Showing posts with label heists. Show all posts
Showing posts with label heists. Show all posts

Thursday, July 17, 2025

TV Review: Ironheart

Not the usual superhero origin story

A flawed protagonist making repeatedly questionable choices does not fit the typical trope of a superhero story. Even as a slow-paced origin story, Ironheart avoids the traditional heroic hints or setups. For those seeking a save the world, save a friend, or get justifiable revenge premise, this is not that series. Instead, we have a complex character study in a uniquely paced story that’s hard to turn away from.

Riri Williams (Dominique Thorne) is a genius MIT engineering student obsessed with building a perfect Iron Man-style suit. She earns money for her pet project by helping students cheat and she soon gets expelled and is forced to return to her mom Ronnie (Anji White) and their middle-class Chicago neighborhood. While home, she is tormented by memories of her step-father Gary and her best friend Natalie being killed in a drive-by shooting. With even fewer resources available, she accepts an invitation to join a high-tech crime gang to help them physically attack and coerce billionaires into handing over their corporate assets. The gang is led by the charismatic but clearly sinister Parker Robbins (Anthony Ramos), a.k.a. The Hood, who wants to use Riri’s suit in their heists. When Riri has an urgent tech need, she turns to insecure black market tech dealer Joe (Alden Ehrenreich), a.k.a. Zeke, and coerces him into supplying her. Riri notices that Parker’s hood is exuding sinister magic and tries to figure out how to control its power by consulting with a mother/daughter mage duo. Despite her descent of questionable choices, Riri is surrounded by a supportive community of allies, including her surprisingly patient artist mother Ronnie, her talented and supportive friend Xavier (Matthew Elam), quirky mage Zelma (Regan Aliyah), and her insightful and sentient AI NATALIE (Lyric Ross). Riri alternates between pushing them away and embracing them as she tries to stop Parker and the nefarious evil that lurks inside him.

Ironheart is a mix of high points and frustrating inconsistencies. Dominique Thorne is excellent as the tortured, stressed-out genius. Her character’s personality is completely believable and immersive. The ensemble cast is surprisingly appealing. Riri’s mom Ronnie defies the stereotypical hero mom portrayal by being patient, firm, and surprisingly practical when it comes to tracking down the supernatural help her daughter needs. The heist gang consists of colorful characters who steal the scenes they are in. On the other hand, the story suffers from inconsistencies that are hard to ignore. Riri is a genius but can’t get a high-tech job to support her hobby. She’s traumatized by her friend being murdered in a drive-by but chooses to work with a violent crime gang who knows where her family is. And the heist gang’s corporate theft goals seem confusingly unlikely to be sustainable from both a contract enforceability or ongoing criminal liability perspective. This is where you need your willing suspension of disbelief—for the real-life logic leaps, not for the sci-fi tech and the magic.

However, these conflicting plot elements work when filtered through the mind of a flawed protagonist. An unreliable narrator or flawed protagonist is always an interesting storytelling device. In many ways, she seems bent on self-destruction in a way that corresponds to some variation of survivor’s guilt for the loss of her friend. She is introspective, stubborn, and emotionally damaged, with behavior that seems intentionally focused on a series of bad choices. Riri draws her inspiration from Tony Stark, a character with significant personality challenges and anti-hero vibes. Although the two characters are from very different backgrounds and life experiences, they are parallel in terms of their arrogant and sometimes irresponsible worldview.

Surprisingly, my primary comparison for Ironheart is The Bear, another working-class Chicago-based introspective series. Both shows feature uptight genius creators whose internalized trauma leads to toxic behavior and trouble for those who care about them. The ensuing chaos is played out in a uniquely paced, personality-centered story that’s hard to turn away from. Some superhero origin stories involve an immature character making bad or selfish choices that come back to haunt them before they make the pivot to heroism. Peter Parker in Spider-Man had a rough start before finding his way. Rogue in the X-Men started out as a villain before she found her heroic side. Ironheart is a story I watched waiting for the heroic realization to arrive. But when it does finally arrive, Riri remains complicated and continues to make surprising choices in a way that is intriguing but different from the norm. If you are looking for a traditional hero epic, this is not that story, and you will likely feel frustrated. But if you are interested in a complex character study with solid acting and entertaining side characters, Ironheart is a show that will give you plenty to analyze.

Nerd Coefficient: 7/10.

Highlights:

  • Appealing, unevenly paced artistic vibe
  • Frustrating protagonist making confusing choices
  • Excellent lead and supporting cast

POSTED BY: Ann Michelle Harris – Multitasking, fiction-writing Trekkie currently dreaming of her next beach vacation.

Wednesday, January 29, 2025

What the Hell, Star Trek?

There was never going to be a good way to tell a story where Section 31 are the heroes, but it didn't need to reach this abysmal degree of atrociousness

For all the excellent ideas to come out of Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, it had some… less excellent ones. The Klingon episodes were tedious, the Ferengi episodes were cringeworthy, and the Trill episodes only had one topic to be about. The series had a bizarre obsession with fetishizing manual agriculture, an incongruous skepticism of the capabilities of galactic medicine, and a willful inability to trust the Federation's sincerity. Deep Space Nine turned the Federation's enlightened optimism into a veneer that concealed ruthless pragmatism, effectively dragging Earth into the same muddy playing field of Romulus or Cardassia. Although I'm typically in favor of questioning claims to exceptionalism, the version of Earth presented there was hardly one that would have founded something like the Federation. And Deep Space Nine's fundamentally cynical view of humans found concrete form in the worst creation of the series: the clandestine operations agency of the Federation government known as Section 31.

The rationale for introducing Section 31 to the Star Trek setting was that, if future Earth is able to thrive as a peaceful, prosperous utopia, it's only because it has spies and assassins scattered everywhere, discreetly doing the thankless work of keeping humans safe. In other words, series showrunner Ira Steven Behr either refused or failed to imagine a perfectly happy society that was capable of sustaining itself without doing a bit of evil under the table. It has often been said, by the most radically traditionalist fans, that Deep Space Nine contradicted the whole philosophy of Star Trek. They're only partially right. Such defiance of canonical ethos didn't happen because the series eschewed the Planet of the Week format, or because it gave a voice to protagonists outside of Federation authority, or because it refrained from giving every problem a simple, high-tech solution. Deep Space Nine broke away from the core assumptions of Star Trek because its humans aren't the focal point of view by default, and they don't provide the show's moral center. These humans play dirty. Sometimes they're downright nasty. Winning the Dominion War via biological weapon plus attempted genocide left humans in a morally unstable position that subsequent shows haven't dared to acknowledge.

A few years later, in the revived Battlestar Galactica, captain William Adama said this wonderful line: "It's not enough to survive. One has to be worthy of surviving." That is the test of moral fortitude that the humankind of Star Trek fails by having a Section 31. The very thing that made Star Trek stand out from other works of space opera was its trust in reasoned argument and the fundamental goodwill of every sapient being. This was a gust of fresh air in a science fiction ecosystem where conflicts tended to be resolved by who had the biggest pew-pew. Giving humans a Section 31 undermines the message of any episode that tries to present as reprehensible the cruelty and treachery of the Romulan Tal Shiar or the Cardassian Obsidian Order.

And none of these are the reasons why the new Star Trek: Section 31 movie is a horrendous mistake.

Again, Section 31 was always a bad idea, but that has nothing to do with why this movie doesn't work. The movie doesn't work because the dialogues are lazy, the characterizations are one-note, the pacing is erratic, the set design is boringly generic, the fight choreography is impossible to follow, the performances (save for the always exquisite Michelle Yeoh) are either dialed down to utterly forgettable or dialed up to utterly irritating, the villain's plan contradicts his own goals, the heroes' solution is to repeat the villain's plan, and the direction is too obviously desperate to add some energy to an insipid nothingburger by inserting gratuitous camera movements that can't disguise how mediocre the whole production is. Think of any of the thousand ingredients necessary for making a movie (casting, lighting, scriptwriting, editing, color grading), and every one of them fails catastrophically.

Section 31 starts with a prologue showing us former Empress Philippa Georgiou's backstory. We learn that the evil Terran Empire of the Mirror Universe elects its ruler via survival contest. We see young Philippa return to her home village, exhausted after countless rounds of brutal fighting, tasked now with severing her personal attachments, which she succeeds at by giving her family a painful, slow death by infodump. So she wins the throne, plus her closest competitor as a slave. I'm no expert on dictatorial practices, but I suspect that keeping in your palace the person who almost got the throne is tantamount to asking to be poisoned, stabbed, and defenestrated several times before breakfast. Add to this the fact that she and her runner-up were in love, and that she effortlessly went full tyrant on him the nanosecond she was declared Empress, and you have a fertile ground for drama that the rest of the movie proceeds to casually throw in the trash.

The actual thing that has the temerity of passing for a plot in Section 31 is the quest to intercept a superweapon that someone wants to sell to someone. We're told that the eponymous secret agency is given this mission because the sale is going to happen outside Federation territory (it just so happens to be former Empress Georgiou's bar/disco/love hotel, because when an unrepentant despotic genocidal cannibal from another universe is set loose in ours, the thing she chooses to do with her life is create jobs). After extended infodumps that matter not one bit, because they're about describing a hypothetical convoluted heist plan that has just been frustrated, the aforementioned superweapon, which turns out to be a conveniently portable item designed to look and spin like the illegitimate child of a d20 and a Hellraiser puzzle box, is tossed around like a hot potato between Georgiou and a mysterious new enemy until it's time for the next infodump.

Also, time for a reveal: the superweapon was built in the Mirror Universe, by orders from Geourgiou herself. She explains that it's capable of killing an entire quadrant of the galaxy, and somehow it never occurs to the team of expertly trained defenders of the Federation that they might want to alert the galaxy about the faction that intended to buy such an item. Instead, the entire second act is derailed by what should have been minor subplots: rooting out a traitor in the team, getting clues from a body camera, repairing a damaged ship—these tasks consume too much precious runtime, detracting from the tension that the movie should want to maintain about, you know, stopping a superweapon that can kill a whole quadrant of the galaxy.

Not that the villain intends to do anything remotely comprehensible with the weapon. To end quadrillions of lives as preparation for a campaign of conquest is to inflict scorched earth on yourself. This plan makes so little sense that it's perversely fitting that the heroes fly into battle on a garbage transport ship and improvise, as their only available attack, a load of garbage timed to explode.

That's right: the resolution of this movie comes via literal dumpster fire.

The aesthetic, the tone and the metaphors of this movie seem calculated to maximize the viewers' angry revulsion. The story is a textbook MacGuffin chase like every other MacGuffin chase you've watched. The main characters don't have personalities but post-it notes: the movie stars Walking Tragic Past, Only Sensible One, Barely Repressed Chaotic Neutral, All Points Went To Armor Class, Galaxy's Most Punchable Face, and Blatant Eye Candy. In fact, let's talk for a minute about the Deltan in the room, because the very fact that they chose to have a Deltan in this movie illustrates the instrumental way its characters are treated. In Star Trek, Deltans are an alien species whose entire deal is being irresistibly hot. The franchise has never known what to do with the Deltans except point and ogle, which means they're not allowed to be people in a story, only talking decoration. So of course, this time as every time, as soon as the Deltan does her one trick, she's quickly out of the movie. And it goes likewise with the rest of the cast, who have all the inner life of a call menu.

To conclude the list of questionable choices that went into this production, Section 31 doesn't tell us anything about Section 31. This was the best opportunity to explore the ethical complications inherent to resorting to dirty tactics in the service of a nominally righteous civilization. It also could have given us a more nuanced portrait of Philippa Georgiou as an exiled tyrant with a whole galaxy's worth of skeletons in her closet. But Section 31 has no interest in the complex questions. And if anything defines the essence of a Star Trek story, it's the willingness to jump deep into the complex questions and live with the complex answers. What we get instead is a movie incapable of realizing that a secret police is by definition the opposite of cool, and that a cannibal mass murderer is a terrible choice of hero, and its too-hard attempts to make that disastrous combination work are just embarrassing to watch.


Nerd Coefficient: 3/10.

POSTED BY: Arturo Serrano, multiclass Trekkie/Whovian/Moonie/Miraculer, accumulating experience points for still more obsessions.

Tuesday, April 30, 2024

Nanoreviews: Live Long and Evolve; The Extractionist; The Frame-Up

Live Long and Evolve: What Star Trek Can Teach Us about Evolution, Genetics, and Life on Other Worlds, by Mohammed A. F. Noor


I bought this book through Princeton University Press’s yearly book sale, which makes available an enormous selection of PUP books at, like, silly prices. I think I paid £3 for this one, and it was worth every penny.

This book is about using the science of evolutionary biology to make predictions about—or at the very least guide our search for—life on other planets. This is itself a fasincating question, but what makes this book charming is the way it integrates a deep knowledge of Star Trek lore into the discussion in plausible and entertaining ways. Mohammed A. F. Noor is not some kook arguing that Star Trek was ahead of its time or 'right' (except accidentally); and he’s not some buzzkill doing a take-down of all the things Star Trek got wrong (although he does note them). He’s simply drawing connections between his two passions in life, which are interested in the same thing—life on other planets—from very different angles.

The book is split up into six chapters. In the first, Noor discusses what conditions must be necessary for something recognizable as life to develop on a planet. For example: what is it about carbon, in particular, that makes it such a good building block? Must the life be carbon based, or could some other element serve the same function? This leads naturally into a discussion of the feasibility of species like the Horta (TOS: The Devil in the Dark), which is silicon-based, alongside real-world experiments showing that some bacteria can form molecules with silicon-carbon bonds. Other sections of this chapter discuss the necessity of liquid water, which is a useful solvent for bringing together chemical reagents, but  not necessarily the only one.  Ammonia, for example, might do the job. Noor also considers requirid temperature ranges, which are typically best when they allow water to exist in its liquid form—but if water is not the key solvent, then things might work out differently. Tolerance of extreme temperatuers is also a concern, but not a huge one. On earth alone we have extremophiles—creatures that tolerate or even prefer extreme temperatures, either hot or cold—and such entities appear in numerous Star Trek episodes, from the tardigrade-like animal Ripper in the first season of Discovery, to the silver-blooded inhabitants of the ‘demon planet’ from the Voyager episode Demon. (Althouh Noor does not mention it, I cannot let reference to the silver blood people pass without also reminding readers that they show up in the heartbreakingly excellent episode Course: Oblivion, albeit not in their extremophile forms.)

Other chapters tackle evolution, genetics, and reproduction. Noor fills this last chapter with fascinating examples of Earth species, such as the Amazon molly, which is entirely female, and reproduces by mating with males of other species. Fertilization triggers the process, but the eventual offspring contain no trace of DNA from the other species male fish. Thus the Amazon molly species remains distinct from whatever species the dildo-dad belonged to. 

Of course, when both parties in a cross-species night out are represented in the offspring, we have hybridization. This is a frequent phenomenon in Star Trek, most famously embodied in the TOS character of Spock, a Vulcan-human hybrid, but there are a variety of other hybrid characters that Noor analyses quite thoroughly. My favourite part of this chapter is his discussion of Haldane’s rule, which captures the (Earthbound) phenomenon whereby female hybrids are more likely to survive than male hybrids, and are more likely to prove fertile, contrary to the trend of sterility among hyrids. As a table on pg 128 reveals, of all the hybrids in Star Trek (up through the first couple of seasons of Discovery at least), more are female than male, and of the hybrid characters who are known to have produced offspring, all but one was female. As Noor concludes, ‘If we speculate that this depiction reflects a difference in hybrid fertility, meaning at least some of the hybrid males were sterile, then we may be observing some signal of Haldane’s Rule just lie among species on earth. I do not think that the Star Trek writers did this intentionally, but the coincidence is amusing.’

I myself suspect that this trend actually reflects a tendency of filmmakers to assign parental roles to female characters than to male characters, but I'm happy to take it as evidence of a galactic Haldane rule. Sometimes it's more fun to look for the science, even if incidentally, than to fume at sociocultural trends among filmmaking.

Nerd Coefficient: 9/10, very high quality/standout in its category

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The Extractionist, by Kimberly Unger

Eliza McKay works as an extractionist in a futuristic extrapolation of our increasingly plugged in society. Extractionist is one of those jobs that doesn’t yet exist, but becomes necessary in a world where Elon Musk’s Neuralink vision actually works, and not only works, but has become the equivalent of cell phones in today’s culture. Everyone’s got an implant of one version or another, some of them state-of-the art super-fancy versions that are only accesssible if you’ve got military-grade connections, some of them super-cheap retail level chips that are perfectly fine for daily use but not up to more demanding tasks. These implants allow to directly experience cybernetic realities—sort of like the Metaverse, but, y'know, functional. Occasionally, however, people get trapped too deep, and their consciousness must be retrieved and reintegrated with their bodies. This is where Eliza McKay comes in.

So, as plot, she is hired by some secretive black-ops person to extract a member of the team who has gone too deep and knows some crucial information about Stuff. Naturally, the Stuff turns out to be much more large scale and elaborate than Eliza planned for, and heisty cybershenanigans ensue.

I cannot overemphasize the quantity of cyberstuff in this book. Everything is cyber; everything is tech; everything AI (but, y'know, functional). It’s clear that Unger has spent a great deal of time thinking about how this futuristic world will look, how the various technological advances will interface with each other, how the economics of version control and upgrades will affect people’s ability to do certain jobs or interact with different types of equipment. I quite appreciate the way the world she's created echoes the messiness of incompatible operating systems and forced reboots that plague our current digital lives. Just because you’ve got a chip in your brain that's, y'know, functional, doesn’t mean that an inconvenient software update won’t ruin your day.

Unfortunately, for all the thoughtful cyberworldbuilding, the cyberplot and cybercharacters and overall cyberexperience were underwhelming. It’s kind of funny, actually, because when I think about each individual component, I can’t identify any particular flaw beyond a mildly tortured reasoning to justify the circumstances under which extraction is necessary. The characters were fine; their motivations were present; their relationships with each other were developed. The plot proceeded reasonably pacily. I was just deeply bored throughout the entire book. Maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m not cyber enough to cyberappreciate what Unger is cyberdoing. 

Nerd Coefficient: 6/10, still enjoyable, but the flaws are hard to ignore

The Frame-up, by Gwenda Bond

Dani used to be one of the team—a team of magic-using art thieves, to be precise—but she got snookered into betraying her mother and her team by a persuasive FBI agent, and has been something of a pariah in the magic scene ever since. Mom’s in jail, now, and none of the old team are speaking to her. However, her mother’s former patron finds Dani and commissions her to steal a very big painting, with a very big pay-out, so she has to get her quite reluctant ex-team back together and steal a magical painting, while simultaneously evading that same FBI agent and negotiating her remembered feelings for an old flame on her team, which are interfering somewhat with some nascent feelings developing for the painting’s current owner.

This books is a very straightforward heisty heist, with twists and turns exactly where you expect them to be. There are mommy issues to be worked out, old relationships to smooth over, new partnerships to build with surprisingly understanding and unbothered-by-crime painting-owners, and a very convenient diary explaining that a demon whose power is only kept in check by a magical painting must under no circumstances be allowed to regain possession of the picture.

The book is fine. The wheels work, the twists twist. But I found the romantic subplots rather tedious, largely because I don’t think jealousy is an appealing characteristic in potential love interests. And although I don’t read too many heists, and so am not used to keeping track of so many moving parts, I still think some of those convolutions were a bit unearned. For example, at one point Dani’s mother causes extreme complications for her plans for no other reason than that she thinks Dani’s got it too easy, and needs to learn how to deal with jobs when they’re hard. Which doesn’t follow, since Dani’s mother is invested in this heist as much (or more) than any of them, and certainly more invested in it than she is in Dani’s professional development. But then, since (as I said earlier), the painting’s owner seems to have no interest in actually retaining possession of the painting, and is perfectly willing to hire Dani to manage the security of his art gallery, it is undeniably true that Dani seems to be playing the game on easy. Gwenda Bond had to insert complications somewhere, and I guess she chose Dani's mother to do it.

In sum, this was fine. Perfectly good to occupy you while waiting for your laundry to be done, or to read on the bus while keeping one eye out for your stop. But it’s not a book I’m going to stay up late finishing, no matter how twistily the twists twist.

Nerd Coefficient: 6/10, still enjoyable, but the flaws are hard to ignore

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References

Live Long and Evolve: What Star Trek Can Teach Us about Evolution, Genetics, and Life on Other Worlds. Mohammed A. F. Noor. [Princeton University Press, 2018].

The Extractionist. Kimberly Unger. [Tachyon 2022].

The Frame-Up. Gwenda Bond. [Headline, 2024].

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CLARA COHEN lives in Scotland in a creaky old building with pipes for gas lighting still lurking under her floorboards. She is an experimental linguist by profession, and calligrapher and Islamic geometric artist by vocation. During figure skating season she does blather on a bit about figure skating. She is on Mastodon at wandering.shop/@ergative.

Friday, March 21, 2014

Microreview [Book]: Odds On


Crichton, Michael (writing as John Lange), Odds On [Hard Case Crime]


The Meat 


I hate writing bad reviews.

I have no illusions about what I’m doing here. I’m the crime (sometimes comics) guy on a nerd blog. My reviews aren’t going to do much damage. And this is the internet, a media designed for hating. So, drop in the bucket. But it’s not my place to bash the novels I read for this site. Many of these books are small press debuts, penned by someone who’s slaving away as a teacher or adjunct, as a spouse and parent, squeezing in a few pages of edits on a Saturday or outlining chapters on a bus. I’ve never written a novel, so even if I hated their work, they’ve bested me.

But Michael Crichton, I can hate. Even the young, medical school student/aspiring novelist writing under the name John Lange, I can hate. I can hate him for writing Odds On.

Odds On is the story of master thief Stephen Jencks who plans a heist using computers. In 1966! So he hires two other pros and the three set out to rob the guests at the Reina, an uber-posh coastal resort in Franco’s sunny Spain. The heist: the thieves are going to rifle through the guests’ rooms. Yes. This, along with a couple explosions and a diversionary fire, is the heist. The computer program Jencks used merely determined the most efficient sequencing of individual tasks in the robbery—which may be close to what 1966 computers could do. But it’s still boring.

An underwhelming heist does not necessarily doom a novel. Three hundred pages of not much happening does. Two thirds of Odds On takes place prior to the actual, thoroughly boring heist. So there’s a lot of lounging around, a lot of idle banter on car trips, over cocktails, and after way-to-easy sex. For two hundred pages. Rich people taking it easy. The main characters aren’t interesting, neither are the secondary characters. Even the weed-slinging old English Lady and her French gigolo are boring. For three hundred pages.

As for the heist, there’s not much of it, neither in design nor in execution. It’s rifling through people’s shit, after all. There’s a twist in the last quarter of the book that keeps things interesting for fifteen or so pages. But then it’s resolved disappointingly.

I expected more from Odds End. Not because I’m a Crichton fan. In fact, I’ve read two of his books, his John Lange books. Scratch One and Binary. And I really enjoyed them, and was surprised that I did. They were rapidly paced, fun action novels, perfect for a Sunday afternoon. Odds On suits no afternoon. It reads like what it is: the early effort of a master hack. We all know he found his stride. But just not yet.

On the other hand, when he wrote Odds On, Crichton was a medical student. At Harvard. Writing novels. On the side.


The Math

Objective score: 4/10

Bonuses: +1 for modest approach to computers

Penalties: -1 for way too casual sex (that’s going in my neo-noir manifesto); -1 for being over 250 page (also in the manifesto)


Nerd coefficient: 3/10