After last week’s euphoria of reunion, it’s time to get down to the business of re-integration as a team, which proves more of a challenge for the members of the Joint Task Force Mark II than any of them – except Mary Stuart Masterson – had anticipated. Reade and Weller’s “What do you got?” in stereo is hilarious, perfect shorthand for everyone’s problem: the people who left the team think they can just slot back into their old roles again, but the people who stayed – and Stuart, Poor Stuart – have already filled them. What to do?
Season two of Blindspot would have made an endless angstapalooza out of this, but the new, improved, season three somehow makes it a comedy instead, and a wildly entertaining one at that. Sure, Kurt’s a bit sulky when he finds out that Jane’s life on the run didn’t entirely revolve around missing him, but they solve it by actually talking to each other instead of just moping like they usually do, which is REVOLUTIONARY for this pair; Zapata and Reade struggle a bit but they work it out too (I wouldn’t bet on hanging around for too long, Divya), and Patterson is pretty awful to Poor Stuart but, just as it starts to feel really uncomfortable, she remembers she’s fundamentally lovely and decides to go make it up to him. Aw. Shame it’s too late. Poor, POOR Stuart.
No Rich Dotcom this week – I’m guessing three experts fighting over who gets first dibs on the techno-triumphs might have been a bit much – but his influence lingers throughout this gleeful, witty ep. The Tat of the Week story is both genuinely exciting – mercenaries, a crashing satellite, and the possibility of nuclear war? WHOA – and very, very funny, with the people from the DOD proving great comedy value, and Jane getting to dropkick the last baddie full on the chest in supremely cool fashion. You GO, GIRL. Of course, brother Roman has to let the side down somewhat by reverting to whining mode for a while: as he shares his feelings at a meeting of Supervillains Anonymous (possibly not its official title), I share my feelings by yelling insults at my television. But it all turns out to be a trap, which, while not making it ok for the well-meaning, formerly-living, now not-so-much fellow with a passing resemblance to Roman and boatloads of cash, does make it a whole lot better story-wise than any more moaning. Two for two for the new season so far, then. Long may it continue.