As enjoyable as season one of Peacock's Twisted Metal was, it did feel uneven. There was no tournament as there is in the games, but rather a road story between John Doe (Anthony Mackie) and Quiet (Stephanie Beatriz), with a couple of notable characters including Agent Stone (Thomas Haden Church) and of course, series mascot Sweet Tooth (played by Samoa Joe, voiced by Will Arnett). And while there has always been a gonzo or grindhouse edge to the franchise as a whole, the show leans into the comedy hard, with one of the driving advertisements for the first season being a musical number with John Doe and Sweet Tooth riffing on Sisqo's "Thong Song."
But this series survived Small Brawl and the rest of the 909 Games era, so let's not count them out yet, right?
When the push towards season two began and Calypso (Anthony Carrigan) was shown on camera for the first time, as well as the promise of the tournament made at the end of season one, the hype was there, even if the aforementioned first season was slightly underwhelming. In spite of itself, though, the first run of episodes for this season were more than entertaining enough to be worth the wait, as we have been introduced to characters from the games such as Dollface (Tiana Okoye) and Mr. Grimm (Richard de Klerk), as well as the ongoing shenanigans of Sweet Tooth and Stu (Mike Mitchell).
This first run of three episodes amounts to a full-length feature film's worth of content, and they cram plenty into about a hundred minutes. In just these episodes, we get a glimpse into John's past, including his given name and his reunion with his estranged sister Krista, aka Dollface, the leader of a cult of sisters doing it for themselves who have adopted Quiet into their ranks. The relationship between the long-lost siblings is entertaining, and Mackie's comedic timing as John is one of the highlights of the show, even if some jokes don't quite make it into the pit. A particularly successful exchange is during the discovery of Axel, as the two are doing their best not to be turned into actual Roadkill, instead of just John's car being called such. Leaning into the absurdity of it all is something that Twisted Metal is known for, and they capture it well.
To that end, there is some over-the-top violence that is central to the franchise, and not just the vehicular carnage kind. We get decapitation, mace turned into a flamethrower, and a flail made out of an overgrown umbilical cord, and if that last one isn't enough to make one want to watch if only to see what in the Kentucky fried fuck is going on, I dunno what will sell you. The show sells itself on being completely batshit crazy, and they're moving batshit by the bushel thus far in season two.
The soundtrack of the show is good and diverse, kicking off season two with "Clint Eastwood" by Gorillaz and running the gamut of genres beyond that. The defiance of expectation with the Metallica CD case containing Michelle Branch is a good bait and switch, and the follow-through later in the episode is a great circling-back. Hopefully future music-related gags are more of this and less "Thong Song" karaoke in an abandoned casino.
For every peak, there is a valley, and comedically speaking, episode three has a number of jokes that don't quite land. It's not a matter of low-hanging fruit or punching down, but the punchlines don't find their targets, and for a comedy, that's a not-insignificant error to make. Granted, the story beats between two pairs (the actual siblings John and Dollface and the soul sisters of Quiet and Mayhem) bring the episode up to par, but the whiffs are noticeable enough to stand out.
Crucially, though, we're only just setting up the titular tournament, and if this three-episode drop is supposed to work as a comeback, it doesn't quite. There's plenty left in the tank, but I don't know that the expectations and hype were met here. It's a fun ride for sure, but frankly I'm still asking "are we there yet?" like a cranky kid on a cross-country haul.
Twisted Metal is streaming on Peacock. New episodes release on Thursdays.
