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anneapocalypse · 7 years

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On the Slow Collapse of Season 15′s Narrative

or, Anne’s Big Fat RvB15 Meta Post

Strap in, pals, this is gonna be a long one.

Let’s get the disclaimers out of the way first! These are, as always, my personal and subjective opinions. Some of these opinions are critical. If you are not interested in hearing any criticism of Red vs. Blue, you should probably just stop reading here. If you loved season 15 and feel it was without flaw, I am happy for you and I’m not trying to ruin your day. If you think this is going to upset you, this is your chance to be on your way. That said, I’m always up for friendly discussion and you are welcome to disagree with me as long as you’re civil and come prepared to defend your assertions.

Needless to say, this post contains spoilers for the entire season.

I also need to give the biggest shout-out to @tuckerfuckingdidit--it is impossible to quantify how much meta we’ve shot back and forth during the season, how many concepts I’ve talked through with her and how much those conversations have fed my inspiration and my desire to actually get this beast completed, so my hugest thanks to red for going deep into RvB with me and generally being an awesome pal. <3

Red vs. Blue’s season 15 starts off very strong. In fact, in my opinion the first five episodes are the strongest in the season, and with that setup, I found myself taking a very optimistic view of the season even as the cracks in the writing began to show later on. I still enjoyed watching, and withheld an overall judgment until the season was complete. Now that it is, I’ve had the chance to rewatch it start to finish and think about the progression of this season as a whole, as a complete narrative arc.

What I want to explore here is this: where, why, and how does season 15 go off the rails? Why is the writing so much weaker in the back half, where does the narrative fall apart, and perhaps most importantly to me as a writer, how could some of these problems have been avoided?

Season 15’s narrative has some problems. One thing that’s interesting to me is that they’re different problems than we’ve seen before with this series, particularly in the last two major arcs, the Chorus Trilogy and Project Freelancer. Both of those arcs suffer from pacing issues in their first season that put a tremendous amount of pressure on their ending season to hammer through necessary plot points and tie up loose ends. In Freelancer, this is a problem of putting all the focus on animated fight sequences and putting almost no exposition in season 9, making season 10 a messy and rushed string of poorly-planted payoffs and numerous continuity issues. In the Chorus Trilogy, the plot effectively doesn’t arrive until the end of the first season, which results in a third season that could easily be two, and ends up dropping some compelling plot threads without resolution. I would put forth that the closing season of both arcs is technically the strongest, but mostly because there’s no time left to meander and the plot has no choice but to move.

By contrast, season 15 starts out extremely well-paced, which gave me high hopes for what it would deliver later. What could be considered the first act of season 15, the first five episodes, are very tightly-written, and it’s not until the second act that the cracks start to show. You could easily argue that this is simply because season 15 is a one-season arc; there’s no time for a meandering first act, so the season needs to open strong, and that may well be true. But this doesn’t explain why the narrative begins to weaken in the second act, why certain plot points feel a bit forced, and why the climax itself lacks tension.

Hitting the Ground Running

I love episode 1. I love it. As a cold open to a brand new story arc with brand new characters, it’s fantastic. The dialogue is quick, witty, and engaging. Characters with under two minutes of screentime capture my heart instantly. The theme of “Every action has an equal and opposite reaction” is introduced through an apparently-insignificant piece of dialogue. Our villains are introduced, shrouded in mystery, their disparate weapons subtly highlighted for the audience to begin unpacking immediately. Though we do not yet know whether we’ve seen our Reds and Blues, they are a constant topic of conversation, reassuring viewers that this story is very much centered around our old favorites.

Dylan Andrews’ reporting serves as a vehicle for exposition that doesn’t feel shoehorned; her conversation with Carlos is also informative as well as highly entertaining. Her creative thinking and tenacity for a story make her an instant favorite.

Honestly, it’s a near-flawless premier. Tightly-written, surprising, engaging, with a balance of humor and drama, it sets the tone for a very promising story.

Dylan herself is a strong character. She’s highly motivated--just enough to be flawed, not enough to be unsympathetic. She serves as a very effective audience proxy, hunting down the plot and letting us see it unfold through her eyes, while at the same time getting a solid amount of characterization in her own right. “The Chronicle” shows her professionalism but also her low tolerance for bullshit and occasionally short temper; “Mother of Destruction” establishes her adeptness in combat situations; “Chorus Lessons” shows that her tenacity for a story may turn unscrupulous in a pinch.

The next three episodes follow Dylan as she attempts to track down the Reds and Blues, and the fifth relates their adventures between the end of the Chorus trilogy and the present day. I wrote early on about these episodes being good television, in that each one functions well as a mini-arc in which our POV character has a problem to solve, and solves it via some creative solution, leading into the next episode’s problem, all of which chain together effectively to further the main arc. Everything I said in that post is still true and I stand behind it. Those episodes are tightly-written, well-paced, and compelling. Each small reveal is really Dylan giving voice to what the audience is already figuring out, and that makes the audience feel both engaged and satisfied.

“Previously On” isn’t a perfect episode, but in terms of character writing, it contains some of my favorite in this season, biases fully acknowledged--I love the development Carolina gets as she’s finally allowed to interact directly with the Reds and Blues and show that she’s a part of the family, rather than just saying so. “Reacts,” the episode that follows, stays relatively strong as well, with a serious twist of character development for Grif and solid relationship development for Wash and Tucker.

This is as good a point as any to mention that this season hasn’t been without its share of cringey jokes, and those early episodes are no exception (“bi phase,” the whole Temple of Procreation business, and the Grimmons, oh the Grimmons, we’ll get to you eventually), but as they’ve all been pretty thoroughly discussed and deconstructed during the season, I’m not going to focus heavily on them here. That’s not to say they don’t matter. But for the purposes of this post, I’m primarily concerned with the structural issues of season 15--the things that really can only be examined effectively in big-picture mode.

Those early episode aren’t without hiccups in character writing either--Andersmith’s writing in “Chorus Lessons” is more baffling than anything, and the goofiness of his lines would make much more sense coming from a character like Palomo. But that scene is only a cameo, and as such, it doesn’t ramify very far and it doesn’t distract from the simply flawless execution of Dr. Grey or the pleasure of seeing Kimball in her new role as President.

Plot-wise, the single major flaw in these first five episodes is the introduction of the red herring that comes to a head in episode 7.

The Red Herring

The pattern of tightly self-contained episodes continues through episode 7, “Nightmare on Planet Evil.” It’s tonally a bit different from the rest of the season, but it works well enough.

There’s good character writing here. Caboose’s faith in Church’s eventual return, Simmons’ fixating on Grif while trying not to, Tucker’s protectiveness of his friends, Sarge’s paranoia.

Then we get… this guy.

Things that were completely unnecessary in Season 15:

Spencer Porkinsenson

This character was introduced five episodes ago. His presence has been looming for a solid quarter of the season.

And he means nothing.

I can come up with better “You’ve been served,” jokes that don’t exist solely to reflect poorly on Tucker, but it seems pointless because there’s no reason for Spencer to exist at all. There’s no need to mirror Locus’s looming presence in season 11 just for a fakeout. There’s no need to have him save Dylan and Jax in “Mother of Destruction”--we know Dylan is no stranger to working in combat zones, let her figure out a clever way to sneak them back to the ship. Jax can just as easily serve as the sounding board for Dylan’s explanation as to why the Blues and Reds are imposters. “Planet Evil” could instead expand on the hint dropped with Sarge and his ominous “reflection” in the window, suggesting that the Reds and Blues are being tailed by their doppelgangers.

There’s plenty of ways this could’ve gone. But Spencer is a wasted build of tension that doesn’t pay off for the plot. He doesn’t even have any follow-up appearances in this season, making him a completely meaningless misdirection.

This is the first sign of the plot shooting itself in the foot. In hindsight, it really is the beginning of the downturn.

A Fistful of Retcons

Episode 8 is where the main plot starts to fall apart.

The Blues and Reds (henceforth, B&R) being carbon copies of the Reds and Blues, then later turning out to be a prototype of sorts, really doesn’t hold up to much scrutiny. And it could have held up better, with a few small changes. Surge shouldn’t be a Colonel. Lorenzo shouldn’t exist, since the robot kit was a nonstandard issue given to Blood Gulch specifically because Alpha was there.

I won’t say this conceit could’ve been done perfectly--it still changes the context of a big part of the show’s history in a way that is incredibly risky for a new writer to attempt. But it could’ve been done better. More thought could’ve been put into what a prototype for Blood Gulch’s personality archetypes would actually look like, taking into account that not every event in the Blood Gulch Chronicles could’ve been predicted by the Counselor’s profiling. The death of Captain Flowers, the destruction of Church’s initial body by Caboose, Caboose’s brain damage from Omega, these and arguably other events are potential wildcards that change the course of these characters’ development. The pre-existing relationship between Temple and Biff, too, would’ve been impossible to replicate in Blood Gulch since Temple has no true analog, and that relationship is arguably a big reason for the ongoing stalemate between the outposts. Captain Flowers has no analog and his very presence is therefore an unaccounted-for variable (unless he is actually the analog for Temple, which I thought would’ve been fascinating but was not explored). What would a prototype simulation outpost actually look like if you were to reverse-engineer it from Blood Gulch, taking into account all these variables?

When a concept like this is used as a one-off gag, Rule of Funny can trump logic and internal consistency without doing too much damage. As a season-long conceit, though, the logic needs to hold up, and it simply doesn’t.

I think on some level Joe realized this, because he doesn’t let the Red and Blues actually converse with their mirrors for very long before throwing them into combat, as if to distract both us and our heroes from asking too many questions. But even the fight scene raises further questions. Surge is a Colonel but we don’t know how or why and it’s never explained. He’s taking orders from a Blue he outranks, and this too is never explained.

That Yorkalina Washlina Yorkalina Thing

Anyway here’s Wonderwall Wash and Carolina holding hands on a beach.

Okay, let me back up. (Also, warning for a critical view of canon York/Carolina in this section.)

Illinois is an interesting addition to the cast. One thing I really like about this season is the way it cracks the Freelancer Program open a bit wider than seasons 9 and 10 managed to do, showing us that there were lower-level agents, other squads, etc. That I appreciate, because it helps to rectify the claustrophobic feeling of what we know in theory was a larger program but which onscreen never showed us much more than the ten characters who were already named. I like it. Y’know. Better late than never.

However. This is nitpicky, but putting Illinois in a photograph full of other top squad agents feels shoehorned. What would work much better is to see Carolina and York surrounded by several other unfamiliar agents. Thus, it would feel less like inserting a character into this group who clearly was not there before, and more like showing us a different group altogether, with some overlap. Hell, it would even work to just put York in the picture, since Illinois is said to have been his drinking buddy, while Carolina admits to not having known him well and seems unlikely to have been palling around with agents not on her level.

But then we couldn’t have an anecdote about York invading Carolina’s personal space that we’re supposed to find cute, now could we.

Which brings me to… this conversation.

As a Carolina fan who’s long had an interest in her relationship with Wash, I’ve been waiting for them to have an actual talk since season 10 ended, and by the end of season 13, I’d just resigned myself to the fact that it was never going to happen--that a cooperative fight scene was about the best I could hope for. So when I saw Carolina and Wash alone on that beach, you better believe I perked up.

To say that this scene sent viewers some… mixed signals is an understatement. The opening motif of “Carolina in the Morning” immediately evokes memories of her relationship with York; later, the scene lingers on the image of Carolina and Wash holding hands while staring into the sunrise, right after Wash prevents her from throwing York’s lighter into the water. Followed by a gag in which Wash seemingly-obliviously asks Carolina to take her armor off so that he can reactivate her Recovery beacon.

(Nitpick: by all established canon, the Recovery beacons don’t activate unless an agent is dead or dying. That’s why nobody catches up with the rogue agents like the Dakotas and York and Tex until they start dying. Further nitpick: if they do allow for the tracking of an uninjured agent, then the idea that Carolina needed Wash to deactivate her beacon is pretty silly, given that she was missing and presumably in hiding for years such that Wash himself, a Recovery agent, believed she was dead. She would have had to find a way to deactivate her own beacon not long after her disappearance simply to stay hidden.)

I genuinely have no idea what Joe was trying to convey with the hand-holding. If it didn’t mean anything in particular, he sure did slam the panic button in the fandom for nothing. My feelings about Washlina are irrelevant here--I have no issue with the ship, and in fact enjoy many fan portrayals of it. But we certainly could’ve lived without the explosion of ship hate and pained discourse it sparked in the fandom, and I know some shippers who can say the same. Rarely do I have any desire to see my RvB ships made canon, including my most beloved ones; given the criticisms I do have of some existing canon ships, I would much rather be left to the freedom of my imagination than saddled with a portrayal that will then color every fan interpretation, for better or for worse.

And in hindsight, this mixed message feels like another red herring, a distraction from the more compelling questions about the direction of the plot at this critical midseason point.

But what I am really interested in unpacking is the content of their conversation.

Things that were completely unnecessary in Season 15:

Spencer Porkinsenson

A conversation about York

Shipping biases fully acknowledged, what purpose did the subject of York, specifically, serve to a) the plot, b) Carolina or Wash’s relationship development, or c) their characterization individually?

As far as I can see it served no purpose to the plot. Nothing from this point forward has anything to do with York. Nor does it particularly serve Wash and Carolina’s relationship development, since their brief moment of closeness is dropped and never raised again. The idea of fresh starts is raised, first by Illinois’ seemingly idyllic post-Project life, and subsequently by Carolina’s regrets about York, which, fine--but as I wrote after this episode aired, it seems very late in Carolina’s story arc for her to be questioning her the prospect of starting over when she’s already done that. In season 13, she calls the Reds and Blues her family, and in episode 5 she certainly behaves like she’s come to believe that. So to question whether a fresh start is possible seems completely out of place in the timeline here, when she’s very clearly already had one, and has finally begun to truly embrace it.

The sole point that conversation raises that has any later relevance is Carolina’s desire for non-lethality. And that’s… well, let’s put a pin in that. What’s noteworthy for now is that this still has nothing specifically to do with York, only with Carolina’s self-image, past and present.

You know who would’ve been a very compelling topic of conversation for Carolina and Wash--relevant to the plot, to their relationship, to each of them individually?

Epsilon. You know, Church? Carolina’s brother figure whom she lost less than a year ago and is still mourning? With whom Wash has a painful and complicated history that they have never talked about despite Carolina teaming up with him for the entirety of the Chorus trilogy? The thing that just spurred them all to action in the first place?

Carolina and Wash are years overdue for a talk about Epsilon. It practically writes itself. And instead we get a conversation about York, who in terms of this season is relevant to basically nothing.

This is one of those scenes that I can only guess was written not for plot relevance, not for character development, but for maximum Feels™, and as such, it not only feels out of place, but misses the opportunity for much more pertinent conversation.

This is not the only instance of For the Feels™ writing this season, nor is it the most egregious, cheap, or manipulative, so put a pin in that, too.

The Game Was Rigged From the Start

Instead of debating whether or not Tucker’s writing was out of character this season (you can make a strong argument either way), let me ask instead: how much more interesting would our villain be if Tucker’s trust was harder-won? How much more interesting would Tucker be this season if we didn’t have to come up with reasons why he is behaving so impulsively, why he is so susceptible to a stranger’s flattery? Other fans have raised the point of Tucker’s experiences on Chorus, but I’ll even go back further: Tucker was stranded alone in the desert for months fending off Fake CT and his goons, probably after initially believing Fake CT’s story about who he was. Felix was by no means Tucker’s first lesson in not trusting strangers. Yes, Tucker is grieving. Yes, he is vulnerable. But what if we got to see his vulnerability manifest differently--in pulling close to his remaining little family and distrusting outsiders who presume to know him and what he’s been through? How much more interesting does that make this season and his whole arc within it?

The problem is, that can’t happen, because The Plot won’t let it--and not just for Tucker.

The Reds and Blues are very scattered during this season. Their behavior while at Temple’s base is such a far cry from the unified front they displayed at the end of season 13. Again, you can come up with reasons for this: the doppelgangers have them rattled, they all got sick of each other on the moon due to boredom, etc. But these people are no stranger to living in close proximity, to standing around talking. The moon seems to have provided a lot more entertainment than some of their quieter times in Blood Gulch or Valhalla, and in fact they do seem to be having fun in a lot of those flashbacks--the rock band, for example, and the water park before its untimely demise--so I’m not sure that argument really holds up.

Grif’s decision to break with the group works because it’s sold well--because it makes use of what we already know of Grif’s character, and it plants compelling tension between him and the others, especially Simmons. Doc’s loyalty to the B&R could work, but it lacks follow-up when he switches side so easily at the end. Sarge’s turn is propped up by his need for a fight, but it’s a weak premise when he clearly has a fight on his hands either way.

And it’s only because Sarge and Doc side with Temple that Tucker and his remaining companions are outnumbered and forced to flee rather than fight. They then spend the next two episodes sitting in a cell, waiting for someone else to come rescue them.

Why does this happen? Why shouldn’t they hold their own against the Blues and Reds? Tucker is right on that account: these enemies are no match for them. They fought much deadlier enemies on Chorus. They survived what could have been a devastating last stand on Hargrove’s ship, and they did so with total unit integrity, so what is this?

Their team cohesion really doesn’t return until episode 20, when they finally begin to function like the team we’ve seen before, because The Plot is finally allowing them to do so.

And that’s just the problem: too many things this season happen just because the writer wants them to. There is a checklist of events that need to happen, so the characters are written to make them happen. And in a character-driven universe like RvB, when the characters aren’t driving the plot, but the reverse, we notice. This happened in Freelancer, too, particularly in season 10. Events happen just because they have to, not because they’re consistent with what spotty development we’ve been given for these characters.

It's not that these actions can't be explained. You can come up with an in-world explanation for just about anything if you're creative. The problem isn’t that the any of these characters are blatantly and obviously out of character. The problem is that the plot is driving the characters’ actions rather than the other way around. Tucker and the Reds and Blues are not allowed to demonstrate the full range of strengths their thirteen years of character development have given them, because their enemy is just not that smart or creative, and his team is just not as strong as the Reds and Blues should be.

Your villain has to be a match for your hero in order for the story to be interesting. And the problem with Temple is, he’s not. He’s the kind of villain who might’ve been a match for the Reds and Blues pre-Chorus, but not now. They’ve just been through so much that he and his team haven’t--which is, again, a big part of why the doppelganger conceit feels so off at this point in the timeline. B&R shouldn’t be so like the Reds and Blues, they shouldn’t be on their level unless they’ve been put through their own crucible comparable to what the Reds and Blues have experienced. But we just don’t have any evidence that they have.

So Tucker’s competence and cleverness has to be dialed back, the Reds and Blues have to splinter with no real explanation. Like season 12 allowing Felix to stab Carolina in the leg, this feels like a nerfing, only more subtle, and an emotional one instead of a physical one.

Tucker and Caboose, in particular, appear highly motivated when they first spring into action upon hearing Church’s message, but once they find the B&R, too much time goes by in which Temple is clearly stalling them, and yet they do not press for more information or for quicker action. Tucker is only allowed to entertain a hint of skepticism at Dylan’s prompting, so that she can move the plot forward. His motivation, and that of the Reds and Blues as a whole, wanes because the plot needs it to, and with it goes the tension. Our core characters are not driving the plot, but being driven by it, and that weakens both the characters and the story.

Which brings us to…

The Accidental Protagonist and the POV Problem

So, this is where we come back to Dylan’s role as audience proxy, and where it starts doing the story more harm than good.

Dylan is a compelling character this season not just because she has good dialogue or because she is sympathetic, but because she is highly motivated and her motivation largely drives the story, to the point that I would argue really, she’s the protagonist. Most of this wouldn’t even have happened if Dylan hadn’t hunted down the Reds and Blues on their vacation moon and dragged them kicking and screaming into the plot. And it’s her investigation into Temple that creates the tension to move us forward to endgame once Carolina and Wash are trapped in armor lock. This is lampshaded by Jax making a comment about driving the plot forward.

But Jax shouldn’t be the one driving the plot forward, and neither should Dylan at this point. It should be the Reds and Blues. This should be their story. But it isn’t. It’s not framed that way.

If Dylan is the audience proxy, then Jax is the author proxy, literally Joe’s voice in his own story. As such, Jax’s constant fourth-wall breaking allows Joe to lampshade the weaknesses of his own writing without actually fixing them. There’s only so many times this technique is cute. (Twice is probably the upper limit.) I actually like a lot of fourth-wall breaking jokes in and of themselves--there’s a long tradition of that sort of thing in RvB (“We’re out of parts because we overused that joke!”) and it’s one I’m rather fond of, though your mileage may vary. Cumulatively, though, this constant lampshading doesn’t so much weaken the narrative as highlight its existing weaknesses, which I think is why so many fans so quickly grew annoyed with Jax. While I like him as a character in-world, I certainly understand why many don’t.

Initially, Dylan’s role works very effectively. She needs to know more than our heroes in the beginning, because her role in the plot is to deliver them their quest. This changes once the Reds and Blues reclaim their active, onscreen role in the story. Dylan and Jax take a backseat for a bit, and rightly so. But in the two-episode flashback “Blue vs. Red,” Dylan reassumes her role as the POV character, and unlike before, this now creates a glaring problem that is never solved or even addressed.

Temple monologues his Tragic Backstory at Dylan and Jax only. Right away, this is a problem. It’s clear that Temple wants to be heard, wants his grievances aired, but generally, villains like this want the people they’re hurting to know why they’re being hurt. And yet Temple doesn’t tell Carolina and Wash, only commenting on how he feared she would recognize him. Of course, Joe doesn’t want to reveal Temple’s true identity in episode 10; he wants to keep something back to create tension, but there are other ways Temple’s monologue could’ve been addressed to the people it was actually for.

As it stands, our reporters are the only people who ever heard Temple’s story… because Dylan is the protagonist of this season, and the resolution to it is Dylan getting her story, not Carolina and Wash understanding why they were put through this hell. The season ends with Carolina presumably never knowing what Temple’s grudge against her even was. We get a satisfactory conclusion for Dylan, but not for the core characters we love, and this is a massive oversight.

There’s another problem with Temple’s Tragic Backstory as told to Dylan, and that’s the problem of whose point-of-view is framing the story as we see it. It should be Temple, and thus we should only see what Temple would himself have seen and known about… except the two opening scenes in episode 13 are impossible for Temple to have seen. I hate to say they shouldn’t be there at all, because in truth they are my favorite parts of the flashback and I think the most effective. The sim base fight itself is critically lacking in the animation department, the dialogue is much more hackneyed at points. Most importantly, the reminder of the Director’s manipulation and the intense pressure Carolina is under offers some context for her actions.

But the fight scene itself almost requires the assumption of an unreliable narrator to smooth over some of its more noticeable, uh, gaffs (to say nothing of the music gag, and the absence of these characters’ well-established fighting styles, which other fans have broken down better than I can). Carolina’s aggressive and hypercompetitive attitude, in and of itself, is not necessarily out of character for her at this canon point. It’s her over-the-top callousness at Biff’s gruesome death that really doesn’t sit right with a lot of fans. This on top of the fact that the death itself makes no sense--not Tex’s decision to throw the flag when all she had to do was hang onto it to win, nor whatever outrageous concept of physics allows a wooden pole to penetrate the armor’s breastplate, even at a weak point.

Oh, It’s You

Things that were completely unnecessary in Season 15:

Spencer Porkinsenson

A conversation about York

Locus

I have no objection to Locus having a cameo in and of itself. In fact, I’d be sort of disappointed if he didn’t show up again sooner or later, given the way his Chorus arc ended.

My problem with Locus being in this season isn’t that he’s here, it’s that this kind of cameo should feel necessary. Everything Locus did could’ve been done by someone else. There’s no reason he needs to be the intermediary who stumbles across Lopez and then seeks out Grif; Lopez could’ve crash-landed back on the moon himself, and in fact it would’ve been a great opportunity to give Grif’s newfound Spanish skills a practical application. Grif can’t undertake a rescue mission all by himself? Why not reunite him with his sister now, and let some wacky Grif sibling hijinks ensue?

What about Wash being rushed to the hospital? Gosh, who do we know with a fast prowler, knowledge of the location of the nearest hospital, and the press credentials to get past the First Fleet blockade surrounding Chorus? I can’t quite think of it, but I’m sure it’ll come to me.

The worst thing about Locus’s part in this season is it ends up being most of the reason that Tucker can’t be suspicious, that the Reds and Blues can’t stand together against their enemies. They have to crumble and be overpowered so they can sit around waiting for Locus to come save them.

This should be their story. But again… it’s not.

As for Locus freeing Wash and Carolina from the armor lock, that was one of the most disappointing non-payoffs of the season for me. Caboose’s immunity to armor lock is well-established and even planted by Temple dropping the number 8.11 (the episode in which Caboose’s special helmet is mentioned). It is unfathomable to me that this setup was wasted, instead delivered in a scene where it wasn’t allowed to actually change anything and thus had no payoff. Again, this writes itself.

Okay, but how does it write itself, Anne?

I’m so glad you asked. So. You can actually fix the Caboose Problem and the Monologue Problem in one fell swoop. For this concept we need Freckles to still be a rifle, which doesn’t really mess up anything else this season so let’s roll with it. Caboose is looking for the bathroom and wanders down into the basement, finds Carolina and Wash. Cue joke about Caboose thinking they’re playing a game. Since Tucker really should be in this scene too, let’s have him be snooping around for more information (because he’s suspicious!) and follow Caboose down. Unlike Caboose, Tucker actually recognizes this situation as Bad News Bears, but before he can figure out how to release the Freelancers, Temple catches him. Temple hits his armor lock button, thinking he’s locked them both.

Here, you put Temple’s lines about how they’re doing the right thing, and the Reds and Blues should be on his side. Then he monologues, letting all of Blue Team hear his Tragic Backstory, minus the parts he wouldn’t have actually seen. When he’s finished, Caboose tells him he loses the Quiet Game, revealing that he’s been unlocked the whole time and was only keeping still because he thought it was a game. Thinking quickly, Temple tries to convince Caboose to join him.

Caboose is uncertain and maybe expresses sympathy for Temple losing his best friend, because he understands that concept, but he does not think that is a good reason to be mean to other people. At which point Wash speaks up, weakly: “Caboose… listen to me very carefully. I want you to help him. You should help him.”

“Okay, Agent Washington!” says Caboose cheerfully, and helps Temple in the manner to which he is accustomed: he shoots him. Recognizing Temple as a hostile target, Freckles fires actual bullets, and Temple goes down.

Meanwhile, you can have Red Team getting up to some shenanigans with the rest of B&R upstairs. Maybe Sarge pushes the rank question with Surge, maybe Simmons gets fed up with Gene and they get into a fight that escalates, maybe Cronut lets something slip to Donut in his zest for philosophical discourse. Your pick, really.

Later, when Carolina and Wash have a moment to breathe, that’s when Wash asks, hesitantly, “So, that story… did that really happen?”

Carolina’s silent for a moment, then replies, “It wasn’t like that. I mean, it was, but…” And now we get the framing through Carolina’s eyes. The flashback to the bridge, the dropship with Niner. We don’t have to see the whole fight scene again, just a few critical moments that frame the incident differently, toning down the moments of really over-the-top callousness. Temple is framed as an unreliable narrator (something that Joe has, baffling, stated outright was not his intention), and Carolina gets to tell her side of the story.

The Invisible Clock

All that aside, the armor lock was a pretty creative, and gruesome, story device. I think it’s really well-suited to a villain like Temple, who could never hold his own against even one Freelancer in raw combat. It makes sense for him to choose this particular method of execution: luring and trapping, watching them squirm, prolonging their suffering.

Coming in at the season’s midpoint, Carolina and Wash being locked in their armor serves as the second act culmination, introducing the new and dire question of whether they will be rescued before they die. Their lives are now on a ticking clock.

This should be an effective way to build tension in the latter half of the season, now that the earlier questions of the B&R’s identities and whether they can be trusted have been answered.

Problem is… we can’t see the clock. And the show doesn’t cut back to Wash and Carolina again for six episodes, during which the plot barely moves forward--so we don’t get any visible escalation of this new tension, which allows it to drain away.

When we do get to “True Colors,” it almost feels like the plot is tired of itself. At this point, the Reds and Blues have to figure out soon that the Blues and Reds are bad guys, because there’s simply nothing else to do. Carolina and Wash are locked in their armor in the basement. Dylan and Jax have been caught red-handed and are now being held captive. There’s nothing else to do with the plot, except stall.

And stall we do, for a solid five minutes of this thirteen-minute episode, via a conversation with Caboose and Loco, which is cute and plants the time portal concept, at least, and an extended scene of the Reds talking to themselves about their feelings, before Tucker just walks up to Temple and asks him point blank if they’re bad guys. We already know the answer, so there’s very little tension in the confrontation. The real source of tension--Wash and Carolina’s ticking clock--is buried, because we can’t see the clock. We don’t know if they’ve been down there six hours or two days.

And the time question is never answered. By the time Locus rescues them they’re starving and dehydrated, and their armor’s life support has failed. (Why? Shouldn’t Freelancer armor be able to hold up a few days in the field? Wouldn’t that mean they don’t have oxygen inside their helmets? And how was Locus able to unlock them in the first place without Temple’s remote control?) So we can guess that it’s been maybe three days, but we don’t know. And we’re never told. I have an uncomfortable suspicion even Joe doesn't know; the question was raised in a Reddit AMA with Joe and Miles about a month ago, and was never answered, not even with a vague handwave. I don’t think Joe actually nailed down a concrete timeline for this season, and I think this aspect of the story suffers for it.

Bang Bang, My Baby Shot Me Down

All right, let’s get this over with.

Things that were completely unnecessary in Season 15:

Spencer Porkinsenson

A conversation about York

Locus

Wash getting shot in the neck

Wash getting shot served no purpose to the plot. None. It changes nothing that happens in the last few episodes except that Wash isn’t there. (He wouldn’t have been able to do much anyway, considering that Carolina is barely staying upright.) It adds nothing to his characterization, because he’s nothing but loopy and babbling from the moment he’s out of armor lock.

Carolina is at least lucid, and her continued screentime post-rescue very much does serve her characterization. We get to see her refuse to sit out the fight, and struggle to muster the strength to go on; we get to see her fight briefly and collapse, and we get to see her frustrated but still willing to ask Tucker for help. All of these are great character moments. Imagine what we could have if she and Wash muddled through the final sequence together, leaning on each other, fighting to keep going just a little longer, reassuring each other it’ll all be over soon.

I don’t accept for a minute that contriving for Wash to get injured and hustled offscreen was the best use of his character at this point.

And it is absolutely contrived, because you can justify Tucker’s impulsiveness early in the season all you want but he has had plenty of time to steady up and realize they need a plan and have we forgotten that Tucker himself is actually… pretty good at planning? That it was Tucker who engineered the plan to entrap Felix at the end of season 12, in a high-stakes, high-stress situation where failure meant that he and very likely his friends old and new would be dead? That’s what present-day Tucker has lived through. That’s who he is.

There’s no good reason for Tucker to rush out into battle half-cocked. There’s no good reason for Wash to have wandered past everyone without anyone noticing. If Carolina were slumped against the wall, barely able to move, I could buy it from her, but she’s fully upright and mobile a second later, and there’s just no reason for it. There’s no reason for any of this to have happened except that the writer decided it needed to.

But why did it need to? What did it accomplish, besides shoving Wash offscreen, getting rid of Locus, and riling up the fans up for a week?

And it’s that last bit that really frosts me, honestly, more than anything else in this season. I don’t expect flawless narrative structure from RvB. I know what kind of show I’m watching. I can point out its plot weaknesses and still be entertained, and for much of this season, I was. But this is where you lost me, Joe.

Wash is exactly who you would pick if you asked yourself, “Which character can I grievously injure and cliffhanger for Maximum Fan Feels™?

Yeah, there’s that fuckin’ pin.

Some of you may be thinking, “But Anne, Carolina got a near-death cliffhanger in season 13!” Yes she did. It came at the end of a protracted confrontation as an important piece of her personal side plot about confronting her past and moving on. Carolina’s near-death cliffhanger was meaningful, and while it wasn’t handled perfectly (actually seeing her get rescued by her team would’ve been swell for establishing that whole “family” thing), it was part of a larger arc giving her character development that was sorely needed at that canon point. Also, Wash got his own year-long cliffhanger at the end of season 11 that was both heavily plot-relevant and drove a ton of character development for Tucker in particular.

This, though? This was cynical, calculated angst bait and nothing more.

What Are The Stakes Again?

Once it’s confirmed that Wash is alive and probably isn’t going to die offscreen, we have to go find the plot again. Where will we find it? On Earth. Yeah. Earth. The UNSC Headquarters. Where are they again? Do we know anyone there? Are our heroes in any particular danger if they don’t hightail it to Earth immediately? Given that they’ve figured out exactly where Temple is planning to attack, is there any reason they can’t just… you know, call? Sure, the UNSC won’t take their word at the moment, but how about the award-winning investigative reporter who’s literally on a phone call to Earth right now, couldn’t she--

Nope, saddle up kids, we’re going to Earth. We have to go save the… UNSC. You know, the real actual military. We have to save them. We definitely have to do that.

See, this is another problem with Wash getting shot. The audience just got done having their emotions jerked around over the fate of a character that a lot of people are really fucking invested in. Coming down from that, it’s a hard sell to make the endgame stakes a place we’ve never seen full of people we don’t know.

Tucker’s speech is pretty much forced to acknowledge that their only stake in this is revenge. “We do this for Wash! We do this for Church! We do this because fuck those assholes!” And while revenge can be a powerful motivator, we need more than that to build tension for the season’s climax. We need stakes. We need to know it matters if they fail to stop Temple, and on a personal level, it doesn’t--Wash is alive, Church is dead, and nothing they do from here will change either of those things.

So of course the machine turns out to be a doomsday device. It has to, because we have to get back that tension the plot keeps bleeding out. It’s not even a very good doomsday device, from what we can tell--it’s not going to destroy the very fabric of spacetime, just the one planet--and yes, destroying Earth is a big deal, but again, the Reds and Blues are safe as long as they’re not on Earth and in the time it takes for interstellar travel, they could just contact the actual military on Earth who could get there faster. Dylan is already on the phone with someone from Earth, a scientist who has confirmed for her that the device if activated will destroy the planet, and his response is… telling literally anyone important about this? No, he’s going to go get shitfaced.

Yeah, this end sequence has a stakes problem.

No Killing, Unless We Have To Or We Feel Like It Or Whatever

I actually find the idea of Carolina trying to practice non-lethality post-season 10 very compelling. It’s an idea I’ve seen explored very effectively in fic. There’s precedent for it in canon too, from her decision not to kill the Director herself, to her attempts to spare Sharkface in season 13. Notably, there is a context to Carolina’s choices not to kill, and also an understanding that sometimes it is necessary. And I think this whole idea could be explored very effectively in the right context, with the right follow-up.

This is… not that.

For one thing, the only person Carolina implores anyone not to kill is Temple, the worst and most malicious of their present enemies, and that’s such a lazy application of “don’t kill unless you have to.” It’s the kind of thing you see in video games where, after cutting down hundreds of nameless goons, you’re left with the choice to spare the leader--the one who actually masterminded the Evil Plot--because Mercy or Forgiveness or Being the Bigger Person or whatever.

Locus, by contrast, is at least given some consistency in his vow not to kill (setting aside the whole Batman logic that a GSW isn’t lethal as long as it’s not in the head) but it mostly just contributes to prolonging the fight that ends up getting Wash injured, since Locus won’t take a headshot on the machine gunner. And Locus is gone one episode later anyway, so there’s really no opportunity for the differences in their principles to play off one another.

Once we get to Earth, the zealots guarding the perimeter are mowed down with extreme prejudice and no qualms from anyone, and to lampshade that, Joe uses the laziest possible shorthand to demonstrate that they deserved to die. It’s almost an inversion of the scene in episode 1, which uses the opening dialogue to show you why the soldiers at the supply depot don’t deserve to die--except that was effective and well-written shorthand, and this just feels cheap and phoned-in.

It might even be funny, except that we’re still supposed to agree that Temple should live.

That Grimmons Thing

I never expected Grif/Simmons to be canon. Let’s get that out of the way first. Queerbaiting is not “I wanted my ship to become canon and it didn’t.” Prior to season 15, there’s really nothing in the text of the show itself (extracanonical comments from the creators, etc. notwithstanding) that I would consider queerbaiting. To give a counterexample: Carolina gently touching Kimball on the shoulder makes for great shipping fodder! But that in and of itself doesn’t make it queerbaiting.

In “Previously On,” there’s a joke that strongly suggests Grif and Simmons had some kind of sexual encounter in a closet during the Temple of Procreation activation. Notably, it’s something they are embarrassed about and will angrily refuse to discuss. It never comes up again, except indirectly when Jax butts in on their reunion conversation in hopes of catching them kissing on camera. The shot then cuts to Jax knocked out on the floor.

Take out those two jokes and the entire case for queerbaiting is gone. That’s it. That’s the problem. Why is it a problem? Because it teases the idea their relationship could have become sexual, but does so as a joke (which allows it be dismissed as such and not really canon) and in such a way that shows them both being uncomfortable with it afterwards and reacting with hostility to anyone else who brings it up. Neither of them ever brings it up again, and there is certainly no confirmation of romantic feelings that might make a certain portion of the fanbase uncomfortable in a serious context.

Queerbaiting rests on deliberately teasing a romantic/sexual relationship between same-sex characters, while also deliberately maintaining a plausible “no homo” to avoid alienating anyone in the audience that might think that’s icky. That’s what it is; that’s why this counts.

And it’s a shame for that letdown to overshadow all the truly great relationship development between Grif and Simmons that does exist in this season. From Simmons looking on in stunned silence as Grif leaves and seemingly fixating on him during their travels, to Grif’s loneliness and his rehearsed apologies, to the callback to their “Why are we here?” exchange in season one--there is some fantastic material here. It’s so gratifying to see them acknowledge out loud that they are friends, that they truly care about each other, and to see Grif so eager to return to his team.

With all the development their relationship got this season, it wouldn’t have a stretch from there to make it clear that they do have feelings for each other beyond friendship. But if you’re unwilling to pull the trigger on that, then don’t cock it. Give us the friendship development, let it stand on its own, and don’t tease us. Trust the actual queer folks in your audience, when we say: we’ve seen this before, and it’s not nearly as cute as you think it is.

Closing the Goddamn Door

The loss of Church has been woven throughout this season, primarily as a motivator to spur the Reds and Blues back into action, but also as an open wound from season 13 for which several of our characters still need closure. I like this thread. I like it a lot, and in fact would’ve liked to see it used more, as I mentioned above with the missed opportunity between Carolina and Wash. Grief is a powerful vehicle in fiction not only for character development, but for relationship development between characters.

Blue Team has a hole in it. Tucker and Caboose have lost a friend. Carolina has lost a brother. And Wash is probably left with a lot of complicated feelings about his own history with Epsilon and the fact that everyone else on his team loves him… which of course could have been explored for some fascinating tension, but hasn’t been touched on since season 11.

As of episode 6, it’s clear enough that Carolina, Tucker, and Caboose are all deeply affected by their loss. But as the season goes on, it’s really mostly Caboose’s need for closure on which the story actually follows through. It’s fair that Caboose’s view of death is complicated by Church’s repeated “resurrections.” Nevertheless, the fact that the time door seems only designed to offer closure to Caboose, when Tucker and Carolina could probably use some too… well, it feels like a dropped thread.

The time door in general is awkward and unsatisfying to me anyway, given that Alpha isn’t the same Church they recently lost, and to top it all it’s Alpha from the very beginning of Blood Gulch who has no regard for Caboose to speak of and certainly not the affection for him that Epsilon came to have. Caboose’s goodbye simply crams a weird and contextless experience into Church’s life, which he will, of course, never think about or bring up again.

Tucker and Caboose’s conversation in the jail cell about Church being really gone felt much more poignant and emotionally satisfying, because… well, that’s the thing about death. You don’t always get to say goodbye the way you wish you could have. And sometimes it takes a long time after to process those feelings, and the comfort of your friends means a lot during that time. A conversation that included Carolina would’ve been nice, maybe a mention of the messages Epsilon left for them all.

It might not be as flashy as a time machine, but given that by the end this season desperately needs some team cohesion and found family moments, maybe flash isn’t the way to go here.

To VICtory

VIC’s whole… subplot this season has a major, major tone problem. And this is a show that vacillates wildly between drama and comedy, and often very effectively, but... boy howdy does this subplot have a tone problem.

VIC’s suicidality being played for laughs is going to land badly for a lot of viewers from the start. There’s no way to make that not uncomfortable. But when it’s set up as such an obvious parallel to Epsilon’s dramatic and noble sacrifice in season 13… it falls particularly flat.

As a sidenote, while Epsilon is undeniably suicidal early in his life, I see no indication that he wants to die in season 13 or the Chorus trilogy generally. I won’t say he couldn’t have been, but I don’t think there’s canon evidence for it. His death is explicitly framed as a sacrifice, a choice made to protect the people he loves. A choice he is sorry to make, the outcome of which he regrets that he won’t get to see.

The impact Epsilon’s life has had on so many other characters is deeply felt in his final message.

VIC’s gleeful self-immolation, by contrast, leaves us with not much more than a vague distaste. That’s the danger of callbacks, especially to highly emotionally-charged moments. If your callback moment isn’t equally compelling, you run the risk of simply reminding your audience that they could be watching another, better story.

Conclusions

I enjoyed so much of this season, even beyond the strong first act and despite the issues in the second and third, and I think a big part of the reason I enjoyed it so much is that it has some really great moments. There are moments throughout the season when the characters are allowed to move unimpeded by The Plot, and in those moments they really shine. Everything I praised about the first act is still true. Most of episode 5 is gold. Tucker and Wash’s moment in “Reacts,” Grif’s arc, Niner’s flashback cameo, Tucker getting creative in the absence of his sword and punching a tank to death, the Grif sibling reunion--all of these moments and more tell me that Joe absolutely can write these characters, and can do so in both humorous and emotionally-powerful ways. I don’t doubt his abilities on that front.

Where there are cracks in the character writing, where the story drags and becomes unsatisfying, is when the characters aren’t allowed to drive the story, but are forced to act in such a way as will facilitate the plot even when it just doesn’t feel quite right.

I’ll close here with the same thing I said at the end of season 10, five years ago: Red vs. Blue is a character-driven universe at its heart. That doesn’t mean we don’t love plot! It doesn’t mean we don’t love mystery and intrigue and dramatic twists and big reveals. We do! But don’t forget that you hooked us with a bunch of people standing around talking. Characters are the heart of this show, and they will always be what matters the most.

I’m interested to see what Joe learns from this season, and how he grows from the experience, and if he stays on board for season 16 then I’ll look forward to seeing more of his work.

#rvb critical #rvb15 #red vs blue #avian dentistry #joe nicolosi

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