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Lose the coda and I think you've got me. Hell, take the ham-hands away from the coda and you've still got me. Hera as Mitochondrial Eve I'll buy. I'll buy the tons of dei ex machina from a show with explicit connections to the divine from day one (I rather liked the Skulls/Racetrack combo being infinitely more useful post-mortem than they were in life). I'll even buy the shunning of technology to live on a verdant paradise world compared to what they've put up with. But those last few minutes rankled me -- thankfully the Boston Herald review spoiled me on that time-jump or else I'd be sincerely less enthusiastic. It might've worked handled differently, but I didn't care for that rendering, even with Jimi.
But the big questions got answered, more than I realized, and the big chickens came home to roost -- Cavil, Boomer, even Tory! -- and that first hour was appropriately intense. The little moments -- Cottle, Romo, the theme on the flyby -- for the most part, worked. The truce falling apart, though, that made my day.
Painful to watch -- particularly after the very last jump, wondering if she'd come apart at the seams -- and far from perfect, but good enough.
But the big questions got answered, more than I realized, and the big chickens came home to roost -- Cavil, Boomer, even Tory! -- and that first hour was appropriately intense. The little moments -- Cottle, Romo, the theme on the flyby -- for the most part, worked. The truce falling apart, though, that made my day.
Painful to watch -- particularly after the very last jump, wondering if she'd come apart at the seams -- and far from perfect, but good enough.
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