The bad batch has some of the shallowest writing I've seen in ages. The wrong character interactions get the attention, while the audience is left with a "tell, don't show" style of narrative storytelling that just leaves people unsatisfied left right and center. Hunter is upset because he feels guilty (a generous read imo) for letting omega get captured while Crosshair was the one to escape with her. Hunter is not mad at Crosshair for his decision to choose the Empire, which led to Tech's death. Hunter is not mad that Crosshair joined the regime that literally mind controlled him into attempting to set them on fire.
Omega afaik never had a solid, positive interaction with Crosshair the way she did with the rest of the bad batch all during seasons one and two. Crosshair tried multiple times to kill her, under influence of the chip. He objectively knew this and still chose the Empire. Omega also objectively knew this and forgives him anyways? And still has faith in him? She was hurt over his decision to stay, but never harbored any fear or resentment. Just pure and total love. And now she's guiding him through dealing with his trauma by meditating on sunset-lit beaches.
Wrecker is still a non-character who doesn't lead and hardly participates in any meaningful way in conversations. I don't recall him having any extensive conversations with any of the other batchers. I remember Tech being snappy with him, and Crosshair saying he has a tiny mind back in season 1. He has cute moments with Omega, but doesn't get developed outside. He doesn't get developed at all, really, besides following the narrow track of the trope set out for him.
The entire emotional arc of the series is dedicated to everyone around Crosshair forgiving him for his choice to join the Empire, but...he's never once thus far actually seemed remorseful. Does he condemn the Empire's violence? Does he look sad or regretful that he got so many of Howzer's men killed on Ryloth? Does he say "I hate what the Empire did to clones, I hate that they used chips on us, I hate that they made me oppress people throughout the galaxy, I hate that the Empire is a violent oppressive regime hurting innocents"? No. He says "The Empire wasn't loyal to me." He doesn't justify what he did, but he definitely doesn't regret it.
(Which is funny because soon afterwards, Rex is able to sow the seeds of doubt into Wolffe's mind that the Empire is bad because they're making him hunt a child.)
And the writers do the laziest thing in the world by having this potentially massive conflict between two characters and using rescue/saving their life as a stand in for a real conversation. Crosshair saves Hunter from the ice worm, they nod, and now they're chill/more chill. They present this as if anything else was a viable option, as if Crosshair would have reasonably or realistically left Hunter to get eaten by the giant ice worm. Then they frame Hunter and Crosshair's mistakes (for the former, I have no idea what) as on par with one another. After their non-argument, Crosshair saves Howzer's life (?), they nod, and that's it. Forgiven.
Halfway through the season and the writing still feels just as unbalanced as it did in season 1. Multiple people keep talking about how they feel like coworkers and roommates with guns rather than brothers. The writers do a better job saying the word loyalty than actually showing it. The majority of the emotional burden is being put on Omega, the only prominent female character in the series and a child. Why is she the emotional support group for a group of grown men? It's just classic misogyny. I'm amazed that type of trope even reared its head again, it's been so long since I've seen it.
Even the writers don't seem to know how to express the batchers' supposed love for one another. No, saving each other's lives is not proof of a deep love or even respect for one another. That's bare minimum. That's SoP. Them leaving each other to die would be the extreme thing, not the other way around. They hardly mention Tech. They had a forced-feeling "hang our heads in silence at the mention of tech's name", and every time after that he's been mentioned as far as his usefulness to the squad. Maybe the second half of the season will have people actually confront Crosshair about Tech. The "Don't have the heavy emotional conversations" thing has been a problem since The Clone Wars, unfortunately. Pretend Teth didn't happen. Pretend Umbara and the Kadavo arc didn't happen. Don't show Rex's reaction to Ahsoka leaving at ALL. Don't show Omega informing Crosshair of Tech's death, which is WILD to me.
Some people claim that the Bad Batch have had six or so months to grieve and mourn, and they're seasoned soldiers who've experienced loss and death before, so they're used to this. The former I can see, but the latter? Who would they have been losing? They're not connected to other clones, rarely worked with them, and never liked them. What losses have they fielded beforehand? They don't even act like 99 or share his values.
I know I'm not alone in this, and at this rate I'm probably beating a dead horse, but it bears repeating: Crosshair hasn't condemned Empire violence, he's only condemned how they treat him in particular. This is a dangerous way to present fascism and why people choose fascist organization/regimes. There's absolutely a personal element to it. Arrogance. Ego. Material or emotional insecurity. But there's an external part as well: desire for control, hierarchy, order, violence. Fascists understand that the ideology is violent. That's why they join the regime. They want and support the subjugation of those they believe deserve it. In real life, this is people of color, women, disabled people, immigrants, the "degenerates" of society, and others. In Star Wars, that's the aliens and the enslaved, the "traitors" and the Rebels. Fascists being "lead astray" or "misguided" by thoughts of loyalty or personal power come secondary to oppressing others.
Maybe they'll address that in the second half of the season. It's a generous read, but I don't want to make any calls til I've seen everything. Unfortunately, every interaction Crosshair has with people has been designed to service their forgiveness of him, all without him actually apologizing for anything. Yes, he must explicitly apologize. He joined a fascist regime after they made him do terrible, heinous things. The text tells us that Crosshair only left because the Empire wasn't loyal to him. Anything other than a clear apology would be bad and frankly dangerous writing.
29 notes
·
View notes
Braindumping about Silco and Vi, because these two are such fantastic narrative foils for each other—and, in the same breath, completely cut from the same cloth.
I keep wishing they had more scenes together, another square-off, something to put them head-to-head—because there's so much potential for them to counteract the layers of each other.
At the root of it all, Vander's looming between them, this monolith of a presence that ties their pasts together. But above that, still, we have Jinx—who not only is their driving tension, but their greatest possibility for reconnection.
Here, we have Vander's daughter—someone who, for all intents and purposes, has become what he wanted, but who has also been someone he saw too much of himself in; who he did his best to reshape, instead of enable, and who put him on a pedestal, and truly saw him as hers, more than perhaps anyone (except, well, Silco).
Vi treasured Vander, fully looked up to him as her father—and losing him shattered her. In between all the layers of it, there's this underlying thread in his actions towards her, a tension that just sits with her through Act 1—Do as I say, not as I do (or, rather, as I did).
Here, we also have Vander's partner—someone who knew him before, knew what he was, what he resented, and what he became, instead; and who bears the scars of what all their fallout grew to be. Someone who holds the memory of him tangibly, in multiple respects, as though it is something he physically cannot sever: Vander's knife, the Drop—and even, in some ways, Jinx.
Silco is still clinging to the idea of Vander, throughout the entire series. To the potential in their reunion at the cannery; to the reassurance of what he knew him to be (I knew you still had it in you; Vander wasn't the man you thought he was); to this need he has to still speak to him, even after everything.
But Vi was raised with the burden of being the eldest; being the one most capable of providing protection—and, as a consequence, with the burden of responsibility.
She's not only a sister to Jinx. She's a guardian to her—and in many respects, a stand-in mother. And Silco, as a surrogate father, is standing right in the middle of that. A roadblock between "Powder," as Vi knows her sister as, and "Jinx," as Silco knows his daughter to be.
Right at the forefront, we have so much conflict here. Vi is so similar to Vander, to the point that she is nearly his spirit incarnate—so much so that having her resurface from a presumed grave just sets fuel to fire for a vendetta Silco has never been able to snuff out.
But beneath that—far beneath that—they have so much in common. Vi's headstrong rebuttals in Act 1 about going against Piltover and striking them down, about being made to feel lesser her whole life and needing to fight against it, just sings with Silco's anger in the cannery (You'd die for the cause, but you won't fight for one?).
These are two kindred spirits, two revolutionaries willing to do anything for their city and those they love, and who aren't afraid to fight for it. Who want to fight for it.
But trapped between it all, we have Jinx. Someone Vi is not willing to sacrifice (i.e., her memory of Powder), and who Silco, by the end of the series, isn't willing to sacrifice, either (i.e., his loyalty to Jinx).
Vi, of course, could never fathom Silco being a father to Powder (how could she, after he is the reason Vander was taken from her?)—and looks for justifications for her hatred, in everything he does.
But the unfortunate truth of the matter is that for all Vander cherished and nurtured Vi as a vision of himself—so has Silco, to Jinx. He sees himself in her. He has empowered her, cherished her. He is so incredibly tender with her, in his own ways. And—for all his absolute faults, his skewed morals, his tunnel-visioned zealousy to achieve Zaun—he is a good father to Jinx, just as Vander was a good father to Vi.
The question I keep finding myself mulling over, though, is whether these two could find elements of that, once again, in each other.
There are so many things Silco isn't—not only in Vander's shadow, but simply in the character that he is. He doesn't come in swinging; he plots, he strategizes, he fights with words. He isn't a warm presence, or a jovial one; he's chilling, he's dry, he's distanced. There are countless contradictions one can draw between the two of them—and so many layers one can tease apart, on how their opposites attracted each other, how they worked (a balance that will no longer ever be).
But there are so many things Silco is. He's critical, he's fiercely rational, he knows how to weave a crowd around his finger with a single intonation. He admires the outcasts, the scrappers, those that have dredged through society to claw for what they can. He surrounds himself with them—and he operates alongside them, as an equal as much as an usurper.
He's a flavor of parenthood Vi didn't receive, but could have—the one that would have validated her need to fight; who would have taught her that strength comes in numbers, not in one's single ability to protect; who would have seen her snarkiness, her quick wit on her feet, and taught her to use it to her leverage.
The tragedy of the whole series is that Jinx needs them both to have balance in her life—to keep the tether of her child self and her trauma from splitting her apart at the seams—yet for Silco and Vi, as the narrative destines them for (and as it destined Silco and Vander for), any semblance of a connection between them is doomed for destruction.
There's too much they hold fiercely to themselves, in their own traumas, that they cannot set down—even for the sake of Jinx's needs. They are equally selfish, in that way. They want the version of Vander that they are not willing to let go of; and they want the version of Jinx that they know her to be.
But they could change. They could.
Silco did, by the end. Chose his daughter, his legacy, over the cause, over his vision of progress. And Vi did, too. Chose "peace," chose to set down the gauntlets, chose politics (and—arguably—complacency, in the same way Vander did) as the path forward.
But what if they set it all down, for Jinx? What if they became what she needed, on both sides? A father who sees her, nurtures her, like Vander saw and nurtured Vi—and a sister who loves and protects her, like Vi loved and protected Powder; who could learn, maybe, to love and protect "Jinx," too?
And maybe—just maybe—Silco and Vi could learn to appreciate each other, for all their surface hatreds. Find mentorship, find balance again, in each other. And through it, Vi could learn that protection, responsibility, isn't the only quality to strive for. That even she can be nurtured again, too.
109 notes
·
View notes