Other Doctor Lives: Jessica Jones: Season 1, Episode 8 – “AKA WWJD?”

A very different sort of episode, but I really like it. The tone and tension deftly rise and fall in what amounts to a near two-hander for Jessica and Kilgrave. While other characters do make appearances, the main action all boils down to our hero and her superpowered stalker.

Jessica faces down the prospect of her most extreme plan yet, one that takes her into the belly of the beast with Kilgrave. Locked in an incredibly precarious situation in which other people’s lives are in her hands, she gets up close and personal with Kilgrave and tries to figure out how she can navigate it.

It’s interesting to see Jessica’s actions and reasoning here. Given that the risks she takes in this episode dwarf her extremely ill-advised plan last time, it’s easy to see her friends’ perspective: that she’s sacrificing herself because she thinks she deserves punishment for what happened in her past. And certainly, Jessica’s intense guilt can’t be factored out, but it’s not as simple as that. Jessica is a hero, but she’s not a martyr. Even when she’s put herself in the worst possible position, it’s because she has a plan. A desperate one, one that could go wrong in dozens of ways, but it’s still a plan. She still hopes she can make it out of this alive and uncontrolled, even if she’s not banking on it.

Because she dives in headfirst into danger. Confronting everything she fears, her every revulsion, trying to stay ahead as Kilgrave repeatedly changes the game on her. Through it all, she fights to maintain her own drive and dignity, not giving into the despair of her situation. Even beyond the constant threat of him using his powers against her, she also wants to make this hard for him, continually managing small digs to rankle him.

Obviously, this is another strong episode for David Tennant. Episode 7 sort of marks the shift where Kilgrave stops being a boogeyman and becomes a character, and for me, the shift is highly effective. I don’t think anything in this episode matches the outright eeriness of his earliest appearances on the show, but he’s still incredibly creepy, and he’s just sick. In this particular encounter with Jessica, we’re shown over and over how his “love” for Jessica really comes down to obsession and his sense of entitlement/ownership. He demonstrates his scary-obsessive level of detail when it comes to knowing everything about her, and yet, for all of his “this is all for you, Jessica” claims, he’ll move toward manipulation/control at the drop of a hat. As Jessica remains defiant, that rage that simmers beneath Kilgrave’s show of supposed good will is just so palpable.

One of the creepiest things about Kilgrave in this episode is the way he tries to act as though any of this is normal. And I’m not talking about Jessica’s super strength or his mind control. I mean the way he seems to think Jessica will fall into his arms if he just pampers her enough. His view is very transactional (which is interesting, since his powers mean he’s never really had to pay for/earn everything,) but as he and Jessica clash, it comes up again and again. You can’t hate me when I’ll provide everything you could ever want. It wasn’t rape if I brainwashed you and we did it in five-star hotels. If I’m not controlling you, why does it matter if I control other people? How many good deeds would it take to balance the scales of my crimes?

It’s all BS, of course. Even as Jessica and Kilgrave tangle with each other, as she thinks about the good that could be accomplished with Kilgrave’s abilities by someone with a conscience or as he shares the terrible origins of his powers with her, treating someone well doesn’t mean you can violate them and saving someone doesn’t negate the fact that you killed someone else. Things about Kilgrave can be explained, but they can’t be explained away. I think Tennant and the show do a nice job of showing us Kilgrave’s perspective on all this while still keeping the proper framing of it. Kilgrave is complex in that he has a lot going on psychologically, but he’s not “complex” in any suggestion that his actions are justified/excusable. That’s a trap shows sometimes fall into with compelling villains. In learning more about them and their motivations, the shows can sometimes start buying into those motivations, acting like a bad childhood translates to forgiveness for evil behavior or that mass murder doesn’t matter as long as they’re really sorry about it. With Kilgrave, he can be both fascinating and unambiguously awful, and I appreciate that.

Neurodivergent (Headcanon) Alley: Roy Kent (Ted Lasso)

*Roy-related spoilers.*

As I’ve said before, a neurodivergent reading of Ted Lasso really snuck up on me. I loved the show’s whimsy and wordplay, I adored its enormous heart, and I really appreciated how it tackled issues like toxic masculinity and mental health struggles. Pretty much every character is spectacular. But even as I started exploring my own neurodivergence and clocking the Big ND Energy in so many of my favorite shows, it took me a while to consider Ted Lasso, and I’m not sure why. Is it because it’s about sports? Whatever the reason, I came late to realizing just how neurodivergent this show feels, but now I’m fully on board the “Ted Lasso is autistic as hell” train. And for my first Neurodivergent Alley post on the show, there was only one choice for me.

Actually, I think part of the reason I didn’t clock the show’s autistic coding is because it dovetails so well into the themes of dismantling toxic masculinity, so I was attributing many of the show’s qualities to one theme when the answer is more multifaceted. Roy is a prime example of this. We meet him as the gruff, angry captain of AFC Richmond. He constantly swears, he’s well known for literally growling at people, and he can be extremely good at pushing others away. He's one of several clear foils for Ted at the start of the show, and we the audience wait for the affable, caring Ted to break down Roy’s tough-guy walls and help him get more in touch with his emotions. And to an extent, we do see that. Roy has been messed up by toxic masculinity, like a lot of the guys have. But when we look at how Roy communicates, how he expresses his feelings, and how he interacts with other people, it’s clear to me that the situation isn’t just that.

Ted Lasso has a lot of swearing in general, but Roy swears in virtually every setting, including at his young niece’s school and on TV during his short-lived tenure as a sports commentator. It’s not really that he doesn’t understand the social cue, he just doesn’t care about it. It’s part of how he communicates, along with his flat-facing (he rarely smiles,) his stiff posture, and, yes, the growling. As a professional footballer, and later, a coach, it all becomes part of his “hard man” persona, which helps him get through annoying or uncomfortable social situations. The public doesn’t mind when he flips off photographers or gives terse answers to reporters because “that’s just Roy Kent.” If he occasionally needs to growl instead of use words, it’s handy that growling is practically considered a catchphrase for him.

He can miss implications in his social interactions. When Keeley asks him out and he says he’s busy, he doesn’t realize she takes that to mean he’s not interested. Later in their relationship, he can’t take the hint that she needs a little alone time and has to have it explicitly spelled out for him. More often than not, Roy is bluntly, brutally honest with people. He’s never shy about telling someone they played like shit or calling them out when they need it, and he is not the person you go to for flattering reassurance. He appreciates bluntness in others as well. I love when he asks if Keeley was talking about him, and while Rebecca and Higgins try to evade and “cover” for her, Keeley nonchalantly replies, “Yeah, we’re talking about you,” which Roy is perfectly fine with.

Yes, Roy can be fairly repressed, but he can also just have a hard time with his emotions. There are moments on the show where he needs a few beats to process something in silence before yelling, “Fuck!” or flipping a bench over. It can be really tough for him to ask for help or explain how he’s feeling, and it seems like he sometimes needs to express those feelings out loud before he fully understands them himself. He sabotages his relationship with Keeley because he's scared, it takes him three full seasons to admit he wants to be a Diamond Dog, and it’s like pulling teeth for him to confess that something hurt his “feeling.”

But Roy can also be surprisingly open at times too. Despite leaving Chelsea due to his fears of becoming a "broken-down footballer," he isn’t shy about admitting his physical weaknesses, like the fact that he doesn’t see well at night or that he doesn’t use whistles as a coach because impure metals give him mouth hives. And it extends to emotional stuff as well. When Ted approaches Roy about benching him, Roy isn't just mad, he's very specifically hurt, and he makes it clear that he feels betrayed after Ted promised he'd have his back. When Keeley dances around criticizing a dud that Rebecca is dating, Roy tells her in no uncertain terms that the guy doesn’t deserve her and she shouldn’t “settle for fine.”

This isn’t just Ted’s influence, either. Roy definitely becomes more open about his emotions as the show goes on, but this side of him was always there. He’ll come right out and talk about things that you’d think would be embarrassing for a tough-guy professional athlete to admit, and yet he seems completely unbothered by it. I love that you can’t always predict what he’ll share willingly and what he’ll try to hide. It makes his character more interesting, and for me, it’s further proof that, when Roy has difficulty talking about his emotions, it goes beyond self-consciousness or toxic masculinity. In the scenes where he either can’t open up or struggles to get the words out, it looks almost physically painful for him.

Another thing I really love about the show and Roy’s place in it is that who is he as a person doesn’t fundamentally change. As he grows and Ted makes Richmond a safe place to be vulnerable and show his softer side, Roy doesn’t transform. He doesn’t stop swearing or growling, and he’s still a gruff guy. He doesn’t magically start handling social situations with aplomb. Instead, he’s able to be more fully himself, surrounded by people who embrace all sides of him: the sweet, the open, the grumpy, the sweary, and so on. I love that so much.

Doctor Who: Series 19, Episodes 17-18 – “Black Orchid” (1982)

If I have my Whovian factoids straight, this is the show’s first pure historical since the Two era (“The Highlanders,” if I’m not mistaken,) and the only one since then. No aliens, no time shenanigans beyond arriving and leaving in the TARDIS—just a romp and a mystery in the 1920s!

The Fifth Doctor, Adric, Nyssa, and Tegan arrive in rural England in 1925, where they find that the Doctor (or rather, a doctor) has already been invited to a cricket match at the nearby Cranleigh Hall. There’s more than one case of mistaken identity afoot, as they discover that Ann, the fiancée of Lord and Lady Cranleigh’s son, is almost identical to Nyssa. Our heroes settle in to enjoy cricket, good food, and a costume party, but the festivities are interrupted by a series of attacks committed by a mysterious figure looming in the shadows.

Before we get into it, there some pretty unsavory tropes on display here. I’m not sure if these sorts of things would’ve still been commonplace in 1982 or if they’re some misguided “homage” to the period setting, but we get references to a “savage” indigenous tribe, and there’s some potent “ugly law”-style ableism that’s critical to the story.

It’s a frustrating serial, because it has these really reductive elements baked into what’s otherwise a frothy, entertaining historical. At just two episodes, it keeps things fairly contained while still taking time for a lot of fun. I love the Doctor’s Edwardian cricket outfit becoming suddenly plot relevant, Adric goes hog-wild on the finger food, and both Nyssa and Tegan are adorable—I’m especially fond of the fabulous matching costumes Ann rustles up for her and Nyssa at the party, and Tegan teaching Nyssa how to Charleston is too cute.

The mystery is a bit bog-standard, and again, it leans into the less desirable parts of the story, but there are some things about it that I really like. There’s the slippery motives of one of Team TARDIS’s hosts, secret passageways are always welcome, and a mask at the costume party is used as a cover for murder.

So much here that makes for a good time, but I fully understand why some fans might not get behind it due to its problematic tropes.