Kawaji justifies Kodoku, as do the members of the four conglomerates, by noting the way samurai were able to flout the law because they were the law. The bankers in particular seem to have been routinely ripped off by ex-samurai seeking loans they have no intention of repaying, because who’s gonna get the money out of them, some clerk? And one need look no further than Bukotsu, whose rampages against civilians are protected by the game guards, to see what happens when you give some lunatic a sword, extensive martial arts training, and the belief that he exists in a different class of people from the hoi polloi. Hell, you can look around the streets of Chicago or Los Angeles or Washington, D.C. to see that too. (Minus the extensive martial arts training, of course.)

But Kawaji’s new system, too, deals out death indiscriminately. In addition to overseeing the whole bloody game, Kawaji’s underling Ando also sees to it that Shinpei is strangled to death before his decoded telegrams definitively tying Kawaji to the game can make their way to the Home Minister. Moreover, all the guards are capable of seeing that Futaba and Shinnosuke have no business playing a game designed to pit samurai against samurai, but at no point have these noncombatants been given the chance to bow out. It all feels very Fall of the Galactic Republic, doesn’t it? (Or rather, the Star Wars stuff feels very samurai.) The Jedi made some terrible mistakes, especially toward the end, but do you prefer stormtroopers?

I reviewed the fifth episode of Last Samurai Standing for Decider.

As engaging as the little twists and turns of the game are, this show is as entertaining as it is because of the filmmaking and the fighting. The you-are-there camerawork of director Kento Yamaguchi weaves all around the restaurant during the rumble scene, much of which is shot in one continuous take to make it feel as though you your self are dodging punches and ducking for cover. The silver glow of Sakura and Shujiro’s crossed swords pops brightly after 45 minutes of the show’s usual thoughtfully muted color palate. All this gives the aquamarine of the puppet-masters’ secret base an even more opulent feeling. Last Samurai Standing is its own cohesive visual world, occasionally sliced open by a giant sword.

I reviewed the fourth episode of Last Samurai Standing for Decider.

Samurai schools are failing our children. There, I said it. Kyohachi-ryu School, “the origin of swordsmanship” if its brochure is to be believed, has one teacher and eight students — okay, so they’ve got class size under control at least — but they all have to kill each other to graduate. That’s a pedagogical method that would have even Donald Trump’s weird, pedophile-enabling Education Department destroyer Linda McMahon going “hey, slow down.” 

I reviewed the third episode of Last Samurai Standing for Decider.

Star Junichi Okada’s action choreography in both scenes is fist-pumpingly good, but in two totally different ways. Bukotsu and Ukyo fight in quick bursts, lashing out and then regrouping, before things break down as Bukotsu gets the upper hand. Their whole battle, which is intercut with Fubata and Shujiro’s storyline as well as Ukyo’s origin story throughout the episode, is filmed as it happens, with minimal camera trickery.

Shujiro’s killcrazy rampage through the game’s enforcers, by contrast, is a balletic, bullet-timed thing of beauty. Against a blue-gray sky tinted purple-pink by the spray of blood in the air, Shujiro moves in and out of regular speed, with the action slowing down to show us individual sword strikes and spectacular deaths and dismemberments. As Sakura, the top lieutenant with the gnarly scar, says from a safe distance, “Kokushu the Manslayer has awakened.”

I reviewed the second episode of Last Samurai Standing for Decider.

After watching the first episode of Last Samurai Standing, one thing becomes apparent very quickly: This show rules. I mean it is mint. I mean I walked around my apartment after it was over, saying “Holy shit, that was fuckin’ great” to myself, confusing my cat. Gorgeously shot, emotionally written, with serious things to say about the destruction of a way of life and breathless action choreography by producer and star Junichi Okada, it reminded me favorably of modern classics like 13 Assassins, or, strangely, Godzilla Minus One. There’s really no sense in beating around the bush here: I enjoyed the hell out of this episode, and my only hope is that the remaining six are exactly the same.

I’m covering a cool show with a goofy title, Last Samurai Standing, for Decider, starting with my review of the series premiere.

I have to admit, I didn’t expect to find myself suddenly bearish about a new Vince Gilligan show by episode three. It’s true that neither Better Call Saul nor Breaking Bad were anywhere near as smart, tight, bleak, and brilliant in episode three as they were by Season 5, and I’m certainly not writing off Pluribus, because I’m not stupid. But both BB and BCS, even the prequel series, felt like they were doing something new to TV. This post-apocalyptic dystopia simply does not. 

I reviewed this week’s disappointing (!) Pluribus for Decider.

I reviewed the second episode of Pluribus for Decider.

Breaking Bad and Better Call Saul are two of the best television shows ever made. Both created by Vince Gilligan, the latter with Peter Gould, they use crime-drama frameworks for lengthy, thoughtful, ultimately melancholy examinations of the way humans choose expediency over morality. 

At least that’s how we critics tend to think and talk about them. Equally important to their success and well-deserved reputation: They were scary as shit! That whole multi-episode Breaking Bad arc pitting Walter White against Gus Fring in a lethal stand-off? The white-knuckle scene in which Nacho Varga must either poison his boss or die trying? Todd Alquist? Lalo Salamanca? Breathtaking suspense and thrilling action involving best-in-class TV psychopaths was as big a part of the BB/BCS appeal as the slow spiritual deaths of Heisenberg and Saul Goodman.  

So when Pluribus, Gilligan’s new show for Apple TV, starts off with a harrowing depiction of the apocalypse, localized in Albuquerque, New Mexcio, maybe I shouldn’t be as surprised as I am. In addition to his own two stone-cold masterpieces, Gilligan also worked on The X-Files, so this nucleotide was within him all along, just waiting to be activated.

I reviewed the series premiere of Pluribus for Decider.

Wow. Wow. It’s a pretty good sign for a season finale when you have to repeat the word “wow” for emphasis to describe it, right? But I don’t know how else to put it. This episode of The Lowdown, by my estimation, contains one of the year’s funniest scenes and one of the year’s most ruthless and unflinching endings. It’s got a shootout AND a cookout. It shows a bad man having a change of heart, and a good man having a change of heart too. There are some fun wedding outfits, even. And it contains a quote from the Bible that needs to be drilled into the head of every man, woman, and child in America: “A poor man is better than a liar.”

I reviewed the season finale of The Lowdown for Decider.

That The Lowdown, like Andor before it, can now be called “a show for our times” is mightily depressing, at least if you are predisposed to care about the kinds of things it cares about. (If you’re not, why are you reading this?) It’s a show for people who see that bad things are happening and just kind of instinctively react against it, the way your body rejects poison. It’s about someone who goes beyond shuddering and vomiting, and tries to turn himself into a one-man vaccine.

“If I see an injustice, and I don’t do anything,” Lee says to his one-eyed editor Cyrus’s lawyer cousin, “what’s that make me?” You know what that question is? The sound of a functioning conscience. Some people still fucking have them in this country! 

I reviewed this week’s episode of The Lowdown for Decider.

Watching this episode in October 2025, when there are open Nazis and Christian Nationalists at the highest levels of government and the rule of law is being rewritten to favor white people and punish everyone else more or less openly, is…bittersweet. Nevertheless, it is bracing and necessary for art to address these people for who and what they are. Lee Raybon and his compatriots are up against people who prattle about an imaginary America, even as they attempt to replace it with the Confederacy, Jim Crow, the Third Reich. A story in which fractures in the right-wing coalition can be exploited like rap beefs until, hopefully, someone emerges from the fascist cipher a clear-cut loser is a story worth telling.

I reviewed this week’s episode of The Lowdown for Decider.

It’s so easy to write of the wrong done to others as just that, wrong done to others. But evil doesn’t happen in a vacuum. Every stone thrown at goodness and justice and love has ripples that spread out over the surface of the whole of society. This is what makes living in times like these so agonizing: So many are suffering, and so many more will suffer because of that suffering, and there’s so little any one of us can do beyond stilling the waters that directly surround us. Brad Ingelsby’s project is dramatizing this ripple effect in the form of cop thrillers set in Pennsylvania. After this engrossing, moving season of television, it’s a project with my full support. 

I reviewed the finale of Task for Decider.

There are two sides to every story, and that’s certainly the case with this week’s episode of The Lowdown. Side A: a raucous road-trip one-crazy-day buddy comedy, starring Ethan Hawke and Peter Dinklage as two very different flavors of aging radical brought together in the memory of a fallen comrade when hijinks ensue. Side B: a terrifying journey into the rage and licentiousness of contemporary law-and-order fascism, in which men who threaten women preside over lawless gangs protected by a badge. In other words, it’s of them half-empty, half-full type of glasses we’re drinking from today.

I reviewed this week’s episode of The Lowdown for Decider.

Eighteen minutes of cat-and-mouse action open this episode of Task. Actually, it’s more like cat-and-mouse-and-cat-and-mouse-and-cat-and-mouse-and-cat-and-mouse action. Working from creator Brad Ingelsby’s script, director Salli Richardson Whitfield expertly maneuvers a dozen armed and dangerous players through dense woods and empty cabins as they chase each other down, beat each other up, blow each other’s brains out, stab each other’s guts out, and run each other down in the road. Two of the show’s kindliest characters don’t make it out alive — but man, what a run.

I reviewed this weekend’s Task for Decider.

In a sequence that dropped my jaw with its sheer audacity, a dying Ed is wheeled towards the light down a corridor full of people from the hospital, along with a gaggle of mass murderers — Speck, Brudos, Ed Kemper, Charles Manson. While the killers express their admiration and the onlookers cheer Ed on, nurses and orderlies and doctors dance to, of all things, “Owner of a Lonely Heart” by Yes. (It was the song playing on MTV when he lost consciousness. Yes, Ed Gein wanted his MTV.)

So here’s the thing. I adore that song. I adore a novel use of it that doesn’t simply signify “Hey, it’s the 1980s!” I adore dream dance sequences, especially ones accompanying a person’s final moments — see also All that Jazz and the seventh season of Mad Men. And while it’s been many years since I was really in that dark place, I know an awful lot about those awful men. Seeing them as part of this joyous sequence is the exact note of discord it needed. There’s something awesome and terrible, in the old-school senses of those words, in watching Ed transcend in this way. It reminds me of how the show aims straight for the most indelible images from the three films it references: the shower scene, Leatherface twirling with his chainsaw, Bill in front of the mirror — just going right for it. I fucking loved it.

I reviewed the finale of Monster: The Ed Gein Story for Decider. I thought this was a very impressive and troubling show.

“It’s like your mind is a mirror that somebody dropped on the floor. So everything you’ve ever seen or heard or read or imagined — there are all these shards reflecting back at you, and you can’t tell what’s real and what’s a fantasy.”

This is how the psychiatrist (Randall Newsome) treating Ed Gein at the mental hospital where he has been institutionalized describes Ed’s condition. It’s schizophrenia, he says, and it’s caused him to remember commiting crimes he never committed — like killing the new head nurse for bullying him, in a scene that may or many even have been real itself — he didn’t do, as well as forget ones he did — like killing Bernice Worden and Mary Hogan, the latter of whom at least he considered a friend. (He does eventually remember killing Bernice and Mary, the only two victims every officially linked to Gein, and he’s devastated to realize it.)

It’s also writer-creator Ian Brennan’s approach to this material. The titular story is only partially about Ed Gein the man; it’s largely about Ed Gein the myth. Covering both his official victims and those he is suspected of killing, it’s working through the entire American Gein gestalt. As such it ricochets back and forth from the past to the future, from fiction to reality. 

I reviewed the seventh episode of Monster: The Ed Gein Story for Decider.

What did Ed Gein know, and when did he know it?

It sounds like a ridiculous question: Unlike Richard Nixon, who did not conduct the Watergate break-in himself, Ed Gein did a whole bunch of crimes and violated a whole bunch of corpses. But when he is inevitably discovered, arrested, and brought in for questioning, he passes a polygraph test with flying colors even when asked about crimes there is zero evidentiary basis to believe he didn’t commit. But even in the case of Bernice Worden, whose mutilated corpse is found trussed up and decapitated in his barn, Ed sounds like a defendant in the Iran-Contra scandal: He just doesn’t recall.

Is he lying? Boy, it sure seems like it, doesn’t it? Now that he’s busted, that aw gee aw shucks dag nabbit cheese and crackers demeanor sounds not just out-of-place but disingenuous, even smug. This sick son of a bitch thinks he can please and thank you and may I his way out of multiple homicides and a charnel house of human remains that will ring through the ages as one of the worst-ever places to set foot?

But that’s just it: Maybe he does. Monster: The Ed Gein Story writer-creator Ian Brennan has been consistent in his portrayal of Ed as so deep in the grips of delusion that he can dissemble easily one second, then invite the literal police to go see the dead body he has in the upstairs bedroom the next. He seems to have no idea why some people who find him agreeable eventually get squicked out. For god’s sake, when he’s getting the living shit beaten out of him by Deputy Frank Worden (Charlie Hall), Bernice’s loving but lonely son and the poor bastard who discovers her body, Ed seems genuinely confused and upset. They’d always gotten along before, you see.

I reviewed the sixth episode of Monster for Decider.

If there’s a throughline that connects every aspect of this episode — which is Adeline’s more than it is Ed’s — it’s misogyny. Adeline flees her hometown because its only future for her is as a housewife and mother. The women’s circle is a punishing group of judgmental hypocrites who question Adeline’s womanhood even as they make excuses for their rapist sons. She’s half-forced, half-intrigued into indulging Ed’s blue balls like they’re a matter of life and death, going so far as to help dig up a corpse to take care of them.

After Weegee indulgently looks at Adeline’s photography, he first mocks her as a no-talent, then makes crude sexual comments about her until she flees. Even the landlady she savagely beats suggests finding a man is her main option. When she finally returns home, her mother — in a magnificent monologue by Weigert, one of our very best — viciously berates her, suggesting Adeline’s in some way defective because she threw herself down the stairs multiple times in an effort to end the pregnancy. 

The legal lack of reproductive freedom, like contemporary anti-trans measures that seem a million miles removed from the friendly newsreel footage of Christine as a compelling curiosity, is the ultimate state expression of woman-hatred, turning women against one another in the process. In many ways this is the most grim thing about watching The Ed Gein Story right now. Across the country, and at the highest levels of government, men are working to return the country to the benighted state it was in when Ed and Adeline went insane because of it. 

I reviewed the fifth episode of Monster for Decider.

Now, obviously, “Ed Gein, Babysitter” is a world-historically awful idea. To paraphrase The Big Lebowski, say what you will about John Wayne Gacy, but at least the man was a semi-professional clown. Ed’s idea of a magic show is to take the children he’s babysitting — with Adeline’s strong recommendation — to his house of horrors. There, he plays a game of three-card monty with skulls and a human finger. He tells the kids he can change into a lady, then hides his head in his flannel shirt and puts a woman’s severed head on top of his own. When the kids protest that it’s stupid and fake, he pops his real head out, revealing a mask of human skin.

The sequence works as black comedy, however, because at no point does it seem like Ed is actually going to hurt these kids. That’s the weird thing about Ed: When he’s being sweet and good-natured, he kind of means it? Gein lives fully in the grips of delusion, one with no real seams between the everyday world of saying hello to neighbors and the nightmare world of having a house full of human body parts. This is how he can easily lie to the sheriff one second, then make the insane decision to invite him inside to meet Mother the next. Fortunately for Ed, the sheriff declines.

I reviewed the third episode of Monster: The Ed Gein Story for Decider.

The irony is that Psycho really doesn’t make people “look at something like this.” It seems like it does, people feel like it does, opening-night audiences have a series of health scares in this episode because it does, but it doesn’t. There’s no nudity, for example, but the shower scene and the peeping-tom routine by Norman Bates that precedes reveal nothing. (A dark sort of credit here belongs perhaps to Hitchcock’s own penchant for peeping: He’s shown spying on an actress getting changed earlier in the episode, just as both Norman and Ed do.)

There’s no graphic violence in the mother of all slasher films, either. The knife wielded by Norman Bates dressed in Mother drag never visibly pierces the naked flesh of Janet Leigh’s Marion Crane. It’s all movie magic — the foley art of a knife sinking into a melon repeatedly, the meticulous storyboarding of title designer Saul Bass, George Tomasini’s precision editing, the famous screeching strings from composer Bernard Hermann, Leigh’s panicked performance, Hitchcock’s near-peerless mastery of filmmaking’s dark arts.

So Winkler and writer Ian Brennan do what they’ve been doing across both episodes, right down to a lengthy look at the fake vulvas: They make you look at it.

With Suzanna Son’s Adeline standing in for Leigh and Marion, and Ed dressed as his own mother rather than Norman Bates as his, the episode cross-cuts immaculately between the shower stabbing and the opening-night audience’s horrified reaction. This time, however, you see the knife stab and slice away at the victim’s naked body, over and over and over again. 

The brilliance of this move lies in how it relies on you, the viewer, to help make it work. That sounds wrong — it’s all right in front of you — but the better you know the original shower scene, the worse the scene is for you. You can probably already hear those horrible knife-in-melon squelching sounds, hear Marion’s gasps and cries and grunts, see the knife rising and falling, see the blood running endlessly down the shower drain. Your brain has already conjured that horror, however many times you’ve seen the movie. 

Once it becomes apparent what the show’s incredibly gutsy, borderline blasphemous act of revealing the violence carefully hidden within Hollywood’s most famous murder is doing, it dawns on you: Oh my god, I’m going to have to see the whole thing. I’m going to watch this man butcher this woman for half a minute. As the dream-Hitchcock says to Perkins during that strange hallucinatory sequence in the fake Gein house, “You’re the one who can’t look away.”

I reviewed the remarkable second episode of Monster: The Ed Gein Story for Decider.