TV Database Gargoyles (1994)

Like The Pack, Tony Dracon is undoubtedly one of the weaker aspects of the show, a petty two-bit "mob boss" that's also a part-time sleaze misogynist, often referring to Elisa Maza, an officer of the law, with pet names such as "Sugar," "Sweetheart," and of course, the ol' time favorite, "Honey." This episode also adds another phrase to his colorful vocabulary, "Goliath's woman," to which the Gargoyle found no amusement from.

That being said, it must be commended for Disney to have such a slimeball character to walk across its green earth. Despite being a more mature and grounded show, all of its antagonists were either larger than life characters like Macbeth and Demona or riffs on Saturday morning cartoon archetypes like The Pack and Xanatos. Dracon, however, felt more realistic, more mundane, your typical sleazeball with little respect for a woman in a position of authority. He is interesting among this collection of villains in that he stood out among them, just not in the same way Xanatos is interesting.

The plot in question for this episode involves a sting and an undercover operation, basically Gargoyles going Infernal Affairs with Elisa playing the Tony Leung of the play. It's pretty obvious from the start where this was going, but I like the way the episode kept the ruse going, because it allowed Broadway to showcase his genre-savvy nature and figure out what's going on. The undercover cop storyline is an old one, and despite not being as intricate as Andrew Lau and Alan Mak's Hong Kong masterpiece, it felt like a nice episode to introduce to the kids the world of undercover policing and how tricky (and dangerous) it can be sometimes.

Not a bad episode in general, just not a lot of significant plotting going on.

This episode had a nice bait and switch involving Severus, but it didn't sacrifice any characterisation for the sake of the trick. That said, I do have a few problems with it:

1. Talon and Maggie's relationship felt too abrupt, especially when Brooklyn was already implied to have feelings for her.
2. Xanatos felt almost mustache-twirling here because I was surprised he'd tip his hand so quickly instead of letting the deception play out, even having a cheesy line like "He's the scientist; you're just the experiment."
3. The resolution also felt a little too clean. Sure, it's great to have the good guys have a win once in a while, but it has to feel earned. I felt like the acceptance of Talon happened a little too fast (instead of having any X-Men level prejudice), but I guess you can't show non-white prejudice in an animated series. Greg's storylines are usually more nuanced than this, so this feels a little disappointing.

A great start to the Avalon arc by reintroducing two characters we haven't seen directly since the start of season 1, Princess Katherine and the Magus. I also forgot about the gargoyle eggs until this episode brought it up. It's nice to see the two characters finally fleshed out even more since their season 1 debut, with Katherine a far more honorable protector of the eggs than her initial bigoted self at the very start of the show, and likewise, her faithful guardian, the Magus.

We also got to see Avalon, a place of time dilation. Sure, we've had the time dilation trope introduced in many shows before and after this episode's airing, but my first thought went straight to "Digimon Adventure" (even though, granted, Digimon came out four years after). Like, you could even hear that synth-heavy tune at the end that sounded vaguely like the works of Takanori Arisawa from Digimon. lol

But yeah, not a bad start so far. I'm usually for a more grounded story, but this seems like it could be interesting, especially with the Arthurian background and the Weird Witches involved.

While the time-loop was interesting the first time around, it only felt interesting because it was a way to subvert time-paradox by the brilliant Xanatos... not a Saturday morning cartoon sprouting “AHHH! After 975 years... I’m free! It’s time to conquer EARTH!” like he's Rita. Archmage's schemes to use the time-loop is technically interesting in terms of worldbuilding, but it's only interesting in the nerdy way like the more scientific aspects of Star Trek (as opposed to the narrative aspects). To put it in another way... I don't really care that much about how midi-chlorians work so much as I care about Anakin's downfall.

And character-wise? The Archmage just doesn't offer much depth for me to care that much about him. He's here seeking revenge and world domination, and if you're seeking world domination in a Saturday morning cartoon, you've officially moved into campy villain territory, and in a cartoon where you have Xanatos, Macbeth and Demona? That's just criminal. Even The Pack had more depth than you.

I guess it's also because it's a motivation that's hard to take seriously because it's such a generic excuse. Not exactly delving deep into the weight of rulership over the world or how the UN would interfere. But I'm thinking too hard about this.

Lucius: So now I'm in deep trouble. I mean, one more jolt of this death ray and I'm an epitaph. Somehow I manage to find cover and what does Baron von Ruthless do?
Bob: [laughing] He starts monologuing.
Lucius: He starts monologuing! He starts like, this prepared speech about how *feeble* I am compared to him, how *inevitable* my defeat is, how *the world* *will soon* *be his*, yadda yadda yadda.
Bob: Yammering.
Lucius: Yammering! I mean, the guy has me on a platter and he won't shut up!
- my reaction to the Archmage's actions this episode

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If you have read comic books, then you should be familiar with multi-part stories and limited series. The biggest problems these stories face is the weak ending despite the great setup. It's hard to do a great ending, and a story can be significantly weakened by its ending (see "Mass Effect 3"). As a writer, Greg has faced criticisms regarding his time on "Young Justice", and I can see why; the man struggles with longform writing, evident from his time on "Gargoyles", particularly here in the finale to the "Avalon" arc.

This episode has lots of problems. For starters, the Archmage is hilariously incompetent. He's like the anti-Xanatos; all the magical power at his fingertips, none of his intelligence, just prolonging the heroes' suffering like a Bond villain. Once again, on a show with so many complex villains, it's just an eyesore.

Speaking of those complex villains, Macbeth and Demona get a downgrade in depth here, reduced to mind-controlled puppets that could have been replaced with literally anyone. Sure, Macbeth got to fight King Arthur, but other than a proclamation how he always wanted to fight the best warrior... nothing, despite his former praise of Arthur's character (and not just in combat prowess). As for Demona? Sure, she got to fight Elisa h2h again, round 2, but it was only for like a few seconds and didn't amount to much. Neither of the antagonists' scenes felt like they really justified why they were there in the first place other than being Greg Weisman's pawns. And in the end? They were yeeted out of the episode like they hardly mattered. No closure, no nothing.

King Arthur's appearance should have been a bigger deal. Instead, he just feels like a secondary player who swung a mace around a little bit and punched Macbeth's lights out. Should've just gotten Artoria Pendragon.

And finally, the Weird Witches. Oh boy. Sure, Greg has said that they were merely sprouting that "Every life is precious" stuff because they needed to manipulate Goliath and ensured the safety of Macbeth and Demona as their pawns (which was obvious even without Greg pointing it out), hence why they hypocritically endangered lives here in this episode (instead of just being out-of-character), but I'm not so sure, because the sisters seemed very sincere when they gave Macbeth and Demona the sermon on how their actions caused their own downfall. I can kinda buy Greg's explanation, but it also feels like a weak explanation. And even if Greg was right, there's not enough payoff to justify it. Xanatos' subversions of the villain tropes worked great because there was enough justification from the character himself, confirming that he didn't care about petty villain motives like revenge. For the sisters, I'll need to see some of that before it would feel satisfying.

There were good stuff that worked in this episode though, some. Katherine raising a rifle to defend the gargoyle eggs, absurd as it might have been for someone who never stepped out from Avalon for decades, was a pretty cool mama bear moment for her ("No one threatens my eggs!").

Goliath and the Archmage's fight was not too bad (save the monologuing) because it incorporated a few cool gimmicks, like teleporting in and out of the present time due to the effects of the Phoenix Gate, and the Archmage turning the lake into ice. The idea of the Grimorum relying on The Eye of Odin to have its power contained felt a little cheap though. There's a way to make it make sense, but there's not enough setup in the past regarding the usage of the Grimorum to make this revelation pay off well enough.

And finally, we have our honorable Magus. Poor Magus. He faced unrequited love from his lifelong partner, Katherine, and yet he stuck around like a faithful guardian because of his guilt towards Goliath's clan before sacrificing himself like a champ, rested on the same bed Arthur woke up from as Goliath thanked him for his service and Katherine cried over him. I teared up a little bit too.

Overall, more bad than good. Kinda disappointing, but not a total letdown.

This is another episode where the pacing and mood felt familiar to the comic book setting, though that might be me reading too much into Greg's comic book career by this point because a lot of "moody pieces" appeared in other episodic TV shows as well. That said, it does kick-start the World Tour arc, the arc that's supposedly one long setup that didn't get much payoff because of Greg's departure in season 3 - and that definitely felt like a comic book problem. Sometimes, Greg's comic book writing habits ended up with convoluted plot points that went nowhere, but other times, you get brilliant self-contained mood pieces like this.

It's a pretty haunting mood piece too, especially after the lackluster Avalon arc. Nothing too PG, even for this show's usual mature tone, but just creepy enough with Goliath's PTSD-induced visions and zombie-goyles to be effective.

Plus, we get yet another payoff for yet another bunch of old characters from the start of season 1: Hakon and the Captain of the Guard. I had to rewatch a couple of scenes to check whether the Captain's fate at the end here feels earned or not, and you know what? It does. Nothing in his dialogue here is extreme enough to contradict what he did at the end of the episode, so it works, and it's pretty satisfying.

Bonus points for letting Goliath have closure to the Wyvern Massacre. Not a bad start for the World Tour arc so far, but it's a deja vu moment because that's what I said today about the Avalon arc.

Western media seems to have an obsession with overcorrecting their ancestors' mistakes. The term for it is called "white guilt," and it can be seen in a lot of problematic portrayals of Native Americans such as this episode.

I'm not Native American, but I always appreciate it when a medium takes the plunge to explore a culture outside its comfort zone, be it from the western side or from the eastern side. But unfortunately, the writing is just not good enough to justify said exploration. The Grandmother is written like a typical wise non-western sage (at least Dr. Strange corrected that problem with Tilda Swinton's Ancient One, even if I'm annoyed they didn't just cast an Asian actor but strip away the stereotype and caricature), just sprouting platitudes without bothering to explain why Natsilane and their people had to fight Raven generation after generation, merely that it's tradition and strange mysticism... woooooo... spooky. And Raven is no better, a generic Loki type who quips and acts all smarmy instead of possessing the depth the real Raven from the Haida mythology (a trickster called the "Yáahl") might have possessed. This is the same kind of shallow reading the MCU did for Norse and Greek Mythology. Disrespectful and annoying. It's cultural appropriation dressed up as "progressive diversity," if I want to be cruel about it, but it's more likely just unintentionally tone-deaf.

But at least we get some small character development here. Like very small. Angela gets to show her smarts by figuring out Raven's plans. That's it.

An episode that's a little busy, but I blame Greg's comic book writing attitude, though I wouldn't even really call that a "problem." He likes to string together several plot-threads together in a convoluted way like you would with comic book issues, but on a television format, even a serialized one, that's a little harder to pull off as smoothly. I do think that the Mutates' storyline was a little underdeveloped as it might have been nice to see how Talon is actually helping the homeless vagrants (especially given how the Mutates would undoubtedly relate with the city's forgotten), but as it is, it gave both Brooklyn and Talon a nice theme to connect as fellow reluctant leaders struggling under the weight of their responsibility.

Hudson's subtle attempts at nudging Brooklyn along are particularly noteworthy, showing once again the veteran's wisdom that comes with his age, not to mention adaptability with his newfound attachment to Cagney (I'm a cat person, so this was adorable).

Xanatos is beginning to lose his touch though, the way his defense system easily fails. That's the problem when you set up a villain to be so brilliant; every little flaw in his schemes gets magnified and scrutinized. He's starting to feel less like a threat that plans ten steps ahead and more like a passive-aggressive smuglord that occasionally annoys.

Though I didn't really care much about the Mutantes' fates before this episode, I think it's a nice effort to check in on how they're doing, further expanding the lore as always. It's just unfortunate that, much like the "effort" to diversify the lore last episode, it feels half-arsed.

In this episode titled "Monster", we got to meet the real monster of Scotland: not the friendly Loch Ness Plesiosaur that went Free Willy on Angela the female gargoyle, but the Tim Curry-voiced mad scientist who kept creeping on Angela the female gargoyle with questionable age that he almost went Free Willy on her. Subtlety is not thy name, episode.

Seriously though, there's not much else to say here because the "main plot" of the episode feels like every animal-related plotline on kids television ever: evil men try to abduct animal, protagonist bonds with animal, protagonist rescues animal. The only difference here is the addition of mustache-twirling rapey energy Severus was channeling, touching Angela's hair and grabbing her chin while monologuing about having his own dungeon... Irk. You wouldn't see that from the poachers on The Wild Thornberrys.

We do have an important revelation about Angela's relation with Goliath though, but that should be pretty clear by now what it is. It is nice that it's thematically connected to the Loch Ness Monster's reunion with her family... but Greg had to ruin it all by commenting that he saw them more as mates instead of family. Granted, it does make sense on some level. Biologically speaking, the male species is usually larger than the female one as presented here in this episode. That said, when it's presented in this context, when the theme of family can be easily interpreted due to Angela's reunion with Goliath... yeah, it's an unfortunate implication, Greg's comments, piling onto the other creepy vibes of this episode.

Still, I have to give some credit. As far as cultural icons go on this World Tour arc, a Gargoyles episode featuring Nessie is pretty neat in terms of one mythical creature meeting another. It's just unfortunate that the World Tour seems to be an excuse to sum up each culture to its most shallow and surface level icon. What's next? Goliath and the gang visiting the Great Wall of China? Do they fight a ninja in Japan? Maybe head down to the South and meet Cowboy Tanaka? This is just getting to be Xena level of embarrassing in terms of cultural appropriation.

"M-m-m-m-monsters!
Monsters rule!

I was transported to a faraway land
Into the world where monsters rule
I played the game like an ace
Now we’re in this place
To save the monsters from the evil Moo

Monsters rule, Monsters rule
Monster Rancher, Monster Rancher

Pendent shows the mystery disk
We’ll take it to the shrine
We’ll redeem that fabled mystery disk
And release the Phoenix inside
I was transported to a faraway land
Into a world where monsters rule"
- my head watching this episode

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And our world tour of questionable cultural appropriation continues. Look, I appreciate both this show and Xena's attempts at highlighting non-American cultures that weren't commonly portrayed at the time, but if we've learned anything from Star Trek: The Original Series, it's that if you're gonna explore a culture, you better do it justice or risk either minstrelization or oversimplifying the culture, the latter of which is the case for the Jewish culture here and the pogroms that had occurred.

Max Loew came off like a generic Chosen One type instead of possessing any characteristics that reflects the culture and heritage he grew up in, merely "mystic dreams" that sounded like the kind of noble savage portrayals on Star Trek: TOS. And the golem felt less like a historical spiritual guardian of the culture and more like a mindless robot, ironically less sentient than the other iterations of the mythology in Monster Rancher and Pokemon (Digimon also had a golem, but it's more a walking curse of malice than an ancient guardian, so take that as you will).

The problem is that it felt a little too busy, because we also had Renard reappearing here with a crisis of mortality and using the golem for his own machinations, going against his code of honor. Instead of handling Renard's plot with the depth it needs though, he just gets talked down to like it's an after school special. So we neither have an engaging Renard plot nor an in-depth look at the Jewish heritage and its relationship with the golem, merely a culture hijacked for a middling character development.

I guess that's the best you could ask for from this cartoon so far, despite its amazing depth in the first season and the first-half of season two. At least the kids will get to learn about the golem as a guardian while seeing some random mob attack people in 1580 Prague without the context it needed.

Ah Paris, the city of love. It makes sense then you have the episode set in this city thematically linked with the concept of love. Get it? It's French, it's Gambit saying mon chéri (except it's Dominique saying it to Macbeth this time). Do you get it yet? Do you?

To be fair though, unlike the previous episodes of the World Tour, at least this time, it doesn't feel as culturally insensitive, but probably because the focus here is more on the character development rather than some misguided homogenous attempt to explore the diversity of other cultures (without actually exploring said diversity). Here, Macbeth and Demona's human alias, Dominique Destine, have decided to hook up in the city of love, but unfortunately for Macbeth, he once again gets the short end of the stick as surprise, surprise, Thailog is back, Goliath's evil clone.

Now that Xanatos has taken a backseat (possibly permanently) as the brilliant schemer that once drove the series' momentum, I suppose Thailog taking over that role is fine, seeing that he possesses the worst traits of his three fathers, Goliath, Xanatos and Sevarius. Not satisfied as being just a cunning strategist this time, he also turns up Sevarius' creep factor on Angela, whom he called a spunky young thing (ew). In a way, despite being repulsive, it also manages to paint him as a sinister threat worth taking seriously, especially when he lacks the pragmatism of Xanatos that kept Goliath and his clan from being destroyed during daylight.

What trips him up though, as shown in the fight with Goliath this episode, is his ego. Whereas Xanatos is brilliant enough to see past his own hubris to plan ahead, Thailog is too busy savoring the lust that stems from his sadism and greed, just smugly outplaying everyone and perching himself atop a pedestal of pride, even naming himself "Alexander" this episode (as in "The Great") despite the fate of the historical figure.

I like how it all plays into the themes of love this episode though, particularly the more tragic elements of it. Thailog is obviously an abuser, but Demona attached herself to him possibly out of blind love as Goliath observed, so obsessed with her quest for vengeance that she's willing to be blindly used by someone like Thailog.

Similarly, Angela has her own form of love that affected her judgment, namely her parental love for Goliath and her struggles to figure out what Demona means to her. Goliath is not happy with this development, however. As it was said in previous episodes, gargoyle culture in this world has no recognition of parent and child, merely clanhood. That culture isn't explored nearly enough to justify Goliath's annoyance though, at least at this point in the series, so I hope that will be corrected in the future. Besides, I think Goliath's irritation stems more from the fact that to recognize Angela as his daughter would mean to recognize Demona as her mother, his mate that spawned their child together, the woman that betrayed him and the clan.

The most tragic element of the love shown here is probably Macbeth, but at the very least, as Goliath told him, he has the advantage of seeing clearly now instead of being blindly led on like Demona did. He might share the same spiritual bond with Demona, but she clearly does not share his enlightenment.

It's not all doom and gloom, however, as the episode also spends a little time playing on Elisa's romance with Goliath, with the latter hinting at her being his true love. It's perhaps appropriate that even in an episode full of angst, love itself provides a sanctuary against the darkness in the city of love.

Side note: I know that Disney's "Hunchback of Notre Dame" was only released a year after this episode's airing, but man, such a missed opportunity for a crossover. That movie was amazing and underrated, its musical numbers having the same larger than life Shakespearean grandiosity that Gargoyles possesses ("Frollo felt a twinge of fear... for his immortal souuul!"). Ah well. Probably better off.

Set against the backdrop of one of the most pivotal conflicts in human history, “M.I.A.” does what much of the World Tour arc struggled to do: feel like it matters.

London’s role in WWII is more than just a setting here—it’s the emotional scaffolding that gives this episode its weight. Unlike earlier World Tour episodes (“Heritage,” “Golem”) which leaned hard on Chosen One archetypes and culturally vague mysticism, “M.I.A.” doesn’t need to wrap itself in prophecy or spiritual destiny to make a point. It grounds its drama in real stakes: Nazis, bombs, and the very literal collapse of civilization. That’s a stronger hook than "tribal warrior of the week" or “animated allegory of Jewish guilt via Pokémon golem.”

Yes, the show leans on the time-loop device again, and no, it doesn't get any less convenient. Goliath somehow forgets he time-traveled until he's doing it, like his memory’s on a five-second cooldown. It’s goofy, but the emotional payoff sells it. The loop isn’t about fixing time—it’s about understanding it, and here, it works.

And let’s talk about the magic shop. Leo and Una run their little occult boutique like retired mythological creatures selling tarot decks in Soho—and honestly, it’s so broadly generic that it dodges the cultural appropriation trap entirely. This isn't Harry Potter’s Diagon Alley; this is neutral fantasy zone. Magic in this context isn’t culturally specific—it’s a placeholder. Like how “love” in “Sanctuary” was a theme painted over Parisian rooftops without turning into a baguette-scented Hallmark ad. It’s tasteful. Broad, but tasteful.

The episode even pulls in real historical figures, like Douglas Bader—a real RAF pilot who, in the episode, gives Goliath and Griff a thumbs-up mid-air after helping them take down a German bomber. It’s an earned moment, not a meme. And while the animators put him in the wrong plane model (Spitfire instead of Hurricane), it's hard to care when the spirit of the thing is this strong.

Most importantly, “M.I.A.” understands thematic echo. Griff’s line—“The more things change, the more they stay the same”—isn’t just a wistful wartime quote, it’s a warning. The episode draws a direct line between Nazi bombers and modern-day skinheads targeting immigrants. It’s not subtle. It’s not supposed to be. Unlike modern media that would shout “NAZIS BAD” in neon text, Gargoyles trusts its viewers to draw the parallel through story and tone, not preachy exposition.

Overall, M.I.A. is one of the few World Tour episodes that earns its wings. Grounded, thoughtful, and historically sharp, it delivers on emotional stakes without falling into cultural cliché. Yeah, the time loop logic is a little lazy, but when the payoff is this satisfying? We give it a thumbs-up—Spitfire or not.

Anubis: On the contrary, death is the ultimate fairness. Rich and poor, young and old, all are equal in death. You would not like to see the Jackal God play favorites. Think what you are doing: all over the world there is birth, but no death. Our planet cannot support so many lives at once.

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"Grief" starts with serious promise and almost dares to become one of Gargoyles' greats. It introduces a heavy theme—death not as a monster, but as a neutral, inevitable force—and shockingly, it delivers an Anubis portrayal that's finally not evil. He's calm, impartial, and frankly one of the most respectful takes on an ancient deity we've seen in this show.

Given how tone-deaf certain earlier World Tour episodes have been (you know which ones), this one feels authentic by comparison—drenched in atmosphere, driven by real grief, and wrapped in a mythic energy that pulls you in from the start.

The Emir's motivation? Believable. Tragic, even. But the episode never digs deep enough into his choices. The narrative walks up to the edge of true horror—the kind of existential dread that stories about the deathless should offer—but stops just shy, content to flirt with the ideas rather than wrestle them.

And that's the crux: it fumbles its own power. You don't get to invoke the god of death and reduce him to a glorified age ray without criticism. This should've been a gut-punch. Instead, it was a firm nudge with a nice speech.

Some character decisions are outright baffling, too—particularly from the episode’s robotic antagonist and his delightfully unhinged partner (you’ll know them when you see them). They're written like their circuits were replaced with narrative excuses.

To be fair, the animation is solid, the tone carries weight, and the voice work lifts scenes that might’ve fallen flat otherwise. But even with all that, the stakes never feel real. Not when better shows—yes, even Sorbo's Hercules, and definitely Disney's—have handled the concept of death with more consistency and gravity.

Still, despite its flaws, "Grief" is one of the stronger entries in the World Tour arc. It shows that Gargoyles still has ambition—and just enough mythic bite to keep you watching.

Oh Gargoyles, you almost had it—a string of episodes that actually navigated global myth without tripping over every cultural rake in the yard. Grief may have been clunky, but at least its stumbles were internal logic fumbles, not mythological facelifts.

The Hound of Ulster attempts an Irish-themed dive into legend and destiny, but what emerges is less a rich mythic tale and more a paint-by-numbers Chosen One saga, complete with the glowing stick of destiny, ancient burial caves, and your stock villainous force of darkness. It's a narrative so archetypal it could've been procedurally generated by a D&D module titled “Generic Hero Quest: Gaelic Edition.”

Even if you set aside the liberties taken with Irish myth (and oh, there are liberties), it still struggles as a story. There's little emotional depth, and the stakes feel manufactured more than earned. Character development is shallow, the pacing rushed, and the mythological figures feel less like gods or symbols and more like a writer’s room checklist item: “We need Cu Chulainn. Also a banshee. Something about a worm.”

And if you're the type who does care about cultural and mythological accuracy, you're in for a mild headache. The show reimagines Cu Chulainn in ways that feel less like adaptation and more like mythological Mad Libs. He’s essentially a glowing He-Man with amnesia and an action figure reskin. Compared to his brooding, fatalistic portrayals in Fate/Stay Night or Shin Megami Tensei—where even Setanta gets his own arc and Scáthach is a key player—this version feels like the myth got nerfed for Saturday mornings.

There are sparks of potential: an eerie bog setting, a few atmospheric beats, and Bronx finally gets to shine a bit. But even that gets undercut by rushed plot reveals and one-dimensional “twists” telegraphed from a mile away.

Ultimately, The Hound of Ulster is a missed opportunity. Not offensively bad, not aggressively dumb—just frustratingly bland. For a show that has flirted with brilliance, this one's barely a whisper in the wind.

Ah yes, another sentient AI here to correct humanity’s imperfections. Because if there’s one thing sci-fi has taught us, it’s that the real threat isn’t nuclear war or climate change—it’s a well-meaning Roomba with a God complex.

In “Walkabout,” the Gargoyles World Tour touches down in Australia, where the plot wastes no time before dropping into full stereotype mode: boomerangs, didgeridoo music, vague mysticism, a mischaracterized “Dreamtime” tossed around like it’s psychic Wi-Fi, and of course, a mystical Shaman who immediately assumes the gargoyles are from the spirit realm. Because sure, why not?

The episode’s AI antagonist, Matrix, is the kind of cliched, logic-drunk machine that thinks “creating order” means steamrolling nature with cube forests and metallic ooze. Picture the T-1000, but if it had a philosophy degree and a Pinterest board labeled “Minimalist Apocalypse.”

But the story avoids total trope meltdown by giving the threat a conceptual twist: it’s not evil, just orderly—painfully, obliviously, logically orderly. And the only way to reach it? Not a giant laser, but a dream conversation. Think mysticism meets machine learning, told through fire rituals and psychic nanobot debates. It’s wild, but weirdly works, especially when Dingo compared the AI's nanobots to Mother Nature and its enzymes. If ol' Gaia could be calmed down with mystical shamanism in fiction, it tracks that in this comparison, an AI hive mind could be sated in such a manner too.

The dreamworld scenes are creative and surprisingly well-animated, with some clever visual storytelling, especially when Goliath starts bending reality like he's moonlighting in Inception. Meanwhile, Dingo—yes, that Dingo—finally earns his stripes as a redeemed character. His “law and order” line might be corny enough to cause tooth decay, but his desire to be a real hero? That actually lands.

Also worth noting: Fox appears visibly pregnant throughout the episode, which is a rarity in animation, let alone action-driven series. Points for portraying that honestly, though watching her sprint through nanobot mayhem with a third-trimester baby bump did raise an eyebrow or two.

Despite the missteps—both geographic and cultural—“Walkabout” is a surprisingly thoughtful entry in the World Tour arc, finding just enough soul between the circuits.

As a Singapore Chinese kid raised under the iron chopsticks of traditional parenting, I felt an immediate connection to Elisa in this episode. The tension between her and her mother hits close to home—the classic push-pull of wanting independence versus the ever-watchful eye of a concerned parent. This episode uses that familial friction as its emotional core, exploring not only Elisa and Diane’s dynamic but also drawing clever parallels with another strained parent-child relationship in the cast: Goliath and Angela.

While the episode initially sets itself up to be about poaching (and even teases an exploration of Elisa’s African heritage), it quickly pivots into a broader theme: the lengths people go to keep their loved ones close. Through a beautifully animated fable at the episode’s midpoint, we see a myth that echoes across the episode—one where the bonds between parent and child, or lovers even, become complicated by control, desperation, and fear of abandonment. It’s ambitious, and mostly works.

That said, the episode’s central antagonist—an infamous spider spirit—isn’t exactly reinventing the trickster trope. He’s essentially Raven from a few episodes ago, minus the personality. At least his “I’ll grant you wishes!” bargaining plea gives him a shred of memorable flavor. Meanwhile, the web motif provides some excellent visual flair, especially in the episode’s final act, and helps ground its cultural inspiration—even if the story walks a fine line between respectful adaptation and Americanized fantasy filter.

Angela and Goliath’s ongoing daddy-daughter soap opera gets a satisfying moment of resolution here, albeit a little neat. The better dynamic is actually Elisa and her mom—two stubborn women who clearly love each other but can’t help but push buttons. The moment where both claim they don’t need protection is low-key girlboss energy done right: more personal, less posturing.

Only real hitch? There’s a plot thread involving a certain cursed character that... well, let’s just say the writers might’ve wanted to spend a few more minutes thinking through the implications of magical transformation as metaphor, because hoo boy, it’s less emotionally resonant and more "yikes, did no one in the writers' room flag this?"

And yet, it’s not a simple “man bad, woman victim” setup either. The woman in question, Tea, responds by going full apex predator, leading poachers to murder panthers left and right in a vendetta that makes the Punisher look like a conflict mediator. So yeah—there are no saints here. Everyone’s got fur on their hands.

To the writers’ credit, the episode doesn’t completely gloss over this—the dialogue admits the selfishness, the regret, the consequences. But then it turns around and wraps it all up in a surprisingly chummy ending that's a little too easy and doesn't give the complex conversation the gravity it needs. The moral’s in there somewhere, probably covered in webs and jungle mud.

Still, the fable is beautifully told, the family drama lands, and the web-slinging villain is fun enough. A solid entry in the World Tour arc, if not exactly a knockout.

"Her sword shines, a dream that all warriors scattered in battle, past, present, and future, hold and mournfully exalt as their final moments approach. She carries their will as her pride, bidding them to remain steadfast in their loyalty. Now, the undefeated king sings aloud the name of the miracle she holds in her hands. Its name is.... EXCALIBUR: The Sword of Promised Victory."
– Irisviel von Einzbern

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The King of Knights. The once and future king. King of Britain. Son of Uther Pendragon.
After a long wait and a thoroughly underwhelming first impression in the Avalon arc, Gargoyles finally gives King Arthur his due—sort of. Pendragon delivers on its promise of diving headfirst into Arthurian legend, giving the man his mythical sword, his moment in the spotlight, and even a literal stone dragon to prove his worth against. The visuals are strong, the music swells at all the right places, and narratively, this episode finally treats Arthur as more than a mythological house guest.

Of course, it’s impossible to watch any King Arthur content these days without mentally projecting Artoria Pendragon—the Saber, the King of Knights, the True Heroine of Fate/Stay Night—onto the screen. Every time Gargoyles Arthur says “I am the One True King,” all I hear is Kagayakuuuuuuu... EXCALIBURRRRRRRR! echoing through time and space as she nukes a battlefield. This Arthur? He’s over here hoping a glowing rock still remembers his name. Cute.

That said, don't expect a grand retelling worthy of Fate/Zero’s Excalibur sequence. This is still Saturday morning TV, and it shows. The trials Arthur faces range from "press X to not drown" to "solve the riddle like a British Dora episode." The pacing jumps from poetic to plodding and back again. Arthur himself? A bit of a prat, frankly. His obsession with being the One True King occasionally overshadows the dignity he’s supposed to represent. Despite his display of humility and honor in parts, being prepared to kneel in defeat, in other parts, he would be throwing a fit because Excalibur didn’t launch into his hands fast enough. Real "entitled monarchy energy."

Still, when he does finally rise to the moment—literally seizing the sword in a burst of fire and fate—it feels earned. Especially when it comes with one hell of a symbolic payoff: fighting the very dragon he’s named after, wrestling with legacy in both the literal and metaphorical sense.

Macbeth returns as the rival king, and while he does edge a bit close to “power-hungry antagonist” territory, there’s enough residual honor in his portrayal to keep him from falling into stock villainy. His final gesture is genuinely noble—if only the path there hadn’t involved so much sword envy.

Griff continues to be the unsung MVP of any episode he’s in. Charismatic, awestruck, loyal—and apparently still allergic to sending a single letter to Leo and Una, who’ve now been ghosted harder than a Tinder date who mentioned astrology too soon.

Also, a fun thought: Britain already has a Queen. Does Arthur come back and declare royal dibs? Does he challenge the House of Windsor to a duel at dawn? Or does he throw on a blazer and run for Parliament under the Camelot First party?

Visually, the episode is a standout. The dragon animation, the magical storm, and the Manhattan skyline draped in mythic energy all look fantastic. The action choreography is tight for the show’s usual standards, and there are some clever uses of environment (Lexington’s “take the stairs” moment with the sky-sleds is particularly memorable).

In the end, Pendragon doesn’t quite rise to the mythic heights it reaches for, but it gets high enough to justify the climb. Arthur’s still got work to do if he’s going to be more than just Britain’s legacy king with amnesia issues, but reclaiming Excalibur is a damn good start.

He's still no Saber, though. There's only ONE King Arthur in my book.

"This is what you offer in exchange for my protection? Disobedience?"

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From the very beginning, Gargoyles has grounded itself in the idea that its titular creatures are not just warriors, but guardians. They are not protectors by policy—they are protectors by blood. Goliath himself once declared that “to protect and serve” is not simply a philosophy, but a biological imperative etched into their very being. That sacred instinct has guided the clan from the streets of Manhattan to the outer edges of myth and legend.

But what happens when that protective instinct becomes twisted? When protection becomes control? When safeguarding becomes imprisonment?

That’s the soul of this episode—and it's delivered not with cartoon mustache-twirling, but with the chilling sincerity of a man who believes he's saving the people he loves, even as he smothers them in fear. The rhetoric is chillingly familiar:

“You need me.”
“Without me, you’d be vulnerable.”
“I know what’s best.”

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The language of every tyrant who ever started out with good intentions. The velvet-gloved fist of benevolent dictatorship.

Now yes, the “hero corrupted by power” angle is well-trodden ground. Comics have done it. Sci-fi has done it. Hell, Spider-Man practically built an empire off the black suit saga. And like that symbiote storyline, the power here doesn’t scream “evil.” It whispers righteousness. Justice. Duty. The kind of seductive logic that says “I must do this—because I care.”

But what elevates Gargoyles' take above the noise is that it strikes at the heart of the show's moral code. The gargoyles exist to protect. So what happens when that sacred duty is perverted? When a protector becomes the jailer? When the creed of guardianship is twisted into domination?

This isn’t just a corruption story. It’s a crisis of identity. It’s Goliath’s morality unraveling from the inside.

And the tension doesn’t come from superpowered brawls. It comes from words.
From the innocent Norwegian farmer Erik—a man with no destiny, no powers, no fate—staring down a godlike tyrant and declaring:

“This is not protection. This is imprisonment.”

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That lands harder than a thousand magic missiles.

As for the lore side of things? Odin steps into the universe of Gargoyles in full mythic regalia—no illusions, no proxies, no middle-men rituals. The real All-Father. While he doesn’t get a huge arc, his presence still crackles with ancient energy and a surprising humility. He’s not here to grandstand. He’s here to warn, to challenge, and—ultimately—to acknowledge his own flaws. We don’t get Thor, and we don’t get Asgard’s full might, but this restrained approach actually works. It keeps the focus where it belongs: on Goliath.

And make no mistake—this episode feels like a return to form. The World Tour arc often swerved into camp and convenience, but Eye of the Storm brings back the moral gravitas and thematic bite of the show's strongest pre-Avalon storytelling. It’s tight. It’s emotional. It’s layered.

So no, this isn’t just a cautionary tale. It’s not just a "what if heroes turn bad" story. It’s a warning—about how even the noblest ideals can rot from the inside when warped by fear and pride. And that? That’s mythic television. On par with Batman: The Animated Series.

Maybe even above.

"But it's not fair to hold all humans responsible for something that happened centuries ago." – Elisa Maza

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When a Black woman has to play defense like a white man trying to navigate generational guilt, you know Gargoyles just swerved into the kind of social commentary most modern shows wouldn't dare touch without four trigger warnings and a ten-minute monologue. "The New Olympians" surprised me not just for its mythology-spiced premise but for its unflinching dive into themes of inherited trauma, prejudice, and identity politics flipped on their head.

The brilliance here isn’t just in the surface irony—it’s in how this episode subtly deconstructs collective blame. Elisa, a woman whose own ancestry bears the scars of systemic dehumanization, is now the one being punished for historical sins that aren’t hers. It's a sharp rebuke of the rhetoric that paints entire groups with broad brushes, where your identity becomes evidence enough for your guilt. The sins of the father? Please. At this point, we’re talking sins of the species.

The episode doesn’t hand-hold you through the Olympians’ pain either. It’s all implication. Visual storytelling. Taurus, descended from the infamous Minotaur, a literal monster caged and slaughtered. Ekidna, echoing the Gorgon mythos, reviled simply for her appearance. No flashbacks, no exposition dumps—just centuries of resentment worn as aesthetic armor. But because this isn’t spoon-fed, many fans dismissed their anger as flat. Subtlety isn’t always appreciated when everyone’s chasing shock value and clean morality.

Meanwhile, Elisa gets tossed in a cell with a sociopath, and instead of falling apart, she casually loosens her jacket like it’s laundry day. No crying, no yelling. Just calm, quiet resilience. And then? She outwits everyone. Outsmarts Proteus. Outsasses Helios. Outclasses the entire Olympian justice system with nothing but brains, courage, and a firm backhand to entitled narratives. No girlboss strut, no hashtag feminism speech—just actual strength of character.

The real story here isn’t the worldbuilding, though that’s solid. It’s Elisa—flawed, compassionate, clever, and unflinchingly human in a world that’s quick to dehumanize. That’s the kind of female lead who doesn’t need saving or sermonizing.

If anything, the only real flaw is that we don’t get more time with this dynamic. A little more depth for the Olympians, a flashback or two, and this episode could've soared. Still, it's a standout for character writing and thematic punch. And it proves, once again, that Gargoyles wasn't just a show ahead of its time—it was a show too good for the time it aired in.

Elisa: "Misguided or not, I'm a police officer sworn to uphold the law. Don't go, Goliath. There are other ways to protest an injustice."

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I’ll admit it—I'm not a fan of environmental soapboxing in my TV shows. Too often, it slips into "Captain Planet" territory, complete with moral-of-the-day dialogue that makes you feel like you're being guilt-tripped by a recycling mascot. "The Green" flirts with that edge more than once, delivering a few lines that land like they were written by a solar panel in a creative writing class. I don’t believe my ceiling fan usage is the linchpin of Earth's survival, and I’m not interested in being scolded by animated moralizers.

That said, this episode balances its message with surprisingly strong character work. The ideological clash between Goliath and Elisa is one of the episode’s highlights. Her stance—frustrated but grounded in law and reality—makes sense, especially when she’s seen farmers trying to survive, not exploit. Goliath, on the other hand, stays true to his species’ core instinct to protect, and his growing understanding of the forest’s value adds weight to his perspective. It’s a rare, thoughtful disagreement between two leads who respect each other but draw different lines—and the episode treats them both with integrity.

We’re also treated to a refreshing twist on gargoyle duty. The Mayan Clan operates as forest guardians, defending more than people—they’re protecting an ecosystem. Their use of ancient artifacts to remain active during the day is a clever bit of lore expansion, and it’s integrated smoothly without any of the cultural mishandling that’s tripped up other entries in the World Tour arc. The Swamp Thing vibes are real, and frankly, they work.

Then there’s Jackal. Holy hell, Jackal. His menace doesn’t come from brute force, but from the raw, unnerving psychological edge he brings. His twisted fantasy of defacing Goliath’s petrified form isn’t cartoon villainy—it’s disturbing because of how plausible it feels. It’s predatory. Intimate. It makes your skin crawl. He’s not just a threat, he’s a violation with a voice modulator. I wouldn’t trust him alone in a room with a toaster, let alone a sleeping gargoyle.

Hyena, meanwhile, is off on her side quest, mostly there to lose to a bit of last-second plot armor. But hey, the return of the Manhattan Clan softens that blow. It’s nice seeing Broadway’s character consistency shine through—his nervousness around dangerous objects, his childlike sense of consequence—reminds us why he’s more than just the comic relief with muscles.

All in all, it’s a solid episode that stumbles under the weight of some ham-fisted lines and a couple of animation oddities (that hot tub landing… come on), but delivers where it matters: character, worldbuilding, and real narrative stakes.