Hughie Campbell knows this better than most. One afternoon, he and his girlfriend were talking about moving in together and the next—well, his girlfriend had become a pair of disembodied hands and a bunch of blood spattered on the street. That’s what happens, apparently, when a super-fast hero like A-Train plows into a flesh-and-blood person. And while A-Train said he was sorry and all, he was also high on drugs, and Hughie understandably still harbors some ill will … and a well-founded suspicion or two about just how super these superheroes really are.

He’s not alone. Hughie spent some time with The Boys, a rough-hewn squad of vigilantes dedicated to exposing society’s most hypocritical heroes: Do-gooders fighting other do-gooders, if you will. Only the latter are do-badders and the former do bad things to make good on their …

Never mind. Let’s just get on with the review.

FAR FROM HOMELANDER

Hughie and The Boys don’t have a lot of advantages in this fight. Led by the mysterious Billy Butcher, The Boys (at least one of whom is female and sometimes called, appropriately enough, “The Female”) don’t have superpowers at their disposal. But that’s all slowly changing.

Thanks to the newly founded FBSA (Federal Bureau of Superhuman Affairs), The Boys are backed by the government with everything they need to put the corrupt “good guys” behind bars. And this includes a new drug called V24, a variant of the Compound V formula that created many superheroes to begin with. Of course, V24 wears off after 24 hours, so they’ll need to work fast if they want to take on a Supe.

In contrast, their adversaries are seriously supercharged (and permanently so)—particularly the members of the so-called Seven—an Avengers- or Justice League-like supergroup led by Homelander, the group’s exclamation point. He’s a Superman-esque hero in a star-spangled cape who can fly, knock down buildings without getting short of breath and zap anyone he’d like with his heat-ray vision. And while everyone thought he was the cleanest, most idealistic of the bunch, his All-American persona was wrecked in Season Two when it came out that his now-deceased superpowered girlfriend, Stormfront, was a former Nazi.

But it takes more than that to take down a Supe, as the Seven’s former member Starlight (who is also in a romantic relationship with Hughie) is figuring out. Even after catching Homelander on camera threatening her and others, most just brush the interaction off as fake news. Still, it’s caused the two Supes to gain respective followings of angry supporters, both of which seem more and more likely to violently lash out at each other day-by-day.

Your Angry Neighborhood Fighter-Man

Homelander, as you might expect, has only succeeded at fanning the flames of that violent tension. He’s on trial for murder after he publicly lasered a Starlight supporter to death when the man threw a water bottle at Homelander’s son.

Oh, yes, Homelander’s been raising a naturally superpowered boy named Ryan, who came to be after Homelander raped Billy Butcher’s wife.

And, truth be told, Ryan’s changed Homelander’s perspective on things. He’s been busy plucking gray hairs from his body, each of which reminds him that, when it comes to the inevitability of aging, he’s just as human as everyone else. He wants to leave Ryan a world worth living in—but there will need to be some violent changes for that to happen.

And Billy’s having his own dark night of the soul after discovering that his overuse of V24 has shortened his remaining lifespan to a mere 12 months. With little time remaining, Billy just hopes to rescue Ryan from Homelander’s clutches and reunite him with his mother.

Of course, none of this will matter if Victoria Neuman becomes Vice President of the United States. She was once the director of the aforementioned Federal Bureau of Superhuman Affairs, before Hughie discovered that she’s a Supe herself—one with the ability to pop her adversaries’ heads by manipulating their blood. Hughie is sitting on a mound of evidence against her, but he’s unable to do anything under her threat of mutually assured destruction: she’ll kill “everyone he ever loved” if he outs her.

Her running partner just had the election called for him, making him president-elect. And, if the Boys don’t find a way to stop her, Neuman will be just one head pop away from becoming president herself.

MEN OF HEELS

Based on a 2006-08 comic series of the same name, Amazon’s The Boys is all about deconstructing the American superhero myth and, by extension, satirizing America itself. Or, at least, the America its creators see.

It’s a natural impulse to flip superheroes upside-down—and, perhaps, a necessary reminder of the corrupting nature of power. Not every cat with superpowers, after all, necessarily has super-great character to go along with them. As The Boys imagines it, depressed superheroes aren’t that different from nihilistic dictators—always just one Nietzsche quote away from pressing the “end world” button. And as for the good heroes? Well, even if a hero starts out with the best of intentions, how can we be sure that he or she will follow through on them?

This is not exactly unexplored territory.

DC’s Watchmen is perhaps the most famous example, but there have been others. Even legitimate superhero narratives in Marvel and DC have poked around the dangers of unchecked superhuman beings. Captain America: Civil War explored the theme of how a world would deal with, essentially, god-like vigilantes (well-meaning tho’ they might be).

But The Boys feels bleeding-edge relevant, too—an exploration of hypocrisy and dubious authority that contains everything from police brutality to the #MeToo movement to corporate oligarchy. And in more recent seasons, The Boys’ political commentary comes with about as much subtlety as a rocket launch being broadcast through the world’s loudest amplifier. Power corrupts people, The Boys will tell you, be they superheroes or business syndicates. And it’s an uphill battle to bring the corrupt to justice.

But The Boys itself may corrupt in a different sort of way.

The Amazon show is billed as a dark comedy. And it is indeed as bleak, cynical and brutal as they come. The superheroes here engage in the worst acts you can imagine, from sexual assault to murder, and we see most of those crimes. Bodies explode before our eyes. Sex, nudity, LGBT content and even bestiality oozes across the screen. Even many of the less-heinous heroes come across as rather vile human beings. And the language—well, let’s just say we’re a long way from Robin shouting, “Holy hand grenades, Batman!”

And if these so-called superheroes don’t deserve the title, the show’s actual heroes aren’t always a lot better. In the very first episode, they kill a supe and then spend much of the next two episodes trying to dispose of the body. When your protagonists are led by a guy called The Butcher, you know you’re in some pretty murky territory.

The show’s more serious social commentary comes with plenty of issues, too. The Boys critiques everything quintessentially American, if you will—or, at least, the idyllic vision of America pushed in the 1950s. As such, religion becomes a critical focus of this deeply cynical show. Perhaps the best illustration comes from Starlight, whose real name is Annie: She starts Season 1 as an innocent Christian—a one-time member of the so-called Capes for Christ movement—who has some legitimate questions about the faith she was raised with. By later seasons, she sees her former faith as bankrupt as the rest of America’s institutions.

“I should’ve done a lot more stuff [when I was younger],” Annie confesses to a fellow supe, “because there is nothing up there. There’s nobody in the sky watching over us. Not God, not Homelander, not anybody. It’s all just … lies.”

The Boys offers a lively, grotesque, culture-current take on the misuse of power. But ultimately, the power is yours. And perhaps the best use of that power would be to avoid this streaming show like kryptonite.

(Editor’s Note: Plugged In is rarely able to watch every episode of a given series for review. As such, there’s always a chance that you might see a problem that we didn’t. If you notice content that you feel should be included in our review, send us an email at letters@pluggedin.com, or contact us via Facebook or Instagram, and be sure to let us know the episode number, title and season so that we can check it out.)

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He wants them to make a “clear” crayon—one that can color the shade of air, for instance. And, if they proceed with its creation, he hopes that perhaps they’d call it “fantasmas,” meaning “ghosts.”

In truth, Julio’s thought is indicative of how he views himself—undefinable. While one person might describe who they are or what they do by responding “I’m a teacher,” Julio is…well, Julio, floating around and doing whatever it is that a Julio might do.

Perhaps that’s why Julio keeps putting off obtaining his mandated “proof of existence” card by spending his time focused on his birthmark or searching for a lost earring. Maybe it’s why he keeps having that dream where the only way he can escape a shrinking room is by removing his unique outfit to fit through the door—which would take him out into the cold, where everyone wears the same black coat.

“Some things aren’t one of the normal colors or play by the rules of the rainbow,” Julio tries to explain to the Crayola executives.

And so it is with Julio—unless societal pressures or the logic of the world itself force him to comply.

Clear as Mud

Fantasmas might be how you’d describe Julio—and it’s the perfect name for the show, too.

The sketch show, by nature, isn’t too concerned about plot. Instead it bounces from one idea, and one story, to another. Sure, we follow Julio as he tries to avoid obtaining his proof of existence card and as he searches for an earring, but we just as quickly explore each and every tangential story in a way you might expect from a 6-year-old narrator overstimulated on caffeine.

That is to say, expect a bit of confusing whiplash as Fantasmas floats, like a ghost, from one absurd idea to another, never truly taking on any corporeal shape: Julio uses a ride-sharing app to leave Crayola. Then we watch “Melf” (a parody of the old 1980s sitcom ALF, involving a puppet/alien lives with a normal suburban family) the spoof’s titular character has an affair with the family patriarch. Then we jump into a Steve Buscemi-led sketch about how Julio imagines the letter “Q” as an artist of the weird, underused and unappreciated in his time.

And just as Fantasmas floats around, so too do its content issues. Sketches incorporate sex and LGBT elements—and one man appears while wearing women’s lingerie. In addition, foul language raises content to the TV-MA rating.

Fantasmas may not be a ghost haunting your television. But its desire to not “play by the rules of the rainbow” only succeeds in making it as difficult to enjoy as the color clear.

(Editor’s Note: Plugged In is rarely able to watch every episode of a given series for review. As such, there’s always a chance that you might see a problem that we didn’t. If you notice content that you feel should be included in our review, send us an email at letters@pluggedin.com, or contact us via Facebook or Instagram, and be sure to let us know the episode number, title and season so that we can check it out.)

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So says Sol, a Jedi teacher to his young pupils. It’s one of the first lessons a Jedi must learn—to trust the Force over one’s own senses. And for centuries, that trust has served the Jedi well.

The Republic has been the political center of the galaxy for all that time, of course. But the Republic’s right hand has always been its Jedi: it’s foremost police officers, sage advisers and moral centers.

But lately, there’s been a disturbance in the Force, and the galaxy itself. Someone’s been killing Jedi. Yeah that’s … not easy. And folks are saying that the killer is the spitting image of Osha, one of Sol’s old padawans.

Your eyes can deceive you, Sol says. And for his sake—and for Osha’s—he certainly hopes so.

The Jedi Did It in the Conservatory

When the Jedi order tracks Osha down, the woman seems just as surprised as anyone else. Who, me? Guilty? Osha might’ve left the Order before her apprenticeship was done, but she says she harbors no ill will toward the Jedi.

But could she be lying? After all, the killer’s first victim was Indara, who had been head of a small group of Jedi stationed on Osha’s home planet of Brendock some16 years before. The Jedi’s presence there is linked to disaster: Shortly before Osha was plucked from the planet’s surface to undergo her Jedi training, a fire ripped through Osha’s community and killed her entire family.

Could it be that the killer is after the other Jedi stationed on Brendock that fateful day? Might Torbin, the one-time young Padawan, be in danger? What about Kelnacca, the fearsome Wookie warrior? Might the killer be after the kindly Master Sol himself?

It looks like Sol has a murder mystery on his hands, and he trusts Osha enough to accept her help. But in this mystery, Sol can only count on two things. One, the butler didn’t do it. And two, the eyes can deceive you—even those of a Jedi Master.

Dark Siding

Is it my imagination? Or has the Star Wars universe gotten a bit murky as of late?

Long, long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, the charm of Star Wars could be found in its optimistic simplicity. Jedi: good. Empire: bad. And while that’s still mostly the case, the Star Wars universe has grown more complex and, often, darker.

Sometimes that can be to the franchise’s benefit. Andor unpacked what the rebellion might’ve really looked like away from those swashbuckling Jedi, and the show proved to be a tour de force of cloak-and-dagger machinations and moral ambiguity.

But lately, the franchise has been focusing, literally, on The Dark Side. Ahsoka introduced a live-action audience to the duplicitous Grand Admiral Thrawn and the Force-using “witch,” Morgan Elsbeth. (Though, admittedly both had been seen in the animated Star Wars: Rebels.) On May 4 of 2024, it unveiled a new animated show called Tales of the Empire, wherein the backstories of Elsbeth and a prominent ex-Jedi Barriss Offee.

The Acolyte again turns its own eyes toward the darkness—directing its gaze toward a time period 100 years before the Empire existed, when the Jedi Order was strong and unquestioned. And in it, we witness seeds of possible discontent against that order being sowed, and perhaps not without cause.

The Jedi seem good enough, but the emphasis might be on the “enough” part, and not so much on the “good.” Politics seem to be as driving a force in the order as, well, the Force itself is, and the Jedi’s high-minded rhetoric may not go along with their actions all the time. Force-using witches show up here, too—but they’re presented as just a persecuted religious minority, if you will, put upon by the established order.

Perhaps all that is unavoidable, given The Acolyte’s place on the Star Wars timeline. We know this series—whether it ends happily or not—is one more brick in the road toward the Empire. And rarely do such dictatorships spring from nothing.

But this show doesn’t just dabble in the universe’s darker complexities. The Acolyte seems to ramp up the violence slightly, too.

We see that from the opening whistle, when the killer tangles with Indara. The assassin’s out for blood, and gets it. And she’s willing to threaten innocent lives to distract her target. Violence, murder and wholesale slaughter are on tap here. And while Star Wars has always dealt with plenty of death—the very first film featured the destruction of an entire planet, after all—it feels a bit more personal here.

In Episode 3, we get a lot more information about Mae and Osha’s two mothers, as well as some conversation about how their daughters were created (apparently involving some forbidden means). We also get touch of mild cursing. And the Force is a huge part of the story here—a story that tries to merge its Eastern, yin-yang origins with its new reliance on “witches” to those more empirical midichlorians (the microscopic life forms that make people Force-sensitive and such).

Story-wise, The Acolyte isn’t a bad show (though it’s far from Andor or The Mandalorian at its best). And it takes viewers into a realm that hasn’t really been explored—those heady, mostly peaceful pre-Empire days.

But as Sol would be sure to remind us, appearances can be deceptive. And families might not want to trust what The Acolyte shows them.

(Editor’s Note: Plugged In is rarely able to watch every episode of a given series for review. As such, there’s always a chance that you might see a problem that we didn’t. If you notice content that you feel should be included in our review, send us an email at letters@pluggedin.com, or contact us via Facebook or Instagram, and be sure to let us know the episode number, title and season so that we can check it out.)

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With no cure or treatments for the deadly H5G9 virus, the Sick only had a couple of days from the time the first symptoms began (their pinky fingers shaking) to the time they died.

Panic set in. Mandatory quarantines were enforced. Violators were shot on sight. Patients flooded hospitals, leaving doctors and nurses overwhelmed. And the world burned.

But as the world slipped into chaos, something extraordinary happened …

Hybrids—half human, half animal—were born.

Perhaps the greatest mystery is whether these children caused the virus or the virus caused the children. But since they can’t contract (or spread) the disease, one thing is for sure: Hybrids are the future.

A Very Special Boy

Of these hybrid children, we meet Gus (nicknamed “Sweet Tooth” for his love of chocolate). Half-deer, half-human, Gus was the very first hybrid child, created in a lab by a scientist. (Subsequent hybrids would be born naturally by human beings.) But shortly after Gus’ “birth,” the H5G9 virus broke out, and his creator, Birdie, hid Gus away for fear that the government would connect his creation with the virus and experiment on him.

When Birdie could no longer keep Gus safe, she passed him on to a man named Richard, who took Gus deep into the woods of Yellowstone National Park—far away from any humans who might wish him harm.

“Pubba,” as Gus calls Richard, instructs Gus: “If I hear a growl, I will duck. If I hear a voice, I will run. If see a human, I will hide.”

And hide Gus should. Because despite proof that the hybrid children couldn’t get them sick, people still feared them.

The “critters,” as they’re sometimes called, replaced human children completely. And with so much still unknown about them, humans hunt the kids down to study them, experiment on them and sometimes, even kill them.

Wanting to protect his adopted son and ensure Gus lives a long and happy life, Pubba tells him the world was on fire outside the confines of the national park’s fence and that he should never leave.

But after Pubba dies of the illness that wiped out half the planet, Gus decides to break his father’s rules. He ventures outside the fence to discover that the world is not, in fact, on fire. And soon, his story entwines with those of others—some who want to help him, some who want to hurt him, and some who believe Gus just may be the answer to saving the world.

Sweet Truth

Though it’s based on a comic book series that started its run in 2009, Sweet Tooth could be seen as a commentary on the coronavirus pandemic.

Much like we witnessed during lockdown, characters wear face masks and quarantine in place. Hospitals are swarmed with the Sick, and there is no cure.

But what sets this story apart is that “normal” human children no longer exist—or rather, those who do were born before the Great Crumble.

The hybrid children are hunted down and murdered—often brutally. And with few adults to raise, teach and love them, most of these children give in to their animal instincts and become feral, unable to speak or act coherently.

But if the hybrid children in the show are imperiled, the show itself contains a few other pitfalls. Those who contract H5G9 are often murdered to prevent the spread of the illness. Paramilitary groups cause chaos. There’s some language to watch out for. And Pubba (along with many others) believes that the Great Crumble was Mother Nature’s way of fixing the planet that humans had destroyed.

Many people probably won’t want to watch a show where kids—hybrid or not—are literally hunted down for sport. But especially in a post-pandemic world, Sweet Tooth isn’t necessarily a story you want to hear.

(Editor’s Note: Plugged In is rarely able to watch every episode of a given series for review. As such, there’s always a chance that you might see a problem that we didn’t. If you notice content that you feel should be included in our review, send us an email at letters@pluggedin.com, or contact us via Facebook or Instagram, and be sure to let us know the episode number, title and season so that we can check it out.)

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In one corner, we have fighters from the Underground Arena, where the title of World’s Strongest Man is decided! These animals are muscular, dangerous and will stop at nothing to win a fight—especially Baki Hanma, the martial arts champion who aims to one day best his monstrous father in hand-to-hand combat.

In the other corner, we have representatives of the Kengan Association! These men are gladiators hired to fight on behalf of powerful companies in order to settle business disputes! And the scariest among them is Ohma Tokita, a fighter for Yamashita Trading Co. who, like Baki, wants to be the strongest there ever was.

But those aren’t the only combatants climbing into the ring! Yes sir, it’s certain that “an arena chock-full of absolute monsters” (as described by one of the arena’s security guards) is sure to have some impressive fights—especially when the only official rule is “no weapons allowed!” Were we less organized, you might be here all day. That’s why each group is putting forth three fighters—that’s right, just three—to represent them in the three-match competition.

Last chance to grab your popcorn from the concessions stand. Because the first match is about to start—and you won’t want to miss it.

Or will you?

Kick, Punch, Spit Blood, Repeat

It’s like Netflix has been planning this all along.

First, Kengan Ashura premiered on the service in 2019. Then, having given viewers enough time to get into that show, they premiered Baki Hanma two years later. Now, in 2024, they’ve released the crossover event that’ll be more than enough to excite all the fans they’ve made via hosting those two shows.

It should come as no surprise, then, that Baki Hanma vs. Kengan Ashura won’t be a show you’ll want to hop into prior to watching at least one of the anime referenced in its title. The release is meant for in-the-know fans, and it won’t stop to explain who its large cast of characters are for anyone who hopped on late.

And that’s somewhat helpful for us at Plugged In. It suggests that if you are reading this review, you’ve probably seen one of the shows. And if that’s the case, you’ll already know, generally, what to expect to see in Baki Hanma vs. Kengan Ashura.

Even if you don’t fall into that category, I’ll bet you could guess the main issues with relative accuracy. Imagine the most muscular people in the world, multiply their muscle size by three, and hypothesize what might happen if those people collectively agreed to punch each other in the face. With that mental exercise, you’ll have deduced roughly 80%—including broken bones and torn flesh—of what you can expect in this animated tournament.

The other 20%? Well, we hear a reference to extreme doping. We hear a few crude words used, and a few characters are described in spiritual terms.

But otherwise, it’s just an hour of animated characters punching each other until someone collapses.

In summary, kick, punch, spit blood, repeat.

(Editor’s Note: Plugged In is rarely able to watch every episode of a given series for review. As such, there’s always a chance that you might see a problem that we didn’t. If you notice content that you feel should be included in our review, send us an email at letters@pluggedin.com, or contact us via Facebook or Instagram, and be sure to let us know the episode number, title and season so that we can check it out.)

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Hazel knows that these changes won’t be easy, but she’s prepared to handle them like the mature 10-year-old she thinks she is.

Unfortunately, things don’t go as well as she hopes. On her first day of school, nobody laughs at her jokes. She sits in wet paint at lunch. And then she comes home to find out that Antony’s flight got cancelled, so he won’t be able to visit until the holiday break.

Hazel’s had it. She packs her backs and prepares to run away. But that’s when she runs into her new neighbors, Wanda and Cosmo.

The pink- and green-haired duo immediately suspects that something’s up. They quickly realize that they can help Hazel—and that this kid needs them.

So, with a little magic, Wanda and Cosmo reveal their true nature to Hazel. They aren’t just retirees living next door: They’re fairies, with wands and wings and “floaty crowny things.” What’s more? They’re also godparents, and they’re prepared to make Hazel’s every wish come true.

Be Careful What You Wish For

The Fairly OddParentsgot its start on Nickelodeon back in 2001, when Wanda and Cosmo were helping a young boy named Timmy. After Timmy grew up, they helped out his cousin, Viv, as chronicled in The Fairly OddParents: Fairly Odder (which premiered on Paramount+). But now, this fairly odd couple is back on Nickelodeon in A New Wish.

Much like the previous incarnations, magic is one of the biggest concerns here. Cosmo and Wanda are from a fairy realm and, as already stated, can use magic to grant wishes. But, as Timmy, Viv and now Hazel all learn, magic isn’t necessarily all it’s cracked up to be.

Sure, the godparents can make Hazel friends with her teachers or turn her into a fly so she can fly to visit her brother. But sometimes, those wishes have unintended consequences, such as making her teachers so immature the entire school nearly fails a test or getting caught in a Venus fly trap.

The good news is that Hazel learns from these wishes gone wrong. She realizes that just because she’s mature for her age doesn’t mean she’s mature enough to be an adult. And yeah, waiting for Antony to visit may not be fun, but there are other fun things she can do to pass the time.

Parents should also note that Cosmo and Wanda, who have been married for about 10,000 years, occasionally gender bend. In the original Fairly OddParents, Timmy wishes for the couple to have a baby; due to the way that fairy reproduction works, Cosmo becomes pregnant instead of his wife, Wanda. And that gender fluidity continues in A New Wish. While playing pretend, Cosmo dresses up as a princess so that Hazel (who plays a knight) can rescue him. So it wouldn’t be surprising if similar content shows up later in the series, too.

The Fairly OddParents: A New Wish is mostly cute, animated fun with some good lessons about growing up. But the concerns noted above might keep some families at bay until their kiddos are old enough to discern fantasy from reality.

(Editor’s Note: Plugged In is rarely able to watch every episode of a given series for review. As such, there’s always a chance that you might see a problem that we didn’t. If you notice content that you feel should be included in our review, send us an email at letters@pluggedin.com, or contact us via Facebook or Instagram, and be sure to let us know the episode number, title and season so that we can check it out.)

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Their survival was nothing short of spectacular. But now, dinosaurs don’t just roam a few islands off the shore of Costa Rica: They roam the whole planet.

In this neo-Jurassic Age (so dubbed by Dr. Ian Malcolm in Jurassic World: Fallen Kingdom), animals and humans must coexist. And thanks to the Department of Prehistoric Wildlife (DPW), it’s not nearly as bad as you might expect. They keep the more dangerous dinos away from humans and relocate the creatures, when possible, to dinosaur reserves.

Unfortunately, their efforts aren’t always successful. Although Darius (former employee of the DPW and paleontologist) and the rest of the Nublar Six kept in touch for a while, they all drifted apart after Brooklynn (who went into investigative journalism) was killed by a dinosaur during a job.

Darius blames himself for Brooklynn’s death since he was supposed to meet her the night she died. But Ben isn’t so sure that Darius is at fault. Why did Brooklynn want to meet that night? How did a carnivore mysteriously show up in the middle of the city undetected? And why was the DPW so slow to respond?

Ben thinks Brooklynn was targeted. And while Darius is hesitant to accept this conspiracy theory, when man-eating dinosaurs start showing up at the homes of his fellow Camp Cretaceous survivors, even he can’t deny the suspicious circumstances.

Their only hope of survival is to get what remains of the Nublar Six back together, settle their differences, and do a little digging of their own to hopefully solve Brooklynn’s death.

Neo-Cretaceous Show

Jurassic World: Chaos Theory is a continuation of Camp Cretaceous. And the show pretty much has all the same content concerns as before.

Adults in Camp Cretaceous were rare, and most of them were corrupt individuals who had no problem abandoning helpless teenagers on an island filled with prehistoric dinosaurs. Darius and his friends are the adults now, but we still experience quite a bit of that corruption. And the show’s antagonists still have no quandaries with taking human lives.

The dinos have no problem killing people either. Some do it out of hunger, but at least a few have been trained to hunt humans by humans. As with Camp Cretaceous, these types of deaths typically occur offscreen, but there’s no doubt what’s happening.

Sammy and Yaz (both women) became a couple during Camp Cretaceous, even moving in together after escaping Isla Nublar. And they’re still a couple here, sharing the occasional kiss. Brooklynn and Kenji were another couple from the previous show, but they split up just before Brooklynn’s death, leading to some very complicated feelings between foster brothers Kenji and Darius, since Kenji also blames Darius for Brooklynn’s death.

And, of course, you can’t have a Jurassic World show without broaching the topic of cloning and gene manipulation, since that’s how the dinos were created to begin with.

So while Chaos Theory is certainly a more kid-friendly approach to ravenous, prehistoric dinosaurs (it certainly doesn’t spill as much blood as the live-action Jurassic World films), the LGBT content, dino creation and humans potentially serving as bite-size snacks may be unnavigable territory for some families.

(Editor’s Note: Plugged In is rarely able to watch every episode of a given series for review. As such, there’s always a chance that you might see a problem that we didn’t. If you notice content that you feel should be included in our review, send us an email at letters@pluggedin.com, or contact us via Facebook or Instagram, and be sure to let us know the episode number, title and season so that we can check it out.)

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What, another X-Files reboot?

Not exactly. Aliens aren’t in the offing in CBS’ Evil. And our main characters work for the Catholic Church.

IN FULL POSSESSION

David Acosta is a priest in training, hired by the Vatican to cull its backlog of potentially supernatural cases. Does John Doe really need an exorcist, or just a good psychotherapist? Is this startling event really a miracle, or just a clever fraud? The Catholic Church gets, well, legions of requests for investigation and intervention, but it can’t send out fully trained exorcists to check out all of them. So David goes out in their stead to discern which cases really deserve the Church’s attention—and which should be turned over to, say, the local police.

Dr. Kristen Bouchard doesn’t buy into miracles or demonic possession. She’s a psychologist, you see, and a lapsed Catholic to boot. The only demons she’s sure about are those we manufacture ourselves. And while Kristen might seem like an odd choice to work for the Catholic Church, David relies on her expertise. “The problem with my job is that possession looks a lot like insanity,” he tells her. “And insanity looks a lot like possession.”

Kristen may not believe, in the strictest sense, but she finds the work interesting. Plus, it pays the bills. She’s got four little girls to take care of and a mountain of student loans to repay—not to mention a husband who is frequently away. She’ll take on the occasional possession case if it means she can also keep possession of her house.

The team is rounded out by an uber-scientific investigator named Ben. While David and Kristen explore a subject’s mind, Ben taps around the environment. Are those weird, whispering noises a sign of a haunting—or just faulty pipes? Ben’s the guy to ask (though, admittedly, he always thinks the answer is “the pipes”).

But while the trio may not agree on the source of these strange manifestations they investigate, they do agree what they’re fighting: evil. Pure evil, embodied (at least at first) by the oily Leland Townsend. He, along with dozens of horrible helpmates, stirs up trouble on social media and plays into the worst instincts of the society’s most vulnerable and estranged. Is he merely psychotic? Or does he answer to a more infernal boss?

By Season Four, Leland’s still hanging around and causing trouble (as any character played by Michael Emerson is wont to do). And this time, he’s picked up some predatory tendencies. He’s managed to steal and fertilize one of Kristen’s own eggs in hopes that he’ll be the one to bring about the antichrist. According to Leland in Season Four’s premiere episode, the baby’s due in 38 days—a number which coincides both with a prophecy David received from an angel regarding the end of the world and the opening of a nearby particle accelerator…

TOUCHED BY … A DEVIL?

While most networks run screaming from the subject of religion as if it was that little girl from The Exorcist, CBS—the same network that hit paydirt with Touched by an Angel—has shown a willingness to grapple with faith in recent years. And though it was once in a thoughtful way, later seasons (now streaming exclusively on the CBS-related Paramount+) suggests that the directors have traded its respectful roots for absurd and irreverent sensationalism.

Evil, created by The Good Wife’s brain trust of Robert and Michelle King and starring Westworld’s Katja Herbers and Luke Cage’s Mike Colter, may have been its most ambitious foray into faith yet. But with its move to Paramount+ in Season Two, the show has since pushed not only pushed the envelope, but it has burned it to a crisp.

Robert King is Catholic. Wife Michelle describes herself as a secular Jew. “Our intent has always been to have religion front and center in the show. That’s the appeal of it,” Michelle told The Federalist. “The other thing that’s important to me is that we show characters with very different points of view who are willing to discuss these things and listen to each other in a respectful way. Right now, there is a lot of violent disagreement in the world and not a lot of listening with respect.”

Though the characters are indeed respectful of one another, by Season Three, the show lacks that respect for faith—particularly the Catholic Church. Even the show’s priests themselves often show a disdain or disbelief for Catholic orthodoxy. Naturally, the show has questionable bits of content as a result.

Whenever you’re dealing with demonic possession and exorcisms, things can take a turn to the scary … and sometimes the bloody. While not every episode features red stuff dripping and spurting about, it’s completely dependent on what supernatural mystery the team’s exploring in each given week. Sex, too, can be an uncomfortable plot point—in fact, it’s the central focus for the first episode of Season 3, where we uncomfortably watch David have sex with a demonic entity (one who continues to make appearances in Season Four, too). That’s not to mention that David, in order to foster a connection with God, has been known to take psychotropic substances to, ahem, encourage visions—a practice rather outside Catholic orthodoxy. We should note, too, that Kristen flat-out murdered a guy in the first season (the work of her own demonic possession). Sure, the victim was a serial killer who promised to slay Kristen’s daughters, but the act still remains.

And while the first season stayed well within the limits of network broadcast standards, later seasons show no such constraints. Like a possessed girl who breaks her bonds, Evil is pretty unfettered these days. Violence and gore isn’t unusual. Sexual allusions are more crass and more graphic. And as if to make sure everyone knows that Evil’s not on CBS anymore, harsher profanities—including the f-word—pop up much more frequently, sounding wholly inappropriate and vaguely ludicrous in the show’s procedural context.

Generally, evil is something you’d try to stay away from. And many folks will likely want to give Paramount+’s Evil a wide berth, too.

(Editor’s Note: Plugged In is rarely able to watch every episode of a given series for review. As such, there’s always a chance that you might see a problem that we didn’t. If you notice content that you feel should be included in our review, send us an email at letters@pluggedin.com, or contact us via Facebook or Instagram, and be sure to let us know the episode number, title and season so that we can check it out.)

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His ranch is anchored in the past. Stuck, some might say. Cattle graze on grass, not force fed in pens. He and his boys do their work on horseback, not ATVs. Why, the farmhouse is even graced with a corded phone.

But change comes to us all, whether we want it or not. In fact, on a particular patch of land on Royal’s west pasture, change comes hard and fast.

Royal knows something of just how drastic that change can be. He knows that the huge, symmetrical chasm out there isn’t just a hole in the ground: It’s a portal—one that can whip someone backward and forward in time.

How does Royal know this? Because he’s gone down in that hole. Down through it, you might say. Back in 1882.

No wonder he doesn’t cotton to change.

HOLE, HOLE ON THE RANGE

You’d think that a time-traveling hole might be a fun little thing to have around. But as Season Two opens in Prime Video’s Outer Range, that metaphysical divot has coughed up plenty of problems.

For one, a whole herd of bison found their way to the present (at the end of Season One), stampeding through this corner of Wyoming and sending about 350 people to the hospital. And that’s just for starters.

But the hole isn’t just handing out buffalo: It’s taking people, too. Joy, the town’s sheriff, has been whisked into the past. Amy, the beloved granddaughter of Royal and his wife (Cecilia), has disappeared, apparently in the company of Amy’s long-missing mother.

But is Amy really gone? Or might she be August, that mysterious hippie who showed up on the Abbott ranch in Season One and caused a whole mess of problems? Royal sure seems to think so. But August herself isn’t quite so confident.

And we haven’t even gotten to the Tillersons, the family that’s been warring with Royal Abbott for ever so long. Or Royal’s own sons, who kinda-sorta accidentally killed a Tillerson last season. Or Cecilia herself—the glue that holds the Abbott family together, but who might have a hard time believing that her husband is, oh, 150 years old or so.

Yep, the hole has come with plenty of ticklish issues. But ultimately, it might not be the worst of Royal’s problems.

TWILIGHT ZONE … ZONED FOR HORSES

If Yellowstone and Stranger Things had a baby, it might look a little like Outer Range. It pairs supernatural mystery with real-world intrigue … and it comes with plenty of real-world problems, too.

The series—some episodes of which are rated TV-14, a decision almost as mysterious as the hole itself—would naturally carry an R rating if it landed in theaters. Harsh profanities salt the dialogue. And moments of violence and gore mar the screen. But it feels like the story’s makers actually considered those problematic elements before putting them in—not as a play for eyeballs or to hide weakness in the story itself.

Sexual content can impact the storyline, too. We see couples in bed together; and Joy, the female sheriff, has a girlfriend.

For more secular viewers, though, one of Outer Range’s most unexpected elements might be its push into spirituality.

Cecilia Abbott, Royal’s wife, is deeply religious. We hear characters talk about fate and metaphysics. Autumn even namechecks the Greek god Cronos, who used a sickle to tear a hole in creation: “Between heaven and earth … separate the known from the unknown.” How all of this spirituality will shake out as the series goes on is anyone’s guess—but I’d bet that it’ll likely not land squarely on the side of orthodox Christianity.

Outer Range is an interesting, but problematic exploration of separation: the separation we find in families, in friends, in rivals and, perhaps, between us and the divine. That scythe of Cronos becomes a metaphor of that separation. But the show doesn’t separate itself from difficult—and for families, deal-killing—content.

(Editor’s Note: Plugged In is rarely able to watch every episode of a given series for review. As such, there’s always a chance that you might see a problem that we didn’t. If you notice content that you feel should be included in our review, send us an email at letters@pluggedin.com, or contact us via Facebook or Instagram, and be sure to let us know the episode number, title and season so that we can check it out.)

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Americans like to think that when it comes to science fiction, we’re the world’s cultural epicenter. We’re home to Area 51, Roswell, N.M., and Comic-Con. We were the culture that created everything from Star Trek and The X-Files to Coneheads and Plan 9 From Outer Space. We surely have more geeks per square mile than anywhere else on earth.

But they’ve never created a franchise to match the once and future king of sci-fi television: the aged yet nearly ageless Doctor Who.

IT’S BIGGER ON THE INSIDE!

Before Captain Kirk set his first phaser to stun or HAL 9000 sent his first innocent man into the vacuum of space, the good Doctor was cruising through the airwaves of Britain. The show’s mammoth BBC run began in 1963 and continues to this day—though it did take about 16 years off, from 1989 to 2005. This isn’t just a television show. It’s an institution.

It’s somehow fitting that the centerpiece of Doctor Who is an ever-changing yet nearly ageless character known, simply, as the Doctor.

The Doctor has saved the galaxy countless times with a curious combination of wit, derring-do and (looking back) laughable special effects. He is, ostensibly, a “Time Lord,” a being capable of hopping through space and time with the help of a contraption known as a TARDIS. (It looks suspiciously like a 1950s London police box.) And while he can be killed just like anyone else, he doesn’t “die,” precisely, but undergoes a Phoenix-like transformation and becomes an entirely “new” Doctor—one who looks and often acts much differently than his predecessor, but one who still retains all his memories.

When your show lasts half a century, you’ve got to be able to recast your lead a few times. There have been 15 such incarnations who’ve traveled time and space (well, given that two of those were played by David Tennant, technically 14). And the latest is played by Ncuti Gatwa. We’ve not even mentioned the always growing list of companions (most of them human) that join the Doctor in his/her cosmic exploits. And the latest companion, Ruby Sunday, just may be more important than she initially appears…

It’s hard to see the older shows now and imagine anyone getting frightened by, say, the evil Daleks (which look like taller, punked-out versions of R2-D2). But back in the day, Doctor Who was considered by many to be fright-night television.

Though designed as a family show, in the 1970s Doctor Who came under fire for being too scary and gory for children. British activist Mary Whitehouse declared it “teatime brutality for tots,” and she may have had a point. It featured bloodthirsty dolls (Chucky’s forebears?), murderous daffodils and plenty of violent mayhem—including the offing of a Doctor or two. The show supposedly spawned the British phrase “behind the sofa”—as in hiding behind the sofa during its especially scary parts. No less than The Economist suggests that “hiding behind the sofa whenever the Daleks appear” is as quintessentially British as teatime.

REVERSE THE POLARITY OF THE NEUTRON FLOW …

Now, with special effects being so much better, Doctor Who may be more frightening than ever. But in an age when televisions are littered with serial killers and worse, the creatures here still have a B-movie quality to them: kinda creepy, kinda campy. Are they a little freaky? Yes. Will they force the average adult into years of counseling? Probably not. The violence they perpetrate shouldn’t be excused or ignored, but it’s only fair to say that their visceral impact is, for the most part, PG.

The show has a few other issues: Sexual allusions and situations (including references to same-sex marriage) are sporadic but still present. The 12th Doctor’s companion, Bill, was openly gay. A couple transgender or drag queen characters have likewise appeared in recent episodes—and, in an interview with Mashable, one actor described Season 14 as “the queerest season of Doctor Who you’ve ever seen.” Mild profanities (including the British curse “bloody”) and misuses of God’s name tag along occasionally. More significantly, the series has been known to dabble in religious themes—not always to the comfort of Christians. Its current worldview is essentially humanist, and it sometimes mocks or dismisses certain religious ideas or ideals. And the mere presence of a Time Lord who, essentially, raises him/herself from the dead every few seasons does in itself provoke a host of theological (and perhaps gender) issues.

Even so, Doctor Who usually feels rooted in a more genteel past. It’s a fun, witty show with geek-friendly charm. And there are certainly far worse ways to spend a Saturday night these days than taking a trip on the TARDIS. But as the Doctor would surely warn anyone who glibly steps through its doors, you ride at your own risk, and—especially in its current season—there are no guarantees of what you might see.

(Editor’s Note: Plugged In is rarely able to watch every episode of a given series for review. As such, there’s always a chance that you might see a problem that we didn’t. If you notice content that you feel should be included in our review, send us an email at letters@pluggedin.com, or contact us via Facebook or Instagram, and be sure to let us know the episode number, title and season so that we can check it out.)

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