Joe harbors doubts about the newly appointed lioness. Despite her extensive tenure and deep involvement in intelligence operations, she steadfastly adheres to conducting her missions with honesty and patriotism, flaws and all. However, Kaitlyn Meade, the pragmatic queenpin of CIA's shadowy underworld, cautions Joe that "trust is a commodity in short supply among us." In the realm of espionage, trust is a privilege denied to those who serve the Agency. Spycraft, after all, is an art form in deceit, and Joe suspects that Josephina Carillo's narrative is merely a fragment of her complex tale. The challenge lies in deciphering what to do with the truths uncovered during these operations.
As Captain Carillo arrives at Fort Bliss, the makeshift base of the Lioness team brimming with raw energy and chaos, she undergoes an intense, albeit harrowing, crash course on military espionage. Meanwhile, Joe indulges in a fleeting domestic respite reminiscent of a Full House episode, while Kaitlyn lubricates the gears of power in Washington's corridors.
Josephina's cover story is put to the test as news of her discharge spreads across cable networks. In the meeting room, filled with spicy revelations, our trio of influential observers—Mullins, Mason, and Hollar—voice their apprehensions about the convenience of their new asset's cover and the notorious history of CIA-orchestrated drug smuggling across borders. A subtle prod from Kaitlyn draws out their genuine concern: public indignation over the congresswoman's abduction is waning, and the media resists amplifying awareness. The political divide is stark, with the looming election as a constant reminder. The president's approval rating hovers at a precarious 40%, and securing support from their own party is vital to advancing their agenda. (Our real-world election serves as a timely parallel, hinting at how this plot twist might influence our enjoyment of the show next week. Oh boy!)
Byron and Kaitlyn divide responsibilities, courting two senators whose votes are pivotal. Kaitlyn enlists the aid of her Illuminati-affiliated financial tycoon husband, Errol (Martin Donovan), to expound on the economic repercussions of another high-profile attack on U.S. soil over a dinner with Senator Fuller. She subtly inserts the specter of Chinese intelligence orchestrating the abduction. With the bogeyman planted through hushed whispers, the senator expresses interest in allowing Kaitlyn and her team to handle the situation discreetly—preventing another 9/11 while averting a catastrophic market crash. I'm not convinced; that's the argument Kaitlyn and Errol churn out between bites of what I imagine is an obscenely priced, overcooked steak of mediocre quality. Yet, it seems sufficient to sway the Senate, securing a black fund for their mission.
Just three episodes into the series, Joe's domestic routine has already begun to feel somewhat monotonous – arriving home with a bittersweet blend of fatigue and relief, only to be suddenly triggered by the perception of an imaginary threat, resulting in her drawing a gun and narrowly avoiding a catastrophic mishap with a family member. However, in this particular installment, she catches Dr. Neal in the midst of a tranquil afternoon soak, enjoying some well-deserved solitude while their daughters are out. It's official; the title of the devoted and stunningly attractive TV house-partner, be it husband, wife, or otherwise, must be bestowed upon Dave Annable. His drop-dead gorgeous appearance transforms these otherwise humorous, sitcom-like family dramas into something genuinely worth watching (particularly the hilariously awkward moment when Kate walks in on her parents in an intimate embrace, leaving her with a tear-jerking pep talk about cherishing parental love).
Even when tasked with debating his daughters over their non-binary friend at breakfast, complete with a painful attempt at fostering a "free exchange of ideas" – an argument he likely picked up from some Joe Rogan podcast he listened to that very morning – Dave Annable shines. Just when I thought my sexual orientation was leaning towards "Zoe Saldana verbally dismantling someone," here comes Dave Annable, making breakfast and stealing my heart. Nonetheless, as Joe prepares to leave, she offers a subtle CIA-mom twist to back him up: "What your father means is that ideas are meant to be challenged. He has the right to disagree with you, and you have the right to disagree with him. There are countries where such freedoms don't exist, and those are places you'd best avoid." Joe goes to those dangerous places so that her family doesn't have to, and her inner conflict between patriotism and detached realism is palpable in the justifications she offers her family for her absences.
Much like Joe, the Lioness series persists in exploring the murky, boomer-centric skepticism towards our institutions, a skepticism that is paradoxically undermined by a resounding faith in the fractious, American white-hat mythology. It further delves into the eerie, reptilian imagery of combat and violence, images that bubble up from Hollywood's vast reservoir of discordant, intertwined espionage dramas.
Josephina's arrival at Fort Bliss is met with a characteristically frosty reception, made even more grating by the stark lack of privacy in the open bunk beds, co-ed showers, and communal latrine. "I can stomach this in Pakistan; I can't endure this mess in Texas!" Bobby shouts, storming out of the shower after Two Cups abruptly dashes in to relieve himself in an emergency – the entire chaotic spectacle echoing the co-ed showers of the fascistic space military depicted in Paul Verhoeven's Starship Troopers. Josephina proposes they break the ice and acquaint themselves over dinner, but the Lioness crew isn't inclined to delve beyond her cover this time; they have no intention of truly getting to know their lioness. "We ain't got time to learn both," Tucker declares. Their mission begins at dawn.
And it's at this dawn that Josephina reveals her innate prowess for the task, nailing a standing target at the firing range and exhibiting a rapid-fire mastery of ground directives in the cacophony-tortured obstacle course, or whatever it may be called. However, things start to wobble when Joe subjects her to a bizarre VR exercise. Josephina yells, "Let her go!" at a virtual assailant clutching a fake hostage with the fervor of a boomer screaming in terror on a VR roller coaster. Joe's subsequent question, "What are you, a cop? 'Let her go'?" adds a humorous twist. The crux of the matter is that this is a kill team, and solely a kill team. To kill is to survive. And now, Josephina's survival hinges on her shattering her own family ties.
Here is Joe capitalizing on Kaitlyn's cue from the episode's outset: her distrust of Josephina, a sentiment she can harness to pinpoint vulnerabilities. Instead of fostering camaraderie, she aims to recruit through fear, leveraging the myriad lies Josephina has spun. She claimed ignorance of her father and uncle's illicit endeavors and an inability to speak Spanish – a bundle of deceit that could see her arrested with a mere call to the Military Police. If her lies were to shield her kin, how can they fathom her betraying them for patriotism? Josephina asserts she severed ties with her family long ago, disavowing any connection to the cartel. That might ring true, yet truth holds no sway once cast as the linchpin of this mission. Under coercion, she plays her assigned role, initiating a call to her father. Such is the daily grind in the "sovereignty of our nation" venture, as Kaitlyn Meade puts it.
