in setting the rest of the reincarnates up with a lifetime’s worth of memories and (verifiable?) personal histories?  I honestly can’t decide if that’s the sort of thing he would do, because while on one hand it would be in his best interest to shore up some degree of control over his new domain, you would think he would revel in the worldwide chaos and confusion that the sudden appearance of countless millions of mind-wiped strangers would touch off.  Assuming Prince had anything to do with them at all.  It could very well be that Earth—and the rest of the universe(s) for that matter—is subject to the same sort of error prone metaphysical filing system that kept Fire and Water running like a gunked up Swedish watch.  I see no reason why a multiverse can’t, in the grand scheme of things, still be a closed system.  If this holds as true for the spiritual realm as it does the physical, then perhaps there really are a finite number of souls, and reincarnation is the norm (with Death as the arbiter of balance).  Perhaps only a select few wound up going to Fire or Water at all.  In one of his many fascinating essays, Valdron put forth the notion that Water was every bit as much a purgatorial prison world as Fire.  A bizarre notion, at first, but think about it for a second: mindless, everlasting, consequence free contentment and indulgence.  Every minute of every day.  Forever.  I know, I know, y’all are already pushing, shoving, kicking, macing, biting, gouging, extorting, and shouting “Look!  It’s Mike McManus with a cupcake stuck to his zipper!” for the chance to set up camp on the sidewalk square nearest the window where they’ll post the signup sheet eleven months from now, and believe me, I’m right there with you (cupcake allergy finally came in handy).  But that’s because we’re hardwired to take the short view when it comes to personal satisfaction.  Deep fried chocolate for every meal sounds appealing at first, particularly if you could wolf it down by the bucketload and still look like you stepped off the cover of a romance novel.  Do it for a week, a month, a decade, a century…given enough time, you’ll sooner eat a gun.  Now couple that with eternity, and what appears to be a near-complete lack of free will (think of the Boomtowners, the Gardeners, most of the Gametown folk…) and tell me if that sounds like your idea of Heaven.  I can pretty much guess your answer…and I’m certain one Mr. Serling would agree with you.

In misaimed summation: I don’t think the souls that wound up on Water were bad people.  But I don’t think they were balanced people either.  I think it’s entirely possible that they wound up where they wound up because their lives had been defined by selfishness, obsession, or frivolity (and because, as we’ve touched on, the universe apparently thrives on irony.)  I think the select few who gradually began to realize that there’s got to be more to life than whatever they had spent their lives doing from the moment they first woke up were the ones whose penance had paid off, and were closest to being properly reincarnated in the “real” world (the root word of penitentiary is penitent, after all).  Taken at face value, that theory casts a whole new light on people like s3 Bunny and Fifi, the latter of whom I thought was one of the very best villains in the whole series, due in no small part to the fact that he wasn’t evil; just confused, conflicted and angry. 

“Seize and secure purchase ‘pon that blower,” I can already hear some of you shouting, “Kai’s soul was on Water.  He wasn’t unbalanced!”  Right you are about the first part.  As for the second part…how do we know?  We gleaned a few things here and there about his life prior to the ForeShadow assault, but hardly enough to paint a complete, warts-and-all picture of the man he was for most of his short life.  Could be he had his share of faults, be they personal or culturally ingrained.  Uncomfortable with the notion that Kai may have been anything other than the according-to-Carrie-Bradshaw definition of a perfect man?  Fair enough…it’s equally possible that the unique circumstances surrounding his death caused his soul to be deposited in Water’s worldwide waiting room until the universe could sort the whole matter out.

Wow, did I ever drift off topic.  Again.  Scary part is I’m not altogether sure I can sincerely make the “don’t worry, that’ll never happen again” promise just yet.

Show of hands: who didn’t find Priest and Bunny’s little “rocket surgery” moment in the cockpit genuinely touching?  I thought so. *CANCELS FEDEX FLAMING BAG SHIPMENT*  I don’t know that I’d go so far as to say I was deeply moved by it, but I thought it was sweet because it was sincere.  The same could be said for just about all of their scenes together.  They aren’t innately bad people…just insanely naïve, and for as cruel a hand as this series tends to deal anyone who comes by the slightest shred of happiness, I confess it did my heart some good to see two characters who are so completely and authentically in love make it across the finish line.

Lord knows our hearts could use a little boost like that, what with all the tearing out and stomping the rest of this episode has in store for them.  Watching Lexx sputter, deteriorate; struggle mightily just to attempt a feat that used to come naturally.  The subtle, oh so appropriate shot of the sun appearing as a bright spot at the center of the viewscreen.  His confiding in Stan that he was always his favorite captain, and that he is going to miss him.  It all harkened back to some things I don’t particularly enjoy dwelling on, and for that I applaud Paul Donovan.  Because while I may not want to feel that way, he knows that I should, and that the sequence of events unfolding before me would be entirely for naught if I didn’t.

(CONT...)



Last edited on Sun Oct 7th, 2012 03:54 pm by Bilbo67



____________________
If you're normal, the crowd will accept you. But if you're deranged, the crowd will make you their leader.
— Christopher Titus
Bilbo67
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Joined: Fri Oct 27th, 2006
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 Posted: Sun Oct 7th, 2012 03:55 pm

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(...CONTINUED FROM ABOVE)


Prince’s acquired fluency in IKEA pillow talk was not a total loss either.  With little more than a few strokes of Rod-A and a good hard twist of Knob-B, he wrenches the First Freefallers from Sir Isaac Newton’s clutches and orchestrates what, beyond a divine shadow of a doubt, is Priest’s crowning moment of awesomeness: hijacking the Noah (vibrantly adorned with the missing link between Morgan Freeman and Big Jim Slade, which I refuse to believe Walter Borden doesn’t have framed in his bedroom), atomizing Dr. Longbore, and issuing a Presidential Pardon-Me-But-My-Fire-Needs-To-Stand-Where-You’re-Standing to most of the Scoobs.  Job almost well done, Mr. President.  I say “almost” not because two of them somehow managed to shrug off a multistage Eskimo tongue-kiss from the most powerful rocket ever built (cockroaches are notoriously hardy), but because instead of marching straight into the Longer’s recently vacated office and doing what they’ve always dreamt of doing right in the middle of his desk (swapping the labels on his “in” and “out” boxes!  Tee-hee!), they race to the nearest landline and effortlessly place a call to the freshly abandoned Lexx, pleading for Kai to save them, freely dropping the L-bomb, and pushing 790’s genocidal jealousy to the breaking point, effectively dooming the Earth.  Y’all have been with me since the beginning.  How many times did I say it: for the GOOD OF THE ENTIRE WORLD we have to chop those kids up into Loser Lunchables and feed them to the Gila monsters!  What’s that you say?  “Bilbo, you sociopathic dolt, don’t you think that’s a bit rash?”  Sorry Mr. and Mrs. Voice-O-Reason, I couldn’t hear you over the trouser dousing terror of my impending immolation!!!

Right on cue our homeless heroes drop in, only to discover that the fun bus has flown the crapshackle coop.  For reasons that you’d think the dead would be dead to, Kai decides to scope out his reflection in the crackling collider, only to get slug-bugged by a wayward plasma spark that inadvertently puts the himself-bosh on the last remaining chunks of the Scooby gang.  I formally retract my preceding tirade.  I can now die with a big, stupid grin on my face. 


What happens next honestly seemed a bit clunky in my opinion.  Kai tells Stan and Xev to go after the Noah without him, calmly explaining that Prince, in his newly realized capacity as Death, was there for him when he visited the Lexx.  He offers little in the way of an explanation aside from an eerily lucid “I felt it.”  (To which Stan promptly fires up his speed dial and hysterically barks, “So this is what you like?  That’s it, we’re through!”)  I’m not saying that I dislike this scene.  On the contrary, I thought MM’s chilling, nuanced delivery was spot on.  But it was hampered by what I can only describe as gratuitous abruptness.  Much as I like to poke fun at Kai for withholding critical information until someone actually bothers to ask him about it, this doesn’t strike me as the kind of thing he would sit on, considering the paradigm shifting effect it’s going to have on Stan and Xev’s situation.  Nor do I believe that it took any great length of time for the implications of Prince’s visit to dawn on him.  From the moment he departed it was clear that something grave was weighing on Kai’s mind.  In hindsight, it was almost as though he was momentarily taken aback by Prince’s lack of action.  Like he expected Prince to make good on his promise right then and there.  When he didn’t, it flustered him, if only for an instant.  We’ll cross that tear-slathered bridge in a moment.  Right now, #67 on the forums and #7.1 billion in your hearts is taking over at Monday morning quarterback: if I were calling the shots, I would have dropped the bomb right at the get-go.  Prince would have told Kai in no uncertain terms that they made a deal, and that he’s come to collect on it.  Then I would have had Prince depart without him, leaving our heroes to ponder why he didn’t take him and heavily implying that it can—and will—happen at any given time.  There’s pathos and suspense to be had by the dozerload in an opening minute plotsplosion like that.  Not to mention plenty of time for reflection, sorrow, passion, and intrigue (try this one on for size: Kai spends most of the episode unsure if he’s alive or dead…or perhaps fluctuating between the two states).  All the more so if the show had been given the epic two-hour sendoff it deserved. 

But no sense harping on what could have been.  I’m not here to bitch about Lexx, I’m here to praise it. 

The exchange that follows is one of the series’ most poignant.  Kai declares that since the Lexx’s weapon is all but played out, he will lash the collider to his moth and tow it into the asteroid ship, essentially executing a kamikaze run.  Notwithstanding the fact that collapsing that much matter into a point the size of a pea would probably create a black hole and destroy the planet anyway (…I would think), decarbonized Assassins are apparently equipped to withstand such an ordeal.  Normally.  However, this time he feels things will be different.  Stan—who must have picked up a few pointers when he took his own leave of absence from the land of the living—emphatically reminds the dead man that the dead do not feel.

To which Kai almost pensively replies, “No.  They do not.”

Take that for what you will.  Personally, I detected—or thought I detected—some sort of change in him right after he touched the collider. 

Immediately thereafter he bids a cogent, pithy, thoroughly Kai-like farewell to Xev…followed by an all too human, “I’m sorry that I have not been able to love you in the way that you wanted me to.” 

Wow.  Just wow.

Oh sure, it’s still Kai-speak.  But it’s also the most heartfelt thing he’s capable of saying.  Read it between the lines once all the eyewater has drained down into Lake Shirt.  Take full stock of exactly what Kai said, and more importantly, what he didn’t say.  We all know what Xev wanted from Kai from the minute she clapped her laser-guided come hither eyes on him.  Just as surely as anyone with a mote of maturity knows that love, real love, is unconditional.  It transcends the physical…the cerebral…the emotional…hell, I’ll go so far as to say that it transcends the spiritual, if there is such a thing.  It simply is.  Don’t think for a second that Kai doesn’t know that.  And don’t think for a second that he doesn’t love Xev—and Stan—to the full extent that he is able.

Stan’s back to that denial stage now, although you get the feeling that it’s more of a rote reaction on his part as opposed to any genuine traces of hope trying in vain to have their say.  This is not the kind of thing that Kai is going to be wrong about.  To his credit, he belabors his objection for just a moment before resigning himself to the inevitable.  I kind of wish they had shaken hands before parting, clichéd as that might sound.  But Stan’s wistful “You take care, dead man” said everything that needed to be said (and then some…for in addition to “goodbye,” he could just as well be telling him “Go kick some ass!”)

I noticed something right here.  Ran it back a couple times, and would pinpoint it for you were it not for the fact that the recording I watched for this review didn’t have a timer.  Now, it’s entirely possible that what I was seeing was nothing more than a lighting quirk…but it looked to me like Kai was tearing up ever so slightly.  Or perhaps it was Mike himself who was getting a bit misty and Paul decided to let it stand.  Once again, take it for what you will.

Finally we come to the kiss (arguably the first time that Xev has ever locked lips with the “real” Kai…at least that I can remember).  Everything about this scene is epic, from the cinematography to the music to the maelstrom of emotions.  Definitely screensaver material for all the right reasons, and once again Paul and co. are to be commended for tearing our hearts out, because that’s precisely how we should be feeling right now.  Far be it from me to spoil a perfect moment like this with empty speculation, but the malnourished romantic in me who occasionally pokes his head out from under the covers when the fire-breathing, steroid-addled expansionist cynic lets his guard down would like to think that that kiss meant every bit as much to Kai as it did to Xev, and that he was not simply going through the motions for her benefit.  (At the very least, he’s savvy enough to shut up and not kill the moment, quite unlike yours truly.)  Their parting glance, with Xev maintaining eye contact every step of the way as Stan guides her to the moths, could not have been any more perfect.

Nor could 790’s next scene.  Now there’s something I wasn’t expecting to ever say again.  But something about his bone-dry “What?/Nothing” exchanges with the Lexx tickled me right where I needed it, and I can’t help but imagine them coming at the tail end of a cornerless conversation that’s been raging unchecked for ten solid minutes.  Whatever the case, it pays off when doddering ol’ Grampa Lexx mistakes the conniving little canister for his captain, whereupon 790 promptly orders him to punch Earth’s ticket.  Determined to go out with one last good bang, the big bug squeezes every remaining drop of juice from his gun glands and shoots for the moon (figuratively speaking.)  Huzzah and tra-la!  The energy ribbon finally returns!

So does Prince.  

Because a deal’s a deal, even with a dirty dealer, as the song goes.

And so he finally pays up.  With little fanfare or buildup Kai comes back to life.  Just like that.  “Gone” one minute, and here the next.  Ironically appropriate, and appropriately ironic.

Of course, as anyone who paid close enough attention to 4.18 will recall, “make you truly alive again” is not how Prince worded it when they struck their bargain.  Nor would he have had any reason to, because as Kai so bluntly reminded us, the only thing the dead truly want is to be dead.  Nonetheless, the outcome has been etched into the cycles of time from the second Kai first agreed to play for stakes.  You just have to wonder why Prince waited until now to make good on his word, when there was no shortage of opportunities to fatally resurrect Kai in the interim (when he touched the collider, when he base jumped into Vlad’s castle, or he could have simply given him his soul back right away on the understanding that a danger magnet like Kai wouldn’t last long without his trusty invulnerability).  Because he’s a malicious bastard who wanted to string Xev and Stan along with a glimmer of false hope before tearing their hearts out?  Perhaps.  But I think it’s equally possible that we’re witnessing Prince’s merciful side in action.  Sure, he benefits by knocking a potent adversary out of the game and sticking it to our heroes one last time…but he’s also timing it so that in granting Kai the release he longed for, he’s doing the universe a solid (if only in the “Hands off my stuff!” sense) by snuffing the Lyekka threat too.  Balance is balance, after all.

Sure took that energy ribbon a good while to find its mark, didn’t it?  The planet-busting sequences just kept getting better and better as the show progressed, and I’m sure I’m not alone when I say they saved the best for last.


Oh, somewhere in this maddened ‘verse an atmosphere’s alight;
A self-important pale blue dot is bound for timeless night,
And some might say ‘tis for the best, ask others, they’ll say worst
But you can’t ask Bonnie Hammer – Lexx took that bitch out first!


Vaya con debrisos,
Earth.  Can’t say I’m gonna miss your spiders or your taxes.  But you gave us oxygen and the Big Gulp, so I suppose I should be grateful for that.  Of course, I’m not sure who I’m talking to right now, or how I’m saying anything at all, since my atoms have just been scattered to the four solar winds.  Hey, speaking of all things brazenly wiped out by soulless automatons, I can’t help but hearken back to the old Bboard one last time, and all the crazy things we thought the inevitable destruction of our little blue flyspeck would usher in.  A new universe, a rebooted cycle of time, etc.  How quaint.  Meanwhile, the universe at large casts a fleeting glance in our general galactic vicinity and dispassionately mutters, “Thank goodness no one was hurt.”  If it notices at all.

Impossible not to notice is the colossal Greek-style…torso…thing…overlooking the Noah bridge.  I’ll leave it to you to wonder which knob activates the ramscoop.  Once again, I’m on Prince (I don’t know how it happened…he called me out of the blue, all bummed out because he just got dumped.  Then next thing you know…shut up!)  So with the Earth gone, he’s free at last!  But for how long?  What happens as soon as he sets foot on another planet?  Nothing out of the ordinary?  Or does he become as yoked to that new world as he was to Fire and Earth?  Is he finally free to traverse the universe and do as he pleases, or will an unscheduled W.C. call on the Planet of the Trilobites be his undoing?  (Universe + irony = XOXOXOXOXO, after all.)  We’ll never know…and I wouldn’t be surprised if Prince doesn’t know either, because he looked mighty befuddled when he first materialized on the Noah.  Could that be because he’s unsure of his new purpose?  Could it even be that he unknowingly traded his powers in for his freedom?  Or could it be because he took one look at the control pedestal and thought to himself, “Great…I wonder what THESE people’s showerheads look like!”

Back on Earth, the…oh, wait…never mind.

I wonder what Xev saw or sensed when Kai popped up on her viewscreen.  He’s “different,” by her reckoning, although from what I can tell, his pallor and mannerisms don’t appear to have changed.  Stan didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary.  Maybe it’s a Cluster lizard thing.  Or perhaps it’s simply intuition.  The type born of familiarity shot through with that ultra-potent strain of unrequited amour that routinely straddles the fine line between longing and obsession.  Xev has lusted after Kai from the moment he first stopped trying to kill her.  As she came to know him for the man he was in life and the cruel hand he had been dealt in death, that artificially augmented hormonal heat wave matured, forging a deep-seated, if tragically imbalanced, bond.  She lived for the man, and as such, it wouldn’t surprise me if every seemingly inconsequential little quirk or tick that made this particular incarnation of Kai who and what he was was imbedded deeper in her mind than the Matron could have ever hoped to plant her rhetoric.  Little wonder, then, if even the most insignificant deviation from that imprinted norm throws her for a loop and makes her think, “That’s not right.  That’s not the Kai I know.”

Or, you know, maybe he had a gnarly looking bruise on his head that I missed.

On that note, it’s probably safe to assume that Prince somehow repaired or restored Kai’s vital organs as well.  There’s no way a normal human being could survive in his wallered out condition, although seeing as this is Prince we’re dealing with, it’s entirely possible that while he is no longer dead, Kai might not actually be “alive” in the sense that we understand it.  So many things we’ll never know.  I think I speak for everyone who has ever been even marginally smitten with the show when I say that it would have been nice if we could have spent a little more time with the living Kai.  For all the acrobatically obvious reasons, of course, but also because I think it would have been fascinating to see how—or even if—he attempted to come to grips with all the atrocities he committed at the behest of the Order.  “Oh God, what have I done?”  Or, “That wasn’t me, it wasn’t my fault.”  Logically, it should be the latter.  As the Predecessor who struck him down correctly put it, he was “animated flesh that kills as His Shadow instructs.”  No sense blaming an insentient instrument for serving its master’s malicious whims, even if the instrument in question used to be a living, reasoning organism.  But a human being isn’t a completely rational animal.  We’d be something less than human if we were, and I’m sure Kai would be the first to admit that attacking the Foreshadow was NOT a rational act.  I find it hard to believe that in his newly reactivated heart of hearts he would be able to look at his hands without seeing all the blood they’ve spilled.   All the more reason why I’m tempted to hypothesize that in the long run, live Kai would probably be just as fatalistic as he was before, because he knows he owes a death.  Both to the natural order of things, and to his victims. 

Did I just indirectly conjecture that Stan is more rational than Kai?  Dayum.

I think Stan would be the first one to dismiss that notion and profess that he’s not fit to spit-shine Kai’s wicked-awesome looking boots.  Let’s face it, he’d tell you; alive, dead or some nebulous in-between state, Kai is an exceptional individual.  An incomparable paragon of virtue, reason, courage.  Fortitude made decarbonized flesh.  By what right does a scruple-deficient craven like Stanley H. Tweedle warrant mention alongside someone like that?

Nice try, Stan, but you already know the answer.  Because perfection is not a prerequisite for virtue.  Because being brave does not mean being fearless.  (Do you really even deserve to be called a hero if you have nothing whatsoever to fear or lose?)  Because a hero is just an ordinary individual who does ordinary things under extraordinary circumstances.  That’s one of the things that drew me to Lexx in the first place…that for all their peculiarities, the core cast are relatively unspectacular by sci-fi adventure standards.  Stan and Xev?  They aren’t warriors or scientists or explorers precision cut from the monomythic mold.  They’re a couple of stock space opera sidekicks whose lantern-jawed leading man never made it to the party.  There’s a reason why I routinely cite Stan as my favorite character and tended to devote a slightly disproportionate amount of attention to him throughout the course of these reviews, and it’s not just because we both look disturbingly dapper in a red onesie.  It’s because he’s the most relatable.  The most ordinary.  For better or considerably worse, the most human.  He’s one of us—the rest of us—loath though we may be to admit it.  A welcome, if perhaps uncomfortably on-point departure from the space opera format’s top-loaded norm; because while unyielding paragons of virtue, reason and courage really do exist—and thank goodness for that—the fact of the matter is that for every Buck Rogers, every James T. Kirk, every Stilgar, there are millions of Stanley Tweedles.  Unrefined, apprehensive, wanting.  On the surface, anyway.  Push us into a corner, however, and we might just surprise you…and definitely shock the hell out of ourselves!

It should come, then, as no surprise that what ensues is high in the running for Stan’s crowning moment of awesomeness.  Because he’s been here before.  Eye to eye with oblivion.  All hope of rescue, refuge or survival dashed.  Nowhere to run, no one to plead with.  Dead to rights.  It happened when Mantrid was devouring the Light Universe, it happened when Vlad was running roughshod onboard the Lexx, it’s happening now (…it will surely happen again?)  Just like before, he decides to fight.  Not because he thinks he can save himself, or the countless trillions of other human beings throughout the universe who will never know what he risked for them (although the ironic parallel to his indirect responsibility for the annihilation of the ninety-four Reform planets is worth considering), but because he would rather go down fighting than running.  A good choice.  And a damn fine way to die.

Xev agrees.  “Let’s go, Captain!”  That was the single most perfect response she could have given.  And it’s all the more meaningful because you can tell she really means it.

What can I say about the desperate, three-on-zillion asteroid assault that might not already have been said?  (I don’t really read a lot of other reviews.)  It’s intense, beautifully shot and perfectly scored.  An emotionally gripping feast for the senses wonderfully reminiscent of the Foreshadow assault and the closing moments of Giga Shadow.  Props to Xev for her “bit on the ass by a Cluster Lizard” dig.  As for Stan…really?!  “Nose job?”  That’s the best you could come up with?  No “four” related puns?  No, “Uh-uh, bud, you’re not getting past security!”  Well, I should probably ease up on him; he’s still pretty new to this whole action hero thing.  Perhaps if somebody sends me a bolaed, bound and boxed Paul Donovan for my birthday (*hint hint*) we could put our heads together and smooth that out once I convince him not to press charges.

Anybody else think all three of our heroes made it into the asteroid at first?  I know, I know, the writing’s on the walls, but still.  I wonder what might have happened if they hadn’t come upon that hatch, or if it had closed up the second the asteroid detached from Earth.  Would the resulting implosion have gotten the job done if they’d dropped their payload on or near it?  As ever, we’ll never know.  Just like we’ll never know if Kai actually believed he might be able to dump the collider inside the asteroid and still make a break for it.  He did say he would try.  But like their kiss before parting, how much of that promise was for Xev’s benefit?  (He owes a death, yes, and the odds are overwhelmingly against him…but the living have a survival instinct.)  I can’t help but think of this as Kai’s final “beach moment.”  However altruistic or fatalistic he might be, he had a choice.  He could have ditched the collider and forsaken the asteroid in favor of staying with Xev, if only for the short time they would have had (nobody could have guessed that Lexx had one last ace in his hole.)  Stan did as much when he attempted to destroy Water to save May.  Ditto Xev, who destroyed Fire and upended its associated balance to save Kai.  They failed their tests, but given the impossible emotional dilemmas they faced, is it really fair to blame them?  I suppose in some ways the answer is yes.  However pure their motives seemed in their minds, the simple fact is that in both cases, selfishness won out.  Against Kai, it didn’t stand a chance.  He’s played this game and made this choice—this good choice—before.  As his illustrious forerunner once put it, the needs of the many outweigh the needs—or desires—of the few.  Or the one. 

And now he’s bleeding.  Drenched in sweat and spilling his own, red life’s blood for the first time since the Shadow fell on him.  This could have been a showstopper.  Instead it’s beautifully underplayed by Michael McManus, who looks to be on the verge of tearing up again when the wave of realization finally washes over him.  Although that could just be because we are. 

Ya-Way-Yo…

Only then, when that blissful baritone cuts through the chaos, does reality rear back and smack us like a warp-9 wrecking ball.  This is really, truly it.

Xev looks sick, nauseous, when he first starts singing.  Then she quickly loses herself in song, and lo and behold, finally hits a sweet note.  Stan quietly mouths the tune along with them, marking the first time the Brunnen-G anthem has ever passed his lips.  A resounding, if understated ode to camaraderie from a man whose capacity for grief has been all but milked dry over the course of his life.  I’m sure Kai heard them.  Sure as I am that they knew hearing their voices in his last moment meant the world to him.

What we’ll never be sure of is why Kai started laughing after his moth crashed and the collider started to go critical.  Is he laughing because at long last he finally gets to be at peace?  At the layers upon layers of irony, which I’m sure I don’t need to rehash?  Or is he simply laughing because he can?  Because although his task is done, his body is broken, and the end is nigh, there’s no reason he can’t live that frozen instant he has left to its fullest.  I want it to be the latter.  Don’t you?  Who wouldn’t want to feel as alive as they’ve ever felt in their last moment?  I certainly hope I go out laughing.  Who’s with me?  (…not now, I’ve got stuff to do!)

Ave atque vale,
last of the Brunnen-G.  We’ll catch up with you in the next cycle of time.


I’ve never witnessed an implosion (collapsing buildings don’t count), so I have no idea what the beans got right, what they got wrong, or if it necessarily requires a massive explosion to trigger one.  All that really matters is that it looks positively badass.  Once again, I have to wonder—and somebody who knows a thing or two about a thing or two is free to pick this ball up and take it to the house: wouldn’t collapsing something twice the size of the moon into a particle smaller than a pea form a black hole?  That’s actually what I thought was happening the first time I saw this episode and Lexx’s viewscreen started to stretch and collapse in on itself. I thought the big bug was being sucked in (and perhaps slung into yet another new universe?), which, if you think about it, would have made for a thoroughly Lexx-like conclusion…particularly if the Noah got sucked back in as well!  As usual, I was mistaken.  Lexx was merely passing away, as we all knew he would.  How fittingly bittersweet that the last thing he “sees” on his screen is a bright point of light at the end of a tunnel.

Lexx’s death hit me harder than Kai’s, for reasons I’ve already touched on.  Not sure if the pet analogy works for everyone, but to be honest, it’s all I’ve really got to go on.  I’ve never lost a close friend (a padded consequence, mayhap, of never really having a whole lot of friends), and the few family members I’ve lost thus far all went when I was significantly younger.  I suppose I’m fortunate to have lived this long and dealt so infrequently with death.  Lord knows that means I’ve got one emotional uppercut after another waiting in the wings, but such is life.  Marty Simon seemed to pick up on the vibe I was feeling, just as he somehow seemed to know that the spectral Yo-Way-Yo reprisal that accompanied the end of the big bug’s era would coincide with a dust mite hitting me directly in the eye.  Then the other eye.  (Little bastard finally met his end when he went for my mouth!)

The Lexx is dead.

Long live da Lexx!


Okay, “Little Lexx,” if you want to get specific, although that’s something of a misnomer since he/she/it is still pretty big, and is likely nowhere near finished growing.  (Kind of like my poor cousin, who shares my first name.  Kid’s in college, stands a good head taller than me, but still occasionally gets “Little” tacked on before his given moniker.  I guess what I’m trying to say is if you don’t hear from me for an abnormally long stretch of time, just assume he had a nervous breakdown and decided there could be only one.)  We should have seen this twist coming from a mile away.  Lexx’s declining health was a periodic plot point throughout much of season 4, and barring some sort of dramatic, ill-explained payoff, his lunch-launching liaison with the Dutch dragonfly would have been relegated to that so very un-Lexx-like “weird for the sake of weird” category.  No telling how much time was supposed to have passed between “Relax, one time won’t hurt” and “This is the happiest d—YOU DID THIS TO ME YOU BASTARD!”, how premature Little Lexx is, or how the beans might have approached the gooey, stomach-churning, profanity-spangled spectacle that is the miracle of new life had Lexx been at full health when his swampy water broke.  (Anyone who failed to breathe a sigh of relief upon reading that statement has until the end of THIS statement to get their affairs in order and report for involuntary electrified pickle fork therapy.)  What I can tell you is that the triumphant Yo-Way-Yo response that ushered the li’l big bug onto the scene had me pumping my fist until my rotator cuff was ready to melt.  You rock, Marty!  Think up an easy to read symbol for Graham’s Number while I practice superimposing Shaw Media’s logo onto my expired starter checks.  It’s time somebody finally paid you what you’re worth!  

Love me some Little Lexx, in case you can’t tell.  You can have your tribbles, your maguais, your…whatever the hell Gary Oldman’s little sucker-nosed alien pet in The Fifth Element was supposed to be; this is the cutest critter in the history of science fiction.  You’re welcome to argue that point, just as soon as you take a moment to explain to me how you managed to get by for this long without a soul.

Everything about the little guy just looks so…nifty.  From that adorable little anglerfish headlight (which may or may not double as a laser sight) to his “landing gear” legs to that wiggly little tail nacelle that somehow generates enough thrust to propel him through the airless, unfathomable void of intergalactic space.  He appears to be entirely organic, if the brief glimpses of his bridge are anything to go on, although who’s to say what he might be capable of “growing” between now and the time he reaches full maturity (assuming Stan and Xev—who’ve never been in danger of wearing out the phrase, “And that’s how I learned my lesson”—remember to feed this one!)  Hopefully things like a food shooter, a landing craft spitter-outer (or, you know, some sort of hyperfreudian matter transporter/space elevator cable), some cryotubes, a couple waterbeds, and just to mix things up a bit, a bathtub.  Hats off to our heroes for scoring a bitching new ride, but unless they’re keen on subsisting on their own fingernails and smelling like armpit parmesan, they’re gonna need to scare up some necessities.  Necessities of the type that the relatively slow moving terrestrial craft helmed by a bunch of bimbolicious bird brains and our Firstest Friends—none of whom are all that thrilled at the prospect of having a superpowered third wheel indefinitely crashing on their couch—has decades’ worth of in storage. 

Stan’s a lot of things, but a fool he ain’t.  Notice how he calls dibs on the new key before he even knows it exists?  Ladies First being the multiversal constant that it is, Xev naturally mediates the first, most logical order: “Find us a new home.”  All well and good…but if you’re like me (and you needn’t worry if you aren’t, ‘cause I love the whole psychotic lot of ya just the way you are), you can’t help but wonder what happens next.  Howzabout this little Blu-ray-caliber bonus: 


“Hey Little Lexx…since today’s your birthday, why don’t you help yourself to that tasty titanium treat out in the distance.  And don’t bother with the yucky white part.  You can just throw that away.”


Not like that hasn’t worked before.


And so, one robot-head-sized appetizer later, Little Lexx embarks on his maiden voyage and we bid a fond farewell to the friends—new and old, good and bad, dead and alive—who accompanied us on our long, strange jaunt through Dark Zone.  What the future may hold for Stan and Xev is anybody’s guess, although personally, I try not to think about it.  Not because I believe they’re a pair of ineffectual madness magnets who won’t last an afternoon without Kai watching their six, but because I’m content to remember them as they are in their final scene:  fire-forged friends lighting out for the unknown with undiminished zeal.  Lovers they most certainly are not, nor will they likely ever be.  But that doesn’t mean they don’t love each other; and all the more so in light of what they leave behind.  They’re as human as the rest of us, all things considered, and as such, I can’t help but believe that the natural, agonizing process of mourning what they’ve lost will ultimately yield a fortified appreciation for what—and who—they still have.  Loss, pain, tragedy…they’re funny like that. 

But then so is love, in all its many forms and guises.  After all, what is love, in the big picture, if not a down payment on grief and agony?  I don’t believe any reasonable person would deny the veracity of that statement.  Nor should they.  Because transience is precisely what makes that crazy little thing called love—be it romantic, platonic, or otherwise—more valuable, not less.  Something to be consciously and persistently cherished, not taken for granted.  Because there are no guarantees in life, save that sooner or later it ends.  Because what we lose, or leave behind, represents nothing less than the sum total of who we are and how we lived.  Wouldn’t it stand, then, that to know what you’ve got—before it’s gone—is to truly know yourself? 


To that end, I suppose Yo Way Yo was as fitting a series finale as we could have hoped for.  Not what I’d call a happy ending, but it’s a hopeful ending, and in hindsight, I’m satisfied.  It wasn’t as unspeakably epic as some of us might have liked (let’s be clear: what some of us might have liked is either too awesome to abide by the laws of nature as we presently understand them, or would have prompted Danielle Steel herself to torch her life’s work and start over from scratch), but it succeeded in striking all the right emotional chords, and brought a number of season (and series) spanning story and character arcs to an agreeable head.  Less a mind-blowing, wool-over-the-eyes conclusion so much as a case of all the pieces falling into place, which we should have seen coming.  To obliquely harken back to my favorite episode, savvy chess players can smell a foregone endgame.


Some loose ends remain, and pretty big ones at that, but I’m okay with that for a couple reasons.  For starters, I don’t really mind when scripted finales leave a few things up in the air.  Cramming too many resolutions, revelations and wrap-ups into a single episode can feel mighty contrived, particularly if it runs counter to an otherwise languid narrative pace.  Properly handled, leaving a few things unsaid, unresolved or unexplained can add one last touch of authenticity to a fictional universe.  What we’ve come to think of as “the story” may be over, but life goes on, with or without us peering over the characters’ shoulders.  What’s more, Lexx was never an exposition-heavy series to begin with.  “Want some strange?” could have just as easily been, “Dude, just roll with it.”  There’s inference enough for attentive viewers to piece a few things together, but on the whole, we typically learned as much about each new crazy situation as our heroes.  Id-driven misfits that they are, their level of inquiry seldom drifted too far beyond, “Can I eat it?”, “Can I get busy with it?” and “Is it trying to murderize me?”  I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t frustrating at times—particularly when the beans seemed to flagrantly abuse their Get Out of Making Sense Free card—but it was consistent with the show’s insular, character-driven perspective.  The protagonists routinely dealt with things that were beyond their control and totally defied their understanding.  It didn’t have to make a lick of sense to us, because oftentimes it didn’t make a lick of sense to them either.

Plus it makes for some tasty fan-fic fodder.  (Make the comic happen, Brian!  We still believe in you!  Xenia’s band can promote it with a concept album!)
 

One recurrent gripe, ere I clock out:  yoking the entire fourth season to Earth was a hindrance, in my opinion.  I understand why they did it, why they had to do it—both from a production and in-universe standpoint—and what they were going for in terms of tone and balance, but I still feel like they painted themselves into a corner.  Perhaps it would have gone down a little smoother if the beans hadn’t overplayed the “We have to go back to Earth” hand.  Or perhaps, as I’ve long surmised, they ordered too many episodes.  Even allowing for the best of the wacky stand-alone adventures to remain intact, I believe season 4 could have been reduced to about eighteen installments and been the better for it…nineteen if you count the second hour of the epic, movie-length finale! (Not bitter…oh no, not at all…)


That said, I recall a video interview from several years back in which Jeff Hirschfield (who, for all the guff I’ve given him over the years, struck me as the most approachable and well-adjusted of the three beans…so I suppose that means we can add COMMITTED METHOD ACTOR and MASTER OF DISGUISE to his resume) mentioned that from very early on, 790 blowing up Earth was intended as one of the final shots of the series.  Kudos to the beans for seeing it to fruition, but as I’ve also stated before, a big part of me feels that it would have been considerably more Lexx-like if they’d simply blown us away in the first episode without so much as a passing glance and moved on (perhaps because the big bug was suffering from what essentially amounts to control problems.)  Obviously that would have taken the season and the series in a completely different direction, and while I’m sure the ensuing romp would have been every bit as zany and enjoyable, it would have deprived us of some real gems.  Is season 4 perfect?  No.  Would I trade any of its many high points for the world?  Not on the guy who inadvertently flat-tired the back of my shoe with his shopping cart and then just smirked about it like vacant-skulled peon’s life!  (Besides, running the world is like, a twenty-four hour a week job, man.  I’ll stick to lording over a sovereign, offshore abandoned oil rig, thank you very much.)


In closing, I’d like to thank Paul Donovan, Jeffrey Hirschfield, the late Lex Gigeroff, the cast, crew, and everyone who labored to bring this unique, refreshing, dementedly perplexing series to life.  It was everything I didn’t realize I was looking for in entertainment, and then some…and then some more…and then some stuff that spooked the last remaining vestiges of my tender sensibilities into putting in for early retirement.  It spoke to the geek in me; it spoke to the freak in me.  It spoke to the cynic…the romantic…the tittering, interminable twelve-year-old…the guy at the far corner of the family reunion who everybody loves but are all a little worried about.  It spoke to the Lexxian…finally gave a name to the sum total of all those parts.


It spoke to me. 

And I’m glad I listened.


And that, in a quarter million word nutshell, is my two cents on Lexx.


What did you think of it?



Cheery bye.


Kai Kills- approx 6,767,676,767,676,767,676,767,676,767  (Prove me wrong!)



THANK YOU ONE AND ALL FOR PUTTING UP WITH MY RAMBLINGS ALL THESE YEARS.  ICE CREAM AND FIREWORKS ARE ON THIS GUY IF WE EVER BUMP INTO EACH OTHER IN PERSON!



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mayaXXX
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Mana: 
 Posted: Mon Oct 8th, 2012 12:06 am

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STUNNING !!!!

Other than reading the minds of the Beans, the actors and crew, your reviews have given so much insight and humor about a show that could well have become a parody of itself with very little effort. (Right, Live Kai?)
We'd be incredibly remiss to not mention the enjoyment we've had over the years while you undertook the Herculean rask of reviewing all four Seasons, so hoist those beers out there, (or in my case,Tequila shots)and pay hommage to the poor belabored Bilbo and his legacy of scathing, incendiary and hysterical points of view of a show that has consumed much of our lives...

Now that the kudos have been handed out, I'd like to mention that I've been hoarding these reviews lo these many years, and will make them available in the future (with Bilbos permission)in a series of PDF files for anyone who's missed them, including the old ones from the Scifi board. It will take some time to compile, but I think they're worthy of at least a Lexx Bilbo-Bible...right?



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 Posted: Mon Oct 8th, 2012 03:10 pm

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Superb review, as per always. It was a joy to read :)

Also, I always thought he was laughing at the irony of the mass of the Higgs-Bosun being revealed as a string of 13's :D

Last edited on Mon Oct 8th, 2012 03:12 pm by ^o^CORVUS^o^



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jerhume
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 Posted: Mon Oct 8th, 2012 04:50 pm

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:bounce_pinka:Fantastic Bilbo, loved your insightful, & eccentric analysis of this Lexx phenomenon!

Abby1964
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Mana: 
 Posted: Tue Oct 9th, 2012 08:16 pm

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AS usual Bilbo a very good review!



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Mana: 
 Posted: Sat Oct 13th, 2012 08:07 am

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Bibo, an amazingly funny review, it's sad to see they're over.  Perhaps I can set up a section for Futurama reviews......that'll be in the future.....perhaps.  Ahem..

I too believe there were tears in Kai's eyes when he and Xev shared one final kiss.  A good ending to the series, sad and hopeful at the end with an uplifting moment when Little Lexx came into view.  I too was more taken aback at Lexx dying than when Kai died.  Good ol' faithful Lexx was gone forever.  It was a fitting end to an insane ride through two universes.

When we approached you all those years ago to have your own section for Lexx reviews I never imagined it would be like this.  You've got a talent that has barely been tapped and I truly know it will go on to be so much more.  A big THANK YOU for all your hard work, effort, humor and downright craziness that you put into these reviews!  To quote the high and mighty Maya:

YOU ROCK DUDE! :2567:

 



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Poohzee
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 Posted: Sat Oct 13th, 2012 08:05 pm

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Bilbo, thanks so much for doing the review.

Ketana
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Mana: 
 Posted: Fri Oct 19th, 2012 03:17 pm

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10 years and quite a few tears..thank you so very much Bilbo for every single delicious word you dished out to us Lexxians..bringing the essence of this show to even the most simple minded of us..*meaning me* I cry, no seriously this hot sauce is too HOT!! kudo's my beloved..we shall know each other soon in the most biblical way..if only you lift that restraining order before my meds wear off..

Gracias..



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Mana: 
 Posted: Mon Oct 22nd, 2012 10:31 pm

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mayaXXX wrote:

Now that the kudos have been handed out, I'd like to mention that I've been hoarding these reviews lo these many years, and will make them available in the future (with Bilbos permission)in a series of PDF files for anyone who's missed them, including the old ones from the Scifi board. It will take some time to compile, but I think they're worthy of at least a Lexx Bilbo-Bible...right?


A Bible? (Bilble?)  Me?  Aw shucks, you're too kind.  No need to go killing any trees on my account.  Simple paganistic iconry will suffice.  Perhaps some sort of pocket-sized charm or totem that dispenses small, chalky candies when you tip its head back.  Tell me that wouldn't win converts!



^o^CORVUS^o^ wrote: Superb review, as per always. It was a joy to read :)

Also, I always thought he was laughing at the irony of the mass of the Higgs-Bosun being revealed as a string of 13's :D


Yeah, that's pretty much been the consensus since the first time around, and I see no reason to disagree.  But I may never get to wax melodramatic again! (For reals, it gives my agent dry mouth somehow.)




jerhume wrote: :bounce_pinka:Fantastic Bilbo, loved your insightful, & eccentric analysis of this Lexx phenomenon!

*BOWS POLITELY.  FORGETS WHICH WAY IS UP.  AGAIN.*



Abby1964 wrote: AS usual Bilbo a very good review!

You're too kind, as always Abs (it's the nice ones ya gotta watch...)

But I had the law of averages on my side...sooner or later I was bound to get a handle on what I was doing.

If/when...okay, IF that ever happens, y'all will be the first to know! 



Angel wrote: Bibo, an amazingly funny review, it's sad to see they're over.  Perhaps I can set up a section for Futurama reviews......that'll be in the future.....perhaps.  Ahem..

...

When we approached you all those years ago to have your own section for Lexx reviews I never imagined it would be like this.  You've got a talent that has barely been tapped and I truly know it will go on to be so much more.  A big THANK YOU for all your hard work, effort, humor and downright craziness that you put into these reviews!  To quote the high and mighty Maya:

YOU ROCK DUDE! :2567:
 


I don't know that I could do Futurama the kind of justice it deserves...besides, by my calculations the first generation of suicide booths is four years behind schedule, so how the heck am I supposed to drown my sorrows in a twenty-five cent bludgeoning if I crash and burn? 

You just had to go and say "...barely been tapped" with Ketana in earshot, didn't ya?  Great, now I have to change my name and dye my fake beard again.

QUOTING Maya?!?!?  The trademarkstress herself?!  I find it hard to believe her lawyers haven't parked siege engines outside your house.



Poohzee wrote: Bilbo, thanks so much for doing the review.
My pleasure.  (If the faces I've caught myself making while typing these things are any indication, leastaways...)



Ketana wrote: 10 years and quite a few tears..thank you so very much Bilbo for every single delicious word you dished out to us Lexxians..bringing the essence of this show to even the most simple minded of us..*meaning me* I cry, no seriously this hot sauce is too HOT!! kudo's my beloved..we shall know each other soon in the most biblical way..if only you lift that restraining order before my meds wear off..

Gracias..


On the tears: How many second opinions do you need to go in for?!  Fact is, you're allergic to my hair, and yet you still insist on sneaking in and making off with a lock every few months.  Whatever you've spent the last decade knitting can't possibly mean more to you than your health...?

On hot sauce: Wish I could help you there, but I'm one of those candy asses who's slamming pints of milk hand-over-fist after a gob of the mild stuff.

On the Biblical way: Just curious...what did you rent first: the helicopter, or the two tons of freeze dried locusts?

On meds: Um...those were placebos.  Aw crap, I was supposed to say that with my inside-the-head voice!!!




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PeridotEyes
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 Posted: Tue Nov 13th, 2012 09:53 pm

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Awesome, Bilbo!  You nailed it beautifully.  So well, in fact, that I'm about to view the entire Lexx episode arc once again from beginning to end.  Here's a kiss from me to you: :s010a:  When we meet in person at last there will be more kisses, real ones: long, deep and hot.  :beat_hea:Thank you.



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 Posted: Wed Nov 14th, 2012 11:36 pm

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PeridotEyes wrote:  long, deep and hot.  :beat_hea:Thank you.


Wow...all these years, all the subtle hints...


....how has it taken me THIS long to realize that you're part of that recreational lobotomy crowd!?!?


I...uh...I'm allergic to skull fractures.  Yeah...I've got a doctors note...right here...in my other pants...




____________________
If you're normal, the crowd will accept you. But if you're deranged, the crowd will make you their leader.
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 Posted: Thu Nov 15th, 2012 02:44 pm

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Bilbo67 wrote: PeridotEyes wrote:  long, deep and hot.  :beat_hea:Thank you.


Wow...all these years, all the subtle hints...


....how has it taken me THIS long to realize that you're part of that recreational lobotomy crowd!?!?




It's impolite to out the secrets of other people, you know.  However, since it's you, I'll forgive you.  :D   Here, have a nice baby cluster lizard for your trouble.  Don't worry, I fed her plenty of fresh brains, she isn't in the least bit hungry.   :confused:  What will you name her? 



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 Posted: Fri Nov 23rd, 2012 09:45 am

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PeridotEyes wrote: Bilbo67 wrote: PeridotEyes wrote:  long, deep and hot.  :beat_hea:Thank you.


Wow...all these years, all the subtle hints...


....how has it taken me THIS long to realize that you're part of that recreational lobotomy crowd!?!?




It's impolite to out the secrets of other people, you know.  However, since it's you, I'll forgive you.  :D   Here, have a nice baby cluster lizard for your trouble.  Don't worry, I fed her plenty of fresh brains, she isn't in the least bit hungry.   :confused:  What will you name her? 

*stomps her foot* don't you dare Bilbo, don't you dare accept gifts from another woman!!! I'm the only one that can officially unofficially stalk you and give you pressies!!! :c030a::u055a::kissmyass::2567::s010a:



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 Posted: Fri Nov 23rd, 2012 12:17 pm

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Ketana, honey, everyone knows you're Bilbo's stalker. Calm down, I won't horn in on your territory. :cool: I'm not a stalker! I do everything openly! No stalking for moi. :2567:



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