Welcome to Retro Television Reviews, a feature where we review some of our favorite and least favorite shows of the past! On Mondays, I will be reviewing Crime Story, which ran on NBC from 1986 to 1988. The entire show can be found on Tubi!
Our story so far….
Episode 1.11 “Crime Pays”
(Originally aired on December 5th, 1986)
This week’s show will be easy to review because it’s a clip show. It’s a bit more honest than most television clip shows. It doesn’t feature the character sitting around saying stuff like, “I’ll never forget that time we gunned down half of Luca’s crew.” Instead, the show’s narrator (Jack Angel) tells us that we’re going to see the story so far and then we see just that. The best thing about this episode is Angel’s tough guy voice.
It’s not bad for a clip show. It’s basically all of the Torello and Luca scenes without any of the filler. If nothing else, it lets us know which of the past plotlines we should remember and which ones we can safely forget. (Remember that Torello is obsessed with Luca. Remember that Luca is determined to become a big man in the mob. Don’t necessarily forget about David Arbams’s storylines but, at the same time, don’t worry if your memory’s a little fuzzy.) But it’s still a clip show, nonetheless.
57 years ago today, the first manned spaceflight to the Moon touched down on the lunar surface. Let’s celebrate this wonderful anniversary with a little help from the pulps! Not only were these covers illustrated by some of the finest artists working in the business but they also provide a clue as to how people imagined life on the Moon before Neil Armstrong first stepped out of the capsule.
“I’m not going there to die. I’m going to find out if I’m really alive.” — Spike Spiegel
Few characters in anime history have cemented their legacy as indelibly as Spike Spiegel, the slacker protagonist of the neo-noir masterpiece Cowboy Bebop. At first glance, Spike seems to embody an archetype familiar to action media: the effortlessly cool, lone-wolf bounty hunter. Yet, what elevates him from a mere trope to an enduring icon is the profound juxtaposition at the core of his existence. Spike’s charisma does not stem from a traditional hero’s righteous drive, but rather from a deeply compelling contradiction—he is a man desperately trying to live in the present while being inextricably anchored to a violent past. This duality makes him not just a stylish action hero, but a fascinating study in trauma, detachment, and the performance of coolness.
Much of Spike’s immediate magnetism is undeniably visual and kinetic. Designed with a lanky frame, a perpetually rumpled suit, and a mop of unruly green hair, he subverts the traditional muscular anime hero. His physicality, heavily inspired by Bruce Lee’s Jeet Kune Do, further enhances his appeal. In combat, Spike does not fight with rage or precise, robotic calculation; he fights like he is dancing, waving off punches with a sardonic grin and fluid, almost lazy movements. He takes beatings as readily as he dishes them out, projecting an aura of invincibility that feels earned through sheer style rather than superhuman ability. This effortless physical grace makes him incredibly fun to watch, establishing a baseline of “cool” that the rest of his character actively deconstructs.
Beneath this facade of unflappable nonchalance, however, lies a complex psychological defense mechanism. Spike’s iconic philosophy—”whatever happens, happens” (katso okyaku-sama)—is often misinterpreted as pure nihilism, but it is actually the coping strategy of a broken man. By acting as though nothing matters, Spike shields himself from the agonizing grief of his past with the Red Dragon Syndicate and the woman he lost, Julia. His apparent laziness regarding bounty hunting, his refusal to take life seriously, and his perpetual, half-lidded expression are all mechanisms to avoid forming new attachments that could cause him pain again. This makes him a deeply relatable hero; his apathy is not a superpower, but a scar.
What truly makes Spike an interesting hero, however, is the nature of his ultimate conflict. Standard heroes fight to save the world or protect the innocent, but Spike’s narrative arc is intensely intimate and selfish. His antagonist, Vicious, is not a world-ending threat, but a dark mirror reflecting the life Spike tried to leave behind. When the past finally catches up to him, Spike is forced to drop his slacker persona and confront the ghosts he has been running from since the series began. His heroism is defined not by a desire to do good, but by a fatalistic need to set things right, even if the cost is his own life. He is a tragic hero wrapped in the guise of a comedic beatnik, fighting a war for his own soul rather than the fate of the universe.
Ultimately, Spike Spiegel endures as a charismatic and fascinating character because he is a masterclass in tragic irony. He spends the entire series convincing both his crew and the audience that he is a phantom, a man who died once and is simply living on borrowed time. Yet, in his final moments, his actions prove that he was more alive—and more capable of love, loyalty, and sacrifice—than he ever let on. Spike’s blend of kinetic coolness, guarded vulnerability, and fatalistic resolve creates a character that is as heartbreaking as he is effortlessly cool. It is this precise mixture that ensures that long after the final credits roll, Spike Spiegel remains the quintessential space cowboy.
Hi, everyone! Tonight, on twitter, I will be hosting one of my favorite films for #MondayMania! Join us for 2017’s The Twin!
You can find the movie on Prime and then you can join us on twitter at 9 pm central time! (That’s 10 pm for you folks on the East Coast.) See you then!
Apollo 13 (1995, dir by Ron Howard, DP: Dean Cundey)
Today we have an absolutely beautiful scene from 1995’s Apollo 13. In this scene, astronaut Jim Lovell (Tom Hanks) takes a look at the moon and, for a minute, thinks about what could have been, if only a malfunction hadn’t scuttled Apollo 13’s moon landing and left Lovell and his two crewmates apparently stranded in space. Though Lovell may dream of walking on the moon, he knows it won’t happen and that his only concern now is getting both himself and his crew back home.
Some critics have a tendency to dismiss Ron Howard as just being a director who makes middlebrow films but this scene shows him to be a director who instinctively understands not only what it’s like to dream but also what it’s like when reality intrudes on those dreams. This scene features both Howard and Tom Hanks at their best.
4 Shots From 4 Films is just what it says it is, 4 shots from 4 of our favorite films. As opposed to the reviews and recaps that we usually post, 4 Shots From 4 Films lets the visuals do the talking.
Today, we pay tribute to the moon! It’s time for….
As some of our regular readers undoubtedly know, I am involved in hosting a few weekly live tweets on twitter and occasionally Mastodon. I host #FridayNightFlix every Friday, I co-host #ScarySocial on Saturday, and I am one of the five hosts of Mastodon’s #MondayActionMovie! Every week, we get together. We watch a movie. We snark our way through it.
Tonight, for #MondayActionMovie, the film will be 2013’s The Adventurer: The Curse of the Midas Box!
It should make for a night of fun viewing and I invite all of you to join in. If you want to join the live tweets, just hop onto Mastodon, find the movie on YouTube and hit play at 8 pm et, and use the #MondayActionMovie hashtag! The watch party community is a friendly group and welcoming of newcomers so don’t be shy.
The latest “AMV of the Day” is one of those pairings that just clicks immediately. Short Change Hero by The Heavy brings a smoky, blues-soaked sense of grit that feels tailor-made for Spike Spiegel, whose cool detachment always carries a hint of melancholy beneath the surface.
What makes the edit work is how naturally the song’s mood settles into the world of Cowboy Bebop. Spike has always been a character defined by style, but his appeal is just as much about weariness, regret, and motion without resolution, and this track leans into all of that without forcing the connection.
The result is an AMV that feels less like a simple montage and more like a character study. It captures why Spike remains one of Shinichiro Watanabe’s most iconic creations: a figure who can look effortlessly untouchable while still feeling deeply haunted.
Through the Shattered Lens 