Recall my previous recap, where I contended that even an episode that seemingly retraced its steps could still harbor hidden depths, unraveling its purpose by the time the credits rolled. Alas, my certainty now wavers. "The Day That Was" bears all the telltale signs of a narrative millstone, meticulously rehashing tales we've traversed and character arcs we've long familiarized ourselves with.
The genuine intrigue of "The Day That Was" transpires even before the show's iconic logo graces our screens. In a brisk, adrenaline-pumping flashback montage—a narrative device that Umbrella Academy executes with finesse—we're privy to the formative tale of our impending villain, heretofore known as Leonard Peabody.
It transpires that Leonard's given name is Harold Jenkins—the very same man Five relentlessly pursues, guided by the note he clandestinely procured from the Commission. Leonard (whom I'll continue to address for continuity's sake) was a child born on the selfsame day, at the precise hour, as the Umbrella Academy siblings. Yet, contrary to our heroic protagonists, Leonard's birth was ordinary, bestowed upon a conventional pair of parents, devoid of any latent superhuman abilities. The sole noteworthy aspect of his birthday was its grim coincidence with his mother's passing.
Leonard's childhood was overshadowed by the oppressive weight of an alcoholic, physically abusive sole parent. He sought solace in the fantastical narrative of the Umbrella Academy, a whimsical escape from the horrors that defined his daily existence. But when the youthful Leonard courageously approached Dr. Hargreeves, begging to become a part of that legendary academy, he was met with a crushing, soul-crushing rebuke: "You possess no power. You never will. Now, return home." A cautionary tale, indeed—never chase your heroes' footsteps blindly, children.
After enduring an excruciatingly long period of a miserable and abusive childhood, the teenage Leonard finally reaches his breaking point, snapping and tragically taking the life of his own father. Following twelve arduous years behind bars, he emerges, only to reclaim Hargreeves' secret diary, discarded carelessly by Klaus. From that point onward, the narrative is all too familiar, painting Leonard as a modern-day Syndrome from the pages of 'The Incredibles.' Yet, it's captivating to witness how a character fueled by such personal demons would ultimately become embroiled in the Umbrella Academy's web, inadvertently setting in motion the downfall of the world.
When Leonard stole the Hargreeves action figure in episode six, I harbored suspicions of a hidden power waiting to be unleashed. But the truth was far simpler, and sadly, more poignant—he coveted it to complete a cherished set of toys that held remnants of his shattered childhood.
Regrettably, the remainder of the episode feels like a rehashed version of "The Day That Wasn't," with fleeting deviations that fail to significantly alter the narrative's course. Five's arrival, heralded as a game-changer, is rendered moot as he succumbs to a shrapnel injury, leaving him recuperating on the sidelines for the majority of the episode. Diego remains bewildered by Grace's reappearance, oblivious to the intricacies of robotics. Allison continues to vacillate over her decision to join Claire in Los Angeles, a choice that looms large with the world's impending doom mere days away.
Luther, too, rediscovers Hargreeves' neglect of his moon mission reports, triggering another emotional meltdown. This time, devoid of Allison's comforting embrace, he seeks solace in a rave, indulging in ecstasy and daringly revealing his hirsute simian form to the world for the very first time. Though this scene might evoke feelings of disappointment and concern—Luther ought to be focused on averting the apocalypse, not partying—it's undeniably the most joyful glimpse we've had of him, making it difficult to condemn his actions wholeheartedly.
Klaus, ever the impulsive one, trails Luther, intervening in a confrontation between Luther and a jealous beau wielding a baseball bat. Amid the chaos, Klaus finds himself briefly embracing death, embarking on a whimsical, self-indulgent afterlife sequence reminiscent of television's quirkier moments. In monochrome hues, he engages in a charming chat with God personified as a little girl on a bicycle, before venturing into a barbershop to confront his father—a man who, contrary to lingering theories, is indeed deceased.
Theoretically, this ought to mark a pinnacle of emotional intensity within the season's narrative: the long-awaited confrontation between one of Hargreeves' children and their infamously abrasive father, following countless posthumous debates about his flawed parenting. Yet, in execution, it merely echoes the familiar refrain of Hargreeves' legacy: a relentless drive to forge world-saving superheroes, at the cost of their cherished childhoods, fostering resentment in their hearts. The ultimate revelation, that Hargreeves took his own life, cognizant that it was the sole means to reunite his scattered offspring, is tinged with a tantalizing hint of a deeper confession, abruptly cut short as Klaus is miraculously resuscitated, teasing us with a climax reserved for the season's crescendo.
Meanwhile, the simmering tensions between Cha-Cha and Hazel finally boil over into an open confrontation. In a stark contrast to "The Day That Wasn't," where Cha-Cha's perspective dominated, Episode Seven offers a glimpse into Hazel's harrowing experience. Amidst the dense forest, he stood poised, fingers on the trigger, prepared to end Cha-Cha's life should she choose to reciprocate. Their return home saw Hazel orchestrate a daring escape with Agnes, a move that might sway our sympathies towards him—yet, the fleeting moments of remorse fail to expunge the darkness of his past deeds.
Nonetheless, Hazel prevails in their power struggle, leaving Cha-Cha shackled to a radiator, a decision fraught with impending regret. The episode's narrative crescendo arrives with Vanya's awakening to her formidable, Dark Phoenix-esque abilities. Leonard, her companion, whisks her away to his grandmother's secluded cabin, where he relentlessly urges her to harness her telekinetic prowess, his persistence grating even on Vanya's nerves. Amidst their attempts to reconnect over meals, a jarring encounter with a trio of inebriated rednecks shatters the tranquility.
As the men savagely assault Vanya and Leonard, the latter reduced to a bloody mess, Vanya's rage ignites, unleashing a devastating burst of psychic energy that sends her attackers flying. The sequence feels so meticulously orchestrated that one can't help but speculate: Did Leonard orchestrate this attack as a desperate gambit to trigger Vanya's latent powers? For if it's mere coincidence, it's a serendipitous twist indeed. Leonard's hospitalization and Vanya's transformation into a stronger, more vengeful entity underscore the relentless growth of her abilities—and the justification for their use.
