Does this one even count as an episode in its own right? Between the two-hour format and the absence of a chyron to introduce the second hour, it feels more like the second half of a monster premiere than a separate episode with a defined start and finish.

If it was a unique episode, it would deserve praise for sustaining the momentum of the previous episode, and for expanding on the thematic work the previous episode developed. There’s less of Sylathan and less of Claire and more of Peter and more of Matt. Depending on your perspective, that’s either the source of what elevates this episode or the reason for its downfall. In my view, it’s what generates some of show’s finest character work.

We come back from the commercials, and Sylar’s gone from coddling Baby Matt…

… to kissing him. While this might be a tantalizing thought for several million fans, I find myself wondering whether Baby Matt will require some kind of decontamination.

It’s never established whether we’re looking at Sylar or a figment of Matt’s imagination, but the show manages to tow this line without letting it feel like a mystery that’s prolonged unnecessarily. Is it Sylar’s consciousness? Is it a manifestation of Matt’s guilt? Has Matt subconsciously applied a Parkman Whammy to himself and created a personalized apparition the way Maury created Ghost-Linderman?

It’s odd that Matt never considers trying to get a read on Sylar’s thoughts to determine whether he’s actually there. You’d think he’d be willing to waive the ability-embargo for long enough to gauge Sylar’s thoughts, or at least long enough to whammy him with “DO NOT HARM MY SON!” OR “GIVE ME MY SON S-L-O-W-L-Y.” Chalk up a *PING!* Dumb As Award for Matt for failing to consider his ability’s application as a consciousness-detector and a means to coerce his way out of a crisis.

Janice: “What’s going on with you?”

Matt: “I’m just tired, I guess.”

Secrets! Lies! Deception! It’s… the return of the Bennet family drama!

You can appreciate why Matt opted not to freak Janice out with talk of a psychotic ghost throwing their son across the room. But the way this story thread plays out, it’s as if the hallmarks of the Bennet storyline have migrated to the Parkman household, right down to the set and the lighting. In a way I hope I’m wrong, because as compelling as the Bennet drama has been over the seasons, it’s run its course, Matt is no HRG, and to apply the same Secrets & Lies formula to Matt’s story thread would feel very repetitive.

As we learn, however, HRG is no longer HRG as we knew him. Now he’s… Bachelor-HRG!

The morose strings tell us we’re supposed to feel bad for the guy who’s been reduced to solitary cereal for dinner. As much as I wanted to sympathize with the character, I couldn’t help thinking that the scene was overplayed. Noah got himself into this situation. It’s not as if he’s flat broke and can’t afford to replenish his fridge, and it’s not as if he can’t learn to cook (and that’s assuming he doesn’t already know how to, which I don’t buy); it’s also not as if he isn’t currently the head of operations in the new phase of a company he dedicated his life to. As endearingly pathetic as Noah’s situation is, it felt like the show was glossing over the fact that (a) he could easily fix it, and (b) he’s got plenty to live for, not least a job that will have global ramifications and change the lives of superpowered individuals everywhere.

Noah calls Sandra and gets a male voice on the other end of the line.

“Who are you looking for?”

“Sandra. BENNET.”

Love Coleman’s delivery. Only he could turn his character’s name into a declarative threat. He should use that the next time he B&T’s some uncooperative super in an alley, like, “I’m Agent… BENNET.”

I choose to live in denial about Sandra’s mystery man just as I choose to live in denial about the Troah ship. I’d like to think it’s misdirection on the show’s part, because if Sandra’s already inviting strange guys into her home six weeks after kicking Noah out of the house, the words character and assassination take on new meaning. Putting aside that Noah was the love of Sandra’s life, the prospect of Sandra introducing a new man into Lyle’s life so soon after the kid was forced to accept his parents’ separation is unthinkable. Sandra wouldn’t do that. So I’m going with “football coach dropping off Lyle and helping Sandra with groceries.” That, or possibly “garden decorator.”

Coleman plays Noah’s reaction with appropriate dumbfounded shock. I’d point out how bad I feel for Noah, but given that fate coincidentally sends him a call from a gorgeous blonde, there’s very little reason to worry about Noah feeling alone.

Hiro, meanwhile, combats his solitude by talking to himself. As disturbing as this is, I think it’s worth addressing the concerns parents should have about leaving their children unattended at a carnival where people make faces like this:

I think it’s also worth addressing whether Kid-Hiro’s memory of an encounter with a strange man who made this face has stuck with him over the years, and whether this was in fact Hiro’s inspiration for the ridiculous face he makes whenever he teleports, freezes time or time-travels. It’s not quite as poetic as the time-loop that involves a formula chopped in two with a 400-year-old sword, but it’s a time-loop nonetheless.

Kid-Hiro’s resemblance to Present-Hiro is good enough. You can see the similarity in the hair and facial build, although Kid-Hiro’s eyes lack his present counterpart’s verve and vitality. The casting department were evidently hoping that what their guest actor lacked in physical resemblance would be compensated for through token mannerisms.

This attempt fails because the mannerism, cute as it is, has been used so many times over the past three seasons that it’s lost the appeal it had when Masi created it. At this point, it’s so overused that it borders on obligatory. The only thing more predictable would be…

… Uh, yeah. That.

Hiro wonders aloud whether he’s being tested, and while I’d agree that he’s certainly being involved in a test, I find it more likely that it’s in fact Samuel being tested when his patience is pushed to its limit by the show’s clown.

Samuel speaks Japanese? Cool detail, and one that easily flies when you consider the distance the carnival seems to have covered.

Did Samuel know the exact date and time he needed to visit in order to meet Present-Hiro? It’s not a question that occurs to you while the episode’s playing out, but looking back, knowing that Samuel and Hiro needed to intervene at a very specific moment in order to change history, Samuel’s request to Arnold to go back “14 years” seems very vague.

Kimiko demands to know where Hiro went, and while the focus of this scene is the disdain Kimiko shows towards Ando, I can’t help being impressed by the sound of Japanese television in the background, and I can’t help wondering…

… what the caption next to the smiley face on that white board means. It’s all peripheral, of course, but once again it’s a sign of the incredible attention to set detail throughout these two episodes.

Kimiko’s “Why do I even bother?” suggests she’s the Nakamura without a special ability. It’s possible she’s keeping a lid on her ability the way Papa Sulu did, but if she genuinely has no inkling of her family’s abilities, you have to wonder why Papa Sulu kept it from her.

Meanwhile, 14 years earlier, Samuel reveals to Hiro…

… that one of his tattoos is a compass with spinning hands. It’s a cool effect, and an intriguing one because you wonder what the carnival’s preoccupation with compasses signifies.

Hiro proceeds to recount with heartbreaking naivete every detail of his time-traveling code. Putting aside Hiro’s staggering sense of self-importance — which extends to taking credit for saving Claire at homecoming and averting the New York explosion — what’s astonishing is that it never once occurs to Hiro to question who Samuel is. It never once occurs to Hiro to ask Samuel how he knows who Hiro is, or why he’s so gung-ho about rewriting history. It’s dumb, and it earns Hiro a *PING!* Dumb As Award, because after meeting his fair share of whack-jobs out of time and after an episode in which he shrieked at Ando that he’d never alter the timeline again, Hiro’s willingness to consider a total stranger’s argument in favor of changing history demonstrates idiocy beyond even Hiro’s usual standards.

I get the impression that Samuel agrees with me, because his expression throughout this scene conveys disbelief at the speaker’s stupidity and dismay over such a valuable ability squandered so tragically.

Samuel’s familiarity with the events he helps to rewrite is puzzling, because it seems like he knows more than just what Hiro describes to him. You could argue that Samuel’s simply an intuitive guy and figured out how to make the most of the situation. But then, the way he knows the exact time and place he needed to be in order to find Hiro, and the way he knows the exact moment to push Hiro in front of Kid-Kimiko to save her from the slushy, the gist is that Samuel knew a great deal even before he embarked on his trip through time. Whether that’s because of Lydia or because of one of his own abilities will be one of the questions the show hopefully answers.

Hiro’s power decides it’s done its job and returns its owner to the present. Hiro actually asks Ando whether anything has “changed” for him. When you consider that the self-proclaimed Master Of Time And Space asks a question as dim as that, you can imagine Time and Space banging their heads against a wall and begging the space-time continuum to replace him.

Is there really any difference between this Hiro and the one who came out of the fortune teller’s tent 14 years earlier?

Sometimes I feel bad for pointing out stuff like this. It’s not as if Hiro’s an unsalvageable character, and it’s not as if the show is incapable of writing good material for him — we know they can. But for whatever reason, Hiro’s response to news of his impending death was limited to a single expressive scene and the arbitrary focus on a photograph, and Hiro now returns to his regular schedule of slapstick comedy and simplistic humor. I’m still clinging to the hope that the show will surprise us, but moments like this aren’t encouraging.

Noah arrives at Željko’s apartment and finds Tracy tensely hunched over Željko’s slashed-up body. It’s a moment that’s nicely played by Larter, especially when you figure that looking down at the dead body of a guy who tasered, tortured and shot Tracy must be oddly cathartic.

But you know what? The Troah has corrupted me to the point where Tracy’s wholly-innocuous dialogue seems full of double meaning:

“Danko and I, we were just talking in the hall. [Probably a relief to Noah!] The next thing I know, he’s dead and this guy is ON ME! [Probably fighting back fits of jealousy.] I got lucky. [< < Actual dialogue! Tracy's talking about her ability, but whatever -- the innuendo is there.]”

See what this ship has done to me? The Troah must STOP, Heroes!

Noah notices that Edgar’s slash wounds are all concentrated around Željko’s stomach, which leads him to conclude that Edgar was searching for a MacGuffin stored in the last place anyone would think to look — anyone, that is, except Noah, who now demonstrates unparalleled deductive skill by plunging a plastic-bag-covered hand into Željko’s innards and removing a key Željko stored inside himself for safekeeping.

Humor me for a second. Read that last paragraph again. I swear you can’t make stuff like that up. That’s the kind of thing you can only come up with after a weekend-long CSI marathon or when you’re stoned out of your mind.

Matt: “‘Janice’?”

Janice: “That’s my name.”

Matt: “No, your name is Mrs Parkman. Look, when I delivered water, we were professional.”

Janice: “You never delivered water.”

Matt: “Pizza, water, whatever.”

Great dialogue. The whole scene makes Matt look like a petulant kid, but at the same time it sets up why he’s so insecure, and why he’d resort to his ability in order to overcome his insecurity.

On the surface, it’s a straightforward aw. As with other moments in this premiere, the genius is in the subtext. This is where the addiction metaphor — heavyhanded as it is — makes sense. It’s never established whether Matt’s suspicion of Roy is justified, or whether Matt’s decision to ban his ability is because of the Sylathan debacle or the fear that he’ll end up whammying everyone to suit his own interests. What’s interesting about Matt’s decision to whammy Roy is that it’s more about fooling himself than protecting his family. It’s the kind of easy solution we can imagine ourselves resorting to on a regular basis if we could. By ensuring that Roy never comes to the house again, Matt blocks his doubt and suspicion and convinces himself that he’s got the happy family life he dreams of.

What ties that into the other story threads is it’s exactly what Samuel wants from Hiro — for him to use the gift he’s been given — and that it’s exactly what Peter’s doing, albeit with the aim to help the general population rather than himself or the people around him. In the end, it comes down to a question of moderation, because you could argue that Matt’s ability, used sparingly, would simply be an extension to the rest of his skill set as a detective. The counter-argument is that, as with supers like Eden and Doyle, it’s impossible to define what moderate use and sparing application mean, which is why the addiction metaphor serves as a bizarrely apt choice, and why Matt’s decision to ignore his ability altogether makes him an admirable character in the face of enormous temptation.

Which is probably more than we were supposed to get out of Matt feeling jealous of Roy and wondering whether Roy fooled around with Janice. But it’s evidence of the care that went into crafting this storyline, and how elegantly it ties into the show’s other character arcs.

Noah shows up to solicit Peter’s help in retrieving the contents of the box which Željko’s key unlocks.

The “water and mustard” gag? Forced, but I have to say, I laughed.

Noah marvels at Peter’s Wall of Redemption.

Noah: “Are you using powers?”

Peter: “In my line of work, it helps to be strong, agile. Thank you, Dr. Suresh.”

The shout-out was a nice nod to Mohinder, albeit another unintentional reminder of his absence. It also underlines how questionable a trade-off Peter makes when he gives superstrength up in favor of superspeed. I guess he’ll reach crash-site victims faster, but since he’ll be unable to rip hinges off car doors or lift wreckage the way he could before, you have to wonder what Peter’s plan is when he gets to the crash sites.

Peter: “I figured one of us has gotta make up for all we’ve done.”

Noah: “Meaning…?”

Peter: “You, me, my family, The Company? Come on, we haven’t exactly been model citizens, Noah.”

Good dialogue. It’s not overly elaborate and doesn’t articulate anything new or incisive, but it underlines Peter’s guilt on behalf of everyone connected to him, and explains why Peter’s pushing himself beyond his limits to help as many people as he can.

Sandra visits Claire at college, and Claire thanks her mom for letting her “stay” with her, prompting me to wonder whether Sandra and Lyle moved to Virginia along with Claire, or whether Claire went back to Costa Verde for a bout of off-screen therapy.

In any case, you can guess which part of this scene I found worth noting. It’s not that she was there, waiting, the moment Claire returned to her dorm room. It’s not even that she parked her butt on Annie’s bed like she was settling onto her favorite couch. It’s her wicked smile when she contemplates the death of the person whose bed she’s now sitting on.

Gretchen: “Whaddaya think — murder or horrific accident?”

^ ^ Her expression at the EXACT moment she delivered that line.

Come on, you can’t tell me that’s not a sign of inherent villainy.

Now check this out:

Sitting at a distance on the bed of the person she most undoubtedly had a hand in killing? Watching with analytical care as she plots how to come inbetween a mom and daughter’s loving bond? Contemplating her next homicidal Google search? EVIL!

It’s evidence of some subtle photography and direction, and it’s immediately followed by some subtle editing, because we cut from Claire and Sandra’s fist-bump to Noah’s conciliatory pat on Peter’s shoulder. Noah as Peter’s mentor and father figure? I can just about buy it, especially in light of the bond between Noah and Angela. It’s certainly more palatable than the Troah.

Noah supports the father-son visuals with a father-like lecture about how Peter needs to “seriously consider the way [he's] living [his] life.” Noah then cites himself as Exhibit A in the I-put-my-work-before-family-and-ended-up-alone Hall of Sentimentality. Coleman delivers the lines with appropriate feeling, but Noah’s objection to Peter’s choices comes across as contrived and hypocritical. For one thing, it’s not as if putting work ahead of everything else is what cost Noah his family. Lying to and endangering them is what cost Noah his family. For another thing, we’ve seen Noah try to put his family before work, and we know how quickly he became disillusioned with it. So, as neat as it is that The Company’s golden boy ended up becoming a cautionary tale, it’s an oversimplification to say Noah lost his family because he never put them first, and it’s a double-standard to extol the quiet family life when we know that Noah tried it and couldn’t go a day without longing for his old life.

Peter’s no more convinced than I am.

Edgar shows up to put several strategically lethal slashes into the back of the bank clerk. I can’t help wondering whether a guy who expressed distaste for murder wouldn’t content himself with conking his opponent over the head with a filofax. But I guess that would have lacked dramatic impact.

Peter absorbs Edgar’s ability, and although it leads to a cool fight scene and some impressive effects and stunt work, it’s never really clear what Peter absorbs. Noah describes Edgar as “really fast” and having “a thing for knives,” so the implication seems to be that Edgar’s principal ability is superspeed and that his dexterity with knives is a separate, non-superpowered skill.

But then, if that were true, Peter’s only virtue here would be speed, as opposed to…

… instant kung-fu prowess. Again, it probably wouldn’t have been as effective if Peter found himself speedyzipping around the room and unable to fight, but how Peter suddenly becomes a martial arts expert — which, as per the dialogue, is a separate component to the ability he absorbs — remains a mystery.

Edgar and Peter make the most of the opportunity to dazzle the audience with a fight that Noah never gets to see, and this is conveyed by numerous shots of Noah looking disoriented while two blurry images zip around him. I’d be curious to know whether Noah was spared Edgar’s “Bloody hell!”, but if he heard that, he’s probably wondering — just as we are — whether Ray Park protested at such a cringe-worthy exclamation. I’d like to think it’s merely the abbreviated version of “Bloody hell in a handbasket, you’re fast! I say, old chap, it’s spiffing that you’re as quick as I am. When we’re done here, let’s grab ourselves some tea and catch up!”

Edgar doesn’t seem to like fighting a guy who’s as fast as he is. To Peter’s credit, he respects Edgar’s dignity by describing the exit to Noah as “taking off” rather than “running away.”

Peter realizes that the bank clerk’s alive and brings him to hospital. While I’d love to know how Peter explained the extensive slash wounds to the doctor, I like that Peter not only stops to check the guy’s pulse (as opposed to immediately walking away the way he did after Victoria got shot in “Truth and Consequences”), but also accompanies him to the ER ward and stays with him until he’s been treated.

Noah holds the compass and gets nothing. Peter holds the compass and watches it spin frantically. It’s unclear whether this is because it responds to anyone with an ability or simply anyone who’s Milo, but you have to feel bad for Noah when the Magik Compass fails to show him any love and when Peter declares that he wants to stay as far away from a death magnet like Noah as possible.

Noah: “He murdered [Željko], he almost murdered you and me — for THIS!”

Peter: “So why don’t you just let him have it?”

You know a witty retort is on the tip of his tongue…

Peter renounces any involvement in Noah’s plan to investigate the Magik Compass. Which is understandable, but also makes Peter partly responsible for Noah getting attacked, because as with Matt opting to ignore Angela’s warning, it comes across as Peter not wanting to acknowledge that there’s a problem. But then, it gives us Noah’s smile of semi-paternal pride, and it allows for Peter’s “Yeah, like that’s gonna happen!” expression when Noah tells him to call his mom.

Gretchen pulls up at the campus in her [PRODUCT PLACEMENT] Nissan Cube. Which in itself is a sign of villainy, but given that she doesn’t lock the car when she leaves it and given that the last instance of an unlocked Nissan led to Derek facilitating Maya and Sylar’s continued presence on the show, I’m more inclined than ever to suspect Gretchen of nefarious intent.

I can’t decide whether Claire’s more horrified by Gretchen’s enthusiasm for murder than the reference to Crossing Jordan…

… but horrified she is, and it’s about as accurate a reflection of our own horror as it’s possible to get. It’s also one that’s validated when Gretchen starts contemplating how to “swipe a cadaver from a medical school,” which, predictably…

… is a plan she formulates with a smile on her face.

Gretchen: “Don’t you want to prove your roommate was defenestrated?”

Claire: “Of course. And, yes, I know what ‘defenestrated’ means.”

Good dialogue. It draws attention to the fact that Claire isn’t the smartest student on campus, but it’s funny in a self-referential Whedonesque kind of way.

Matt attends what’s described by the chyron as the “LAPD Office Recovery Group.” It strikes me as unlikely that Matt would go from a headline-news bomb suspect to a recovering addict to overseeing an interrogation in such a short space of time, but this made for an effective scene because of the way it was played. There’s a sense of nervous energy evoked from Grunberg’s performance, and Quinto’s performance as Ghost-Sylar sells the entire concept almost singlehandedly.

The actor has demonstrated on several occasions that he’s capable of dark humor, but here Quinto plays the part of the vindictive apparition with comic zest, and the shift in his role liberates the character from the rut he found himself in at the end of last season. Sylar’s scalp-removing is peripheral, his parent issues are ignored, and his shapeshifting and identity crisis are never mentioned. The role looks like it’s fun to play — and it’s fun to watch — because it’s straightforward. It ignores the character’s tired hallmarks and focuses on his core characteristics: his cruelty, his viciousness, his delight in taunting his victims and watching them suffer. It’s Sylar without the emotional baggage.

Speaking of suffering: we cut to Yamagato and watch Hiro revealing to Ando that he altered history so that his friend would be happy. Putting aside that this didn’t involve any actual planning so much as Samuel pushing Hiro between Kimiko and a flying slushy, and putting aside that something as trivial as a spilled slushy would influence whether Kimiko hates or adores Ando for the rest of their lives, this instance demonstrates how critically Hiro’s characterization is failing. His sense of achievement is understandable, but letting Ando know that the love of his life only cares about him because of Hiro? Telling Ando that he basically owes his happiness to Hiro and that Kimiko wouldn’t even like Ando without him? Call me crazy, but doesn’t that demonstrate why Hiro’s a contemptible jerk?

To my mind, it’s what distinguishes Peter — the guy who takes no credit for his good deeds — from Hiro — the guy who demands recognition for his good deeds. And, intentional or not, it demonstrates exactly why Hiro’s character arc remains at a standstill, and why he’s in greater need of redemption than any other character on the show.

For reasons that defy sound judgment, Matt’s boss deems his unhinged detective fit for duty and sends him into an interrogation room with only a moment’s hesitation. It’s a scene that’s designed to convey how unstable Matt’s becoming, but it reaffirms something I remember wishing way back at the start of Season Two: that we’d see that Matt can do his job well without his ability. It’s a subtle contrast to man-of-the-hour Peter failing to rescue his car-crash victim in “A Clear and Present Danger,” and an indication that if the current crop of heroes lost their abilities, Matt’s self-imposed ban on abilities would give him the best chance of adapting to life as a Muggle.

The other remarkable half of this scene is Quinto’s performance. Sylar’s deliberate enunciation is replaced with quickfire comic timing, to the point where you’re not sure whether it’s Ghost-Sylar relishing the moment or the actor who plays him.

Ghost-Sylar: “Just read his mind, Matt. You know you want to. I could help you. I could take a nice little chunk out of his skull in the process.”

Funny, for the self-parody of Sylar’s M.O. and for the carefree tone from a character who’s been liberated from the emotionally stunted state he was trapped in for most of the past season. If this character is a manifestation of Matt’s internal demons, it’s a sign that Matt’s beginning to see himself as a variation on Sylar: the guy who climbs into people’s heads and manipulates them. Which is a valid concern after the increasingly frequent Parkman Whammies last season, and which explains Matt’s determination to suppress his abilities.

Ghost-Sylar drawing on Janice’s affair was a nice nod to continuity, and although I’m disappointed that no one used this opportunity to mention She Who Was Wiped From All Established Canon, the reference to McHenry is enough to provoke Matt…

… into hurling his chair against the wall on the far side of the room. Which, judging from the dent it leaves in the wall, was thrown with considerable force. I’d be curious to know whether that stunt was staged and whether that’s a removable wall, because by the look of it, Grunberg threw himself into this scene with enough ferocity to damage a part of the set.

Hesam joins Peter in an ambulance and asks him about his day off.

Peter: “Good. Very productive. I got a lot done.”

Funny, and undermined only slightly when Peter reveals that his clam chowder came from Boston. As much as I can appreciate that Peter wanted to test his new ability out, he could have found a Legal Sea Foods much closer to home.

Peter finds Noah slashed open, gruesomely enough for us to worry but not so gruesomely that Noah can’t let us know that Edgar came back for his MacGuffin.

The disquieting thought of Noah’s injury pales, however, when compared to the full horror that now befalls us.

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

Not convinced?

Tracy: “Be honest. Why did you call?”

Noah: “Well, you know, I can’t call my wife… My ex-wife. I didn’t wanna worry Claire, so I just…”

Tracy: “I get it. You don’t wanna be alone.”

Still not convinced?

AAAAAAAAAGH! The pain! I can’t watch! My eyes! My eyeballs are burning up! Run! Save yourselves! It’s… It’s… it’s too painful to watch!

Tracy: “You got an extra spoon?”

Wh-… What did she just say?!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Matt returns home to discover that Roy fixed the hot water. I was never completely sure whether Janice was fooling around with him, but it’s worth noting that Matt only finally snaps when Roy approaches Baby Matt. Which isn’t to say that the thought of losing Janice to the water delivery guy doesn’t upset him, but the implication is it’s Matt’s fear of sharing his son’s affection that pushes him over the edge. Which, once again, creates a parallel between Matt and Noah, with both fathers wanting to protect their family insofar as their family equates to their child. And in this instance, “protect” equates to “control,” because you can believe that Matt would be willing to whammy anyone he now perceived as a threat to his happy family life.

All of which is almost certainly reading deeper into the scene than we were meant to. On a surface level, it’s fun to watch Matt let himself go after a tough day at work. I can’t help feeling bad for Roy, because even if he’d had a fling with the “single mom,” it wouldn’t necessarily have made him a bad person. But then, that’s why this moment is effective, because you’re not sure whether to cheer for Matt for taking a stand or to look down on him for caving in a moment of weakness. This episode adds more complexity to Matt’s character arc than the entirety of Volume Three.

Ghost-Sylar and his ticking clocks couldn’t be more delighted. And, frankly, neither could I. It’s almost beyond belief that this is the same story thread that gave us telepathically aided sex, coffee ice cream and leaky pipes. It’s also staggering to think that barely a year ago, Matt’s storyline involved talking to a turtle and gulping down Usutu’s Mystery Goop. That the show has managed to make the character identifiable is impressive. That they’ve managed to take an everyday story and credibly turn it into a metaphor for a reformed addict who relapses out of fear of losing the only thing that matters to him is even more impressive.

Claire climbs out of bed and decides it’s an opportune moment to test Gretchen’s jump/push/fall theory. While it’s hard to imagine a way to make this self-aggrandizing reference to a showrunner’s previous material even more ridiculous, Claire’s attempt to recreate Annie’s death manages to achieve just that. Firstly, you’d think Claire would appreciate the benefit of carrying out this test by the cover of darkness, and that it might not be best served by a bedside lamp that’s switched on when she jumps out of her window.

Uh, Claire?

*PING!*

Secondly, you’d think that Claire would acknowledge the importance of carrying out this test at a time when no one was likely to see it.

Which is to say, at a time when the rest of the students at the college were either off campus or asleep.

Which is to say, at a time when there was no sign of activity from the dorm rooms overlooking the campus.

Uh, Claire?

*PING!*

Which isn’t to say that Claire’s plan is without merit, because her jump apparently goes unnoticed by everyone except Gretchen. And it’s not even clear whether Gretchen witnessed Claire’s regeneration because she was waiting for it all along, or because she has eyes like the Devil. Either way, fate seems to forgive the stupidity that just earned Claire two Dumb As Awards.

The protruding ribs? Nice throwback to the pilot.

The episode draws to a close, with Edgar returning the Magik Compass to Samuel and recounting how he met an em-paaahth. Samuel’s objection to the use of the word “replace” in conjunction with “family” is intriguing, not least because his opening speech at the start of the premiere established that the carnival was currently enjoying its second attempt at a familial community.

How Lydia’s tattoo of Claire, Sylar and Peter will tie into this is unclear, although I think we can all agree that if Samuel plans to use the words “Sylar,” “family” and “Petrelli” in conjunction in any way, he seriously needs to reconsider his plan.

Whether you consider “Jump, Push, Fall” to be an episode in its own right or the second half of a two-hour premiere, it’s a solid continuation to the first hour and propels the story forward, and more importantly, it enriches and expands on the character work that the first hour began.

I’m docking a point for a storyline that reduced Hiro to the caricature he became in “Building 26.” It’s also a little disappointing that the second hour featured much less of the carnival and its central characters. The flipside is that this second hour streamlines the show and develops several story threads to great success. Peter’s guilt complex is engaging, Noah’s absentmindedness is both believable and poignant, and Matt’s descent into corruption is both consistent and engrossing. In short, whether viewed as a two-part premiere or as two standalone episodes at the start of the volume, these two hours showcase what Heroes does best, and put into motion what will hopefully be an outstanding season.

4 out of 5

This entry was posted on Friday, September 25th, 2009 at 8:23 PM and is filed under Season 4. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.