Comedy
Star Wars: Skeleton Crew
Disney+’s ‘Skeleton Crew’ has some problems, but overall it’s a return to form, when the galaxy far, far away was relatively safe for the family.
Emir Goodspeed was a one-time gang member turned community activist. He led the charge to defund the police in Washington, D.C., and his friends said that the city loved him for it.
So when Emir turns up dead—from an apparent meth overdose—his friends insist it wasn’t accidental. It wasn’t suicide. No, it was murder.
And Alex Cross—psychologist, detective and minor celebrity—agrees.
This is a big disappointment to Chief Anderson, who’d like to close this case in the cleanest, quickest way possible. And she’d sure like to squash any conspiracy theories that the police had anything to do with it.
It was murder, Cross insists. And he means to find the guilty party—whoever, or whatever, it might be. Indeed, another murderer is on the loose, and he seems to have Cross and his family itself in his crosshairs.
A year earlier, Cross’s wife was gunned down by a killer who was never caught. Cross spent months obsessively hunting the guy—nearly killing an innocent man in the process. He’s moved into a healthier head space now, at least to some extent. But when his son finds the scarf his wife was wearing on the day of her death—a scarf that had disappeared that day—Cross realizes that the killer was in his family’s house.
And that won’t do. That won’t do at all.
Alex Cross started his narrative life way back in 1993 in a series of bestselling books by James Patterson. With 32 Cross books in the Patterson catalogue now, it was perhaps only a matter of time before the psychologist detective found his way to television.
And the results—like most of Cross’s cases—are murky.
The show is compelling, the writing is strong, and actor Aldis Hodge embodies the main character with aplomb. In his hands, Cross is tough, brilliant and principled.
Still, the show dives into TV-MA territory with regularity.
Cross obviously works in the homicide division—and that can be messy work. The show itself takes us into the literal operating room of the killer. And outside those walls, violent deaths and gruesome images regularly appear on screen.
There’s more skin than you might expect, too (though we’ve not seen any critical anatomy seen as of yet). And the language? You can expect plenty of f- and s-words to fly through the dialogue.
The show also deals with real-world issues that may push some viewers away, too. Season One, for instance, deals with defund police movements and Black suspicion of law enforcement. Cross, a Black detective himself, is deeply committed to the badge; but he understands the suspicions, frustrations and anger so many of his friends have with regard to the authorities. (This season, for example, his own girlfriend advocates for defunding the police.)
Prime Video’s Cross, as I mentioned, has its dramatic merits. The show is gritty and often harsh, but not gratuitously so. But the content concerns are rough enough—especially as far as families are concerned—to potentially cross this show off your watch list.
(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 [email protected], 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. )
A community activist is found dead in his car—the result, it would seem, of a meth overdose. The police chief thinks it’s either that or suicide. But the activist’s legion of friends believes he was murdered, and they suspect the police had something to do with it. Cross, a Black detective who’s largely trusted in D.C.’s African-American community, is called in to take charge of the case, in the hope that his presence can help to cool tempers. But when he suspects that the activist was indeed murdered, the chief gives him 48 hours to find some real proof.
Meanwhile, another killer sneaks into Cross’ house and returns a scarf he took from the body of Cross’ wife. He ties a strand of hair to the scarf—hoping to lure Cross into a much more personal investigation.
In flashback, we witness Cross’ wife die. A gunshot sounds off camera: When Cross rushes to her side, she’s dying, bleeding out on the sidewalk. We see the activist, Emir, strapped in a chair while the killer prepares to operate. He wears a leather smock and gloves, which doesn’t bode well. But the only activity we see the killer take is cutting off Emir’s dreadlocks. Later, when Cross and his police partner visit the coroner, they all view Emir’s body on the gurney, and the coroner holds out a baggie containing the man’s last meal.
That last meal is significant, as it contained pork: Emir had converted to Islam after a stint in jail, and he never ate pork. (Emir’s mother discusses that conversion, and Cross talks about the psychology involved in an adult-stage religious conversion.) Meanwhile, Cross and his family are Christian: They attend church (and light candles for Cross’s late wife), and a cross hangs in the home of his mother.
Cross interrogates a racist suspect who works hard to get under the skin of his Black interrogators. After the suspect argues that he’s obviously smarter than Cross because of genetics, Cross references the rumored racial differences between critical bits of their anatomies.
A man is shot in the head. Someone takes a woman hostage and holds a gun to her head. Cross gets into a physical altercation with a person after that character insults the police and questions his career choice. We hear references to a time in Cross’s career where he nearly took the law into his own hands.
We hear about the drugs in Emir’s system, as well as the drugs found in his car. Emir’s sister tells Cross that Emir “smoked weed now and then,” but she also says that he had completely cut hard drugs out of his life. Characters drink wine.
The f-word is said 10 times, and the s-word is uttered 15 times. Other profanities include “a–,” “b–ch,” “d–n,” “g-dd–m“h—,” “d-ck” and “p-ss,” and five uses of the n-word. Jesus’ name is abused once.
Paul Asay has been part of the Plugged In staff since 2007, watching and reviewing roughly 15 quintillion movies and television shows. He’s written for a number of other publications, too, including Time, The Washington Post and Christianity Today. The author of several books, Paul loves to find spirituality in unexpected places, including popular entertainment, and he loves all things superhero. His vices include James Bond films, Mountain Dew and terrible B-grade movies. He’s married, has two children and a neurotic dog, runs marathons on occasion and hopes to someday own his own tuxedo. Feel free to follow him on Twitter @AsayPaul.
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