I freely admit that part of the reason I'm so invested in seeing the Expanse continue is because it is a made-in-Canada product. With several shooting locations in Toronto, and a lot of Canadian actors popping up in starring, supporting and guest roles, it's a pretty big deal for industry. CQB features at least two familiar faces for me: Jean Yoon, who CBC lovers will recognize from Kim's Convenience, and Boyd Banks, one of those actors that makes you go "The guy! From the thing!" (personally, I recognized him from Corner Gas and Little Mosque on the Prairie)
But over and above my personal nationalistic sentiments, what makes this show special is its dedication to being "hard" Science fiction. Within the echelons of the SF genre, there's a divide between "hard" or "realistic" fare, and the "soft" or more fantastical side of things. Hard SF is more rare, especially in the realm of film and TV. I think the main reason for this is expediency; with soft SF there's less concern paid to the "how would things work" side of storytelling in favour of getting to the action. Hard SF can get mired in technicalities and "realistic" portrayals of future politics (read: dominated by the author's own nationality and target audience).
The Expanse, however, shows how hard sci-fi can still be appealing, action-packed, and tense, while not sacrificing realistic and science-based depictions of the future. CQB is the perfect example of this.
What I enjoy about the way the action is depicted here is that it removes the romanticized notion of space combat as an extension of the human experience of ground, aerial, or even naval combat. In popular series like Star Wars or Star Trek, the combat is treated as highly personal, with opponents trading barbs even as they trade torpedoes, taunting each other over view screens. They often show fighter craft bobbing and weaving about with complete disregard for the bone-shattering g-forces that would actually be experienced.
Here, the crew of the Donnager put out a transmission demanding that their opponents break off their attack. There is no reply.
There is no back-and-forth, no face-to-face, no elegant dance of skill and competition. In this universe, combat is down to spacecraft hurling the equivalent of nuclear missiles at each other from hundreds or even thousands of kilometers away, hoping your point-defence systems shoot down theirs, and hoping that your missiles sneak through.
That might seem inelegant, even dull, but the tension here is in how helpless our heroes are in the face of it all. Holden is alone on the bridge, and is quickly restrained. The rest of the crew can only strap in and hope for the best, with only Alex's experience in the Martian navy to give them a clue as to what's happening. When he hears the torpedo launches, it's not as though they can leap into action. It's only enough of a warning to tell them to hunker down.
The information the audience is given as to how the battle is going is largely given through Holden's eyes, as he overhears reports from the bridge officers. That feedback is enough to tell us that things aren't going well, but for the trapped crew the consequences come in a jolt, when Shed is abruptly taken off the cast page.
That moment is nothing more than a terrible, horrifying moment of outright shitty luck. It's not as though they could have prevented the railgun from hitting Shed; indeed had their seating arrangement been slightly different it could have been Naomi, or Amos, or Alex.
The only moments in which Holden and his team are given a moment of control is in the tiny, intimate conflict that takes place when the attacking ships board the Donnager, and they must fight their way to the escape ship. Even then, the antagonists aren't ever seen; they represent an obstacle, impersonal and cold and willing to fight aboard a ship that goes nuclear moments later.
But, the point is that in a situation where Holden and his team are largely observers, they finally seize their moment...and Holden finds a way to get him and Naomi out alive, by manipulating his magnetic boots and the physics of zero-g.
I think there's a thematic importance to all of this.
I'd be remiss if I didn't delve into the VITALLY important scene with Avasarala on the roof. Book readers will recognize the significance of this scene, but suffice it to say that when Avasarala talks about "the people who throw rocks" she's speaking to the anxiety our characters, and our audience by extension, feels in this episode. The tension of the action, as I mentioned before, is found in the helplessness of the larger situation.
When we see the destructive force of the battle with the Donnager, it has both large consequences (the loss of the Donnager and all her crew, along with most of the attacking ships) and small, personal consequences (the loss of Shed). And in most of this, our characters are powerless.
It is only in the small moments, when they are able to escape the docking bay, that they get a win. And it really FEELS like a win, when Holden et al take over the gunship, and shoot their way out. That's a theme at play: that we have control over the small stakes, the personal. But when things reach the point where we get into full-on CQB, the situation is beyond our control.
As the series progresses, we have to hope more and more for the individuals to overcome the political...the vast...the expanse.
QUICK THOUGHTS:
- there's so much good direction in this episode. The little beat where Lopez sees Holden get out of his prison restraint, and Holden moves PAST the gun to help the martian soldier, is especially nice.
- there's great character building too, with Alex's breakdown line of "I was a glorified bus driver" being especially good for fleshing out his backstory and how he relates to the Martian navy
- I didn't mention it, but Naomi also seizes the small moments very well too, like choosing to sedate Alex, and sealing up the holes in their holding area
- oh yeah! Havelock is alive!