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Daredevil – Regrets Only (Review)

This month, we’re doing daily reviews of the second season of Daredevil. Check back daily for the latest review.

And, just like that, the season’s middle act runs into trouble.

One of the most fascinating aspects of the second season of Daredevil is how carefully and meticulously the season is structured. Producers Doug Petrie and Marco Ramirez have adopted a very clear three-act structure to the season, and great care has been taken to treat the year as a thirteen-episode origin story for the Punisher. Even within that, there is conscious mirroring and reversals that rely on the show reflecting its own continuity back at itself. For example, Frank addressing a defeated Daredevil in New York’s Finest is reflected in both Penny and Dime and .380.

Who punishes the Punisher?

Who punishes the Punisher?

There is great attention to detail, very careful craftsmanship. The actual plotting of the arcs on an episode-by-episode basis might not be particularly robust, but there is a definite and very precise plan laid out. However, all this delicate craftsmanship belies the fact that this structuring is built around a story with several beats missing or repeated. The second season of Daredevil is laid out like a three-act superhero story, but with the biggest issue being the nature of the story itself. There are missing structural elements that leave the formula feeling hollow.

The second season of Daredevil might consciously aspire to be a televisual version of The Dark Knight, but it actually lands somewhere closer to The Wolverine. And not just because it is a superhero love story that pits its protagonist against an assortment of ninjas.

The name's Murdock. Matt Murdock.

The name’s Murdock. Matt Murdock.

The Wolverine was a fascinating film, much like the second season of Dardevil is fascinating television. Whereas X-Men Origins: Wolverine was an unfocused mess of a film, The Wolverine was a very consciously structured piece of superhero cinema. It had a very obvious three-act structure, conforming to the tried-and-tested approach to structuring superhero stories. In particular, it hewed quite close to the formula for superhero sequels, with the hero having a crisis of ability (and purpose) in an extended second act before building to a climactic set piece.

The big problem with The Wolverine was simple. As much as the movie consciously adopted classic superhero tropes and storytelling elements, it lacked several key ingredients. The plot of the film required keeping the identity of the bad guy a secret to the last possible minute, even if the movie’s themes and the law of conservation of characters clued savvy viewers in almost immediately. As a result, the middle of The Wolverine was a jumble in which the main character had a bunch of superhero battles, but no singular adversary against which to define himself.

Blind to its flaws...

Blind to its flaws…

It is a cliché to suggest that a superhero story is only as good as its villain. After all, Batman Begins does an excellent job of burying its primary antagonist for the bulk of its second act; if anything, the movie is stronger for focusing on Bruce Wayne during that period. Similarly, Gene Hackman did great work in Superman, but Lex Luthor only arrived after the movie had crafted its unique vision of Superman. It is possible to tell a good superhero story without focusing on (or paralleling) that villain of the piece.

(While keeping the discussion within the framework of the show, it is possible to argue that Matthew Murdock is as much the antagonist of Frank Miller’s Born Again as Wilson Fisk. It is Wilson Fisk who sets the collapse of Matt’s life in motion, and who provides a suitably explosive finalé, but the downward spiral is reinforced by Matt Murdock’s own stubbornness and paranoia. Later writers like Brian Michael Bendis and Mark Waid have diagnosed Matt as suffering a nervous breakdown or depression; the consensus is that Matt is very much his own demon.)

A punishing brief.

A punishing brief.

The second season of Daredevil practically revels in its superhero tropes. Frank Castle and Elektra Natchios are set on journeys that run parallel to that of Matthew Murdock, to the point where both gain variants of their classic costumes in A Cold Day in Hell’s Kitchen mirroring the appearance of Matt’s classic costume in Daredevil. The contrast in Matt’s relationships between Karen and Elektra is the best Marvel triangle Stan Lee never wrote. It also neatly breaks things down.

However, adhering to so conventional a structure draws attention to the elements that are absent from the formula or repetitions within that formula. For example, the first season essentially puts Frank Castle through the same arc three times, once per act. Frank gets to take revenge on the person responsible for killing his family in Penny and DimeSeven Minutes in Heaven and The Dark at the End of the Tunnel. Every time that it seems Frank has found peace, the show pulls back to reveal another criminal mastermind responsible for his tragedy.

(Bathroom) stalling for time.

(Bathroom) stalling for time.

However, the biggest absence from the second season of Daredevil is a more basic structural element. The season lacks a clear “big bad”, an antagonist who provides a consistent thread running through the year. The Hand are hinted at in Regrets Only and explicitly appear in Guilty as Sin, with Nobu making a big dramatic reappearance at the end of Seven Minutes in Heaven. However, these are fairly generic antagonists. In fact, Nobu was a second-tier henchman during the first season, outwitted by Fisk and bested by Daredevil.

The first stretch of the second season can coast by on the idea of a match-up between the Punisher and Daredevil. However, the conflict between the two characters reaches its peak in New York’s Finest. From then on out, it is quite clear that Frank Castle is being positioned as a protagonist rather an antagonist. Frank turns himself in during Penny and Dime, while the second act emphasises the similarities between Matt and Frank before the third act just decides that Frank should probably just go off and be the hero of his own story.

You know what they say about guys with short samurai swords...

You know what they say about guys with short samurai swords…

Similarly, Elektra is never really Matt’s opponent. The two characters have repeated disagreements, but Regrets Only makes it clear that these are flirtatious asides rather than oppositional statements. The show teases the idea of turning Elektra into a primary antagonist in both The Dark at the End of the Tunnel and A Cold Day in Hell’s Kitchen, but Elektra’s arc largely runs alongside that of Matthew Murdock instead of in opposition to him. The result is a season where the conflict frequently seems to be a matter of degree rather than intent.

There are points at which the second season seems to acknowledge this glaring structural absence. The cliffhangers of both Semper Fidelis and Guilty as Sin faintly nod towards the idea of what is absent from the season as a whole. The cliffhanger of Semper Fidelis, the last episode screened for critics, finds Elektra and Matt staring at a gigantic hole in the ground. Neither has any idea what is there, but it clearly represents a void or absence. The image is enough to provide the cliffhanger. The stronger hook of “ninjas attack!” shows up in the teaser to Guilty as Sin.

Speaking Frankly.

Speaking Frankly.

The cliffhanger of Guilty as Sin, the first episode not to be screened for critics, provides a clear counterpoint to the gaping void that appeared in the closing moments of Semper Fidelis. After Frank Castle is introduced to his mysterious benefactor, a familiar bald head comes into view. It is Wilson Fisk, as fantastically played by Vincent D’Onofrio. In that moment, the second season concedes the absence left by Wilson Fisk. There is – quite literally – a Fisk-shaped hole at the centre of the season.

The absence of a clear antagonist means a lack of focus for the season’s arcs. During the first season, the show was able to directly compare and contrast Matt Murdock and Wilson Fisk. The fact that both characters were on a collision course meant that each character was always in sharp contrast to his counterpoint. For example, the dissolution of the friendship between Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson conveniently overlapped with the poisoning of Vanessa Fisk in Nelson v. Murdock.

Matt Murdock happy? This does not bode well.

Matt Murdock happy? This does not bode well.

The second season lacks that clarity of purpose. At any given moment, Matt is being pulled or pushed by Frank or Elektra. It is never clear which exerts a stronger narrative force in the second and third acts of the show; Matt spends more time with Elektra, but the Punisher gets his own running plot line. As a result, the show’s handling of Matt can seem muddled and confused as the character tries to meet the demands imposed on him by serving as a foil to both Elektra and the Punisher equally.

This is most obvious in the trial of Frank Castle, which is one of the best ideas in the show’s run marred by the one of the clumsiest executions. Matt Murdock’s secret identity as a lawyer is a great character hook, to the point that the character’s recently relaunched comic book is being written by an actual honest-to-goodness lawyer. Lawyer-by-day, vigilante-by-night is a perfect character pitch; that is before you get into the whole “justice is blind” bit. However, on a practical level, it can be very difficult to integrate that idea into stories.

Lawy to me.

Lawy to me.

Comic book fans don’t tend to want the heightened physical melodrama interrupted by procedural melodrama. Comic books are a very visual medium, and courtroom drama seldom provides dynamic visuals. Even beyond that, the reality of legal procedure is seldom as compelling as the exaggerated version that appears on television. As a result, most Daredevil writers will tend to write around the actual court scenes. The framework of new clients can provide a gateway to a story, but Matt Murdock seldom carries the story’s dramatic weight as a lawyer.

It should also be noted that the idea of exploring legal procedure within the framework of a fictional universe where New York was subject to an alien invasion that could legitimately be described as an “act of [Norse] god” is appealed to a very select group of people. (Mostly readers of Charles Soule’s She-Hulk run.) It is a fun and subversive way of looking at the superhero story, akin to the planned Damage Control pilot, but that element is unlikely to ever be the focus of a show as deeply in love with superhero tropes as Daredevil.

Matt walks the thin red line.

Matt walks the thin red line.

However, historically, Marvel has found a way to weave Matt Murdock into stories about other superheroes on trial. The Trial of the Incredible Hulk might be the most high-profile example, being broadcast on NBC in 1989 as a possible backdoor pilot for a Daredevil television show that would have starred John Rhys-Davies as the Kingpin. Mark Millar and Brian Hitch would pay extended homage to that failed pilot in their run on The Ultimates. The idea of having Matt Murdock defend another comic book character is a great way to draw in his legal background.

As much as Frank Miller is the primary influence on Daredevil, the show pays homage to other iconic Daredevil creators as well. The trial of the Punisher proposed in Regrets Only evokes the basic outline of Brian Michael Bendis’ Trial of the Century arc, in which a recently-outed Matt Murdock uses the trial of a d-list superhero (“the White Tiger”) as an excuse to mount an impassioned defence of his own vigilante activities. This being a Daredevil story, Matt’s plan goes about as well as can be expected.

Dude scrubs up good.

Dude scrubs up good.

There is also something kind of fun about imagining what a superhero trial would actually look like. After all, the O.J. Simpson trial demonstrated the sort of media circus that unfolds around a celebrity trial; imagine something like that for an icon like Captain America or Iron Man. It is fun to image what a crossover between Daredevil and The People vs. O.J. Simpson might actually look like. While it wouldn’t feature nearly as many ninjas, it would be fun to spend more than three episodes buzzing around the fallout from the trial of a (pseudo-)superhero.

On paper, the trial of Frank Castle is a great idea. It keeps Frank active within the show, even after his apprehension in Penny and Dime. It provides a nice buffer between his surrender to the authorities and his escape at the end of Seven Minutes in Heaven. It also provides the opportunity for lots of larger-than-life operatic grandstanding and monologues that can bluntly summarise the themes of the show. Superhero stories work best in larger-than-life terms. Turning Frank’s trial into a referendum on superheroes or vigilantes would play into that.

Washed out.

Washed out.

Unfortunately, the trial never quite comes together as well as it might. There are a lot of different reasons for this, but the primary reason is lack of focus. The trial of Frank Castle is caught in a weird space between a plot thread worthy of attention on its own merit and a generic activity from which Elektra might distract Matt. Regrets Only is never entirely clear about what the trial of Frank Castle means in terms of Matt Murdock’s larger arc across the whole of the second season.

There is some suggestion that Matt is effectively putting Daredevil on trial by proxy. “Is this about saving a man or saving a vigilante?” Foggy asks when Matt suggests defending Frank Castle in Regrets Only. In a nice callback to his debate with Frank in New York’s Finest, Matt responds, “He’s a person, Foggy. Like you, like me. He shouldn’t have to die.” It is a philosophically consistent approach to Matt’s character. However, his big speech in Guilty as Sin suggests that Matt is taking it personally.

"It's not so bad in here. They let me watch my stories."

“It’s not so bad in here. They let me watch my stories.”

All of this is coloured by the fact that the trial also exists to demonstrate how Matt’s nocturnal activities with Elektra are distracting him from his day job. So he misses the opening statements in Semper Fidelis, which would have been a great place to really reinforce the idea that Matt sees Frank as a dysfunctional surrogate for his own heroism. Similarly, Matt’s argument with Karen over Frank in Semper Fidelis is clouded by several motivations; Matt likely believes Frank should be punished, but it also appears a ruse to get Karen to leave so he can address Elektra.

Again, it should be possible to thread these two overlapping character arcs through the trial. After all, people can be motivated by a whole myriad of factors. A person cannot be reduced to a simple chain of cause and effect. Matt can be both using Frank as a proxy and struggling to give the case his attention. However, the show struggles to balance these two extremes, so Matt’s character arc seems fuzzy and fragmented. Matt is not giving the case enough attention, but is it because he is too close or too far or both?

All tied up.

All tied up.

This is a great example of how the lack of a single clear oppositional figure muddies the season as a whole. Matt is vitally important to the development of both Frank and Elektra, to the point that Elektra seems to lose a lot of her agency to him. However, the character is pulled in too many directions at the same time, bouncing between plot threads like a pinball, his motivations seeming to shift from scene to scene, depending on what the plot thread needs. Charlie Cox is great in the role, but Matt Murdock lacks the singular purpose that made the first season so engaging.

The character work during (and after) the trial is something of a mixed bag. There are good ideas that get lost a bit in the execution. Regrets Only is the first episode to truly focus on the relationship between Frank Castle and Karen Page, a relationship that becomes increasingly important as the season unfolds. In fact, the show’s third act positions Karen as more important to Frank’s arc than to Matt’s plot thread in episodes like .380 and The Dark at the End of the Tunnel.

Boy, the producers really don't want Frank interfering with the show's second arc, eh?

Boy, the producers really don’t want Frank interfering with the show’s second arc, eh?

There is a sense of pragmatism to all of this. After all, it seems like long stretches of Daredevil struggle with the question of what to do with supporting characters like Foggy and Karen. This is particularly frustrating given that one aspect of the show’s slavish devotion to comic book storytelling has been the insistence on keeping the superhero’s love interest oblivious to the existence of a secret identity. It is a classic superhero trope, one very much in keeping with the show’s aesthetic. It is also quite exhausting.

After all, there is evidence of something of a double-standard here. Shows centring on male superheroes seem to contort unnaturally to ensure that the romantic interest remains completely oblivious to her suitor’s nocturnal activities. This is particularly glaring when it seems like everybody else is in on the big secret. The Flash is a particularly frustrating example; it seems like everybody knows about Barry except Iris. It took Arrow a while to move past it. Compare that to the handling of the trope in Supergirl, where the men know straight away.

"They call this move the Affleck."

“They call this move the Affleck.”

The decision to keep Karen Page in the dark is controversial. Actor Deborah Ann Woll has weighed in on the matter, defending the characterisation:

“I believe she wouldn’t connect them because I’m actually experiencing this and there’s not enough evidence yet for me to connect them,” she said with a laugh. “But it’s fun. She’s smart. She’s a smart cookie, especially in that first episode, we’re going, ‘OK, well maybe you’re a drinker, maybe you’re not, but I kinda think you’re not. I kinda think something else is going on here.’ He can tell me all he wants that that’s what’s happening, but I sort of think I’m smarter than that. ‘I don’t know what I think you’re up to.'”

On a strictly plotting level, it provides a clearer contrast with Elektra. However, it limits what the show can actually do with Karen to the point that the closing moments of A Cold Day in Hell’s Kitchen cannot arrive soon enough.

Ninja bikers from hell!

Ninja bikers from hell!

Since the second half of the season focuses so heavily on Matt Murdock as Daredevil, with Karen consciously locked out of that loop, the writers have to do something with her. Some of those decisions are questionable at best, but simple plotting logistics explain why Karen eventually ends up spending so much time with the Punisher. Admittedly, it is a lot more fun to imagine the diner scene in .380 as a conversation between Frank Castle and Foggy Nelson, dealing with the same themes and ideas.

Still, having Karen Page fixate on the Punisher is a very clever character touch. One of Karen’s defining character beats during the first season of Daredevil was the murder of Wesley in The Path of the Righteous. It is a secret that Karen has kept to herself. Nobody else knows about it. However, it hangs over her second season arc. In Dogs to a Gunfight, Karen mused on how she had wandered into the sights of an avenger named the Punisher. “What if I’m drawing this stuff my way?” she asked. “What if I deserve it?” Matt isn’t the only one with a guilt complex.

Pie in the sky thinking.

Pie in the sky thinking.

To be fair, the show has repeatedly suggested that Karen has a lot of guilt over past events. The first season made a number of veiled references to a shameful secret in her past. The second season seems to add a bit more meat to those bones, with the conspicuous mention of her brother in Penny and Dime followed by a fleeting glimpse of Ben Ulrich’s notes in Seven Minutes in Heaven. However, for the audience, the murder of Wesley remains clearest and most recent example of Karen’s moral transgressions.

Because nobody knows about what happened to Wesley except for Karen, the second season cannot explicitly discuss the matter. It cannot set-up the possibility with expository dialogue in the same way that Semper Fidelis has Matt and Elektra draw attention to the “death” of Nobu two episodes before his surprise resurrection at the end of Seven Minutes in Heaven. Nevertheless, Karen’s guilt and shame over murdering Wesley hangs over every conversation she has, and colours all of her interactions involving and surrounding Frank Castle.

A crack safe cracker...

A crack safe cracker…

Indeed, this is what makes Karen’s argument with Matt over Frank so compelling in Semper Fidelis. The two characters are having what appears to be a principled argument about the morality of what the Punisher does, but their arguments are predicated upon secrets, truths that the other party cannot know. Karen defends Frank as a proxy for her own murder of Wesley, which Matt does not know about. Matt attacks Frank as a monster because of how he differs from Daredevil, the secret identity concealed from Karen.

However, while Karen’s fascination with Frank Castle is a nice character touch that makes a great deal of sense, there is an obvious problem with the dynamic. Why does Frank care about Karen? When Frank asks Foggy to leave so that he can talk to Karen, Karen wonders, “Why am I here? Why did you ask me to stay?” The audience might ask the same question. The obvious answer is that Karen has information of material use to Frank; she is a resource in his campaign, and thus mollifying her furthers his objective. However, the show continues to soften Frank.

"A blind lawyer once tried to test me..."

“A blind lawyer once tried to test me…”

One of the most frustrating aspects of the portrayal of Frank Castle over the course of the second season is the extent to which the show tries to humanise the character. There is a recurring sense that Frank doubts what he is doing on some level. He would never admit so honestly, but his conversations with other characters suggest a deep-set anxiety about his chosen course of action. He spends New York’s Finest trying to convince Matt of his integrity, and he spends a significant stretch of Regrets Only trying to reassure Karen.

“You weren’t in any danger,” he advises her, referencing their first encounter in Bang. “I only hurt people who deserve it. I wanted you to know that.” Why? Why does Frank want her to know that? Why does it matter what Karen things about Frank? More to the point, why does Frank care about what Karen thinks about him? The second season of Daredevil returns to this idea repeatedly, suggesting that all Frank really wants is for somebody to understand why he is doing what he does.

Showing their Hand.

Showing their Hand.

Jon Bernthal has acknowledged this insecurity as part of his approach to the character, suggesting that Frank Castle is not even sure of who he is:

I think the idea is to not spoon-feed anything and say this guy is a good guy or a bad guy, but say that he’s a man and let the audience make up their minds. I think that this character has his own brand of justice, and I think he’s in the process of figuring out exactly what that is. What’s bold and fresh and new about this show is that it’s not going to make those decisions for you. It’s going to encourage you to make those decisions for yourself.

It feels like an awkward attempt to make Frank relatable, pulling back from the moral absolutism of a character who would adopt the name (and the brand) of “The Punisher.”

"There was a spot left open by Clemons."

“Quite frankly, I’m amazed I make it through the season as well.”

It seems like Daredevil is being somewhat hypocritical in how it handles the Punisher. Having Frank brutally murder dozens of criminals relies on a certain moral absolutism from the character, but the show backs away from that by suggesting that perhaps Frank is really haunted by doubts and insecurities. A large part of what makes the Punisher such a compelling character is the unrelenting purity of his mission. For all its many flaws, Punisher: War Zone remains just about the only adaptation of the character to convey that on screen.

There are glimmers of this version of the character bubbling through the second season. The portrayal of Frank as an unstoppable killing machine in Bang might be a little cliché, but it pitches the character as unrelenting and unyielding. Even in Regrets Only, there are a few beats where it seems like Frank Castle is fully committed to what he does. Introduced to Nelson and Murdock, he reflects, bluntly, “I know who you are. You protect sh!tbirds.” When Reyes threatens to put Frank in the general prison population, he remarks, “Sounds like a party.”

Red eyes in the morning, a devil's warning.

Red eyes in the morning, a devil’s warning.

However, it seems like Daredevil is very much dancing around Frank Castle. Regrets Only makes it clear that the murder of the Castle family was not resolved in Penny and Dime. Instead, the murder of the Castle family is definitely not the result of random violence that could happen to anyone. The District Attorney is implicated, issuing both “a do not resuscitate order” and “a shoot to kill order” on Frank Castle to cover her mistakes. “Somebody in the D.A.’s office wants you dead,” Frank is advised.

As with the decision to pair off Karen with Frank, the second season’s cogs are visibly turning. The show has settled on a three-act structure, but Frank will have already completed his arc if he is allowed to kill the people responsible for his family’s murder. So the season is structured to give Frank two more big targets, each at the climax of one of the following acts. Frank is allowed to kill Dutton in Seven Minutes in Heaven, and to avenge himself on Schoonover in The Dark at the End of the Tunnel. One senses that his quest ends there because the season does.

Holding each other together.

Holding each other together.

The second season of Daredevil really misunderstands the fundamental concept of the Punisher. This is a shame, given how many superficial aspects the show adapts from Garth Ennis’ iconic take on the character. Penny and Dime was saturated with references to Ennis’ Punisher MAX run; the Irish bad guy named “Finn” from Kitchen Irish, Frank letting himself be captured and sneaking a razor under his wrist from Man of Stone, Frank refusing to go down when tased from Valley Forge. However, the show consciously avoids the core of the character.

There is a reason that Frank Castle is called “the Punisher” rather than “the Avenger”, and not just because Tony Stark patented The Avengers first. Castle is not a character particularly interested in retribution. He is not a character particularly interested in justice. Frank Castle is not trying to right a wrong, he is a man waging a one-man war against criminals. That is not an easy motivation to understand, and is a difficult characterisation to write. However, it is more interesting and more unsettling.

Safe keeping.

Safe keeping.

Reducing Frank Castle to a man seeking to avenge his family is to make the character palatable. It reduces the Punisher to a simple sequence of cause-and-effect that is reductive. The implication in New York’s Finest was that Frank Castle was the result of “one bad day”, which is the easiest possible approach to the character. It avoids the sorts of questions that Semper Fidelis and Guilty as Sin tease only to discard. It turns Frank Castle into “Batman… but with guns!”, which seems like a waste given how Daredevil already has its Batman surrogate.

As the second season of Daredevil enters its second act, issues with the meat-and-potatoes plotting become clearer. It is very hard to figure out who knows what at various points in the show’s run. The tight structuring ensures that the plot unfolds like a sequence of breadcrumbs from one revelation to the next, but the internal logic feels much looser than it did in the first season. The first season was built around two characters who were very clear in what they wanted. The second season does not move in a straight line so much as it bounces.

Trial and error.

Trial and error.

Regrets Only eases the show towards the reveal of the Hand as the big villains of the season. The trail leading to that revelation makes sense in a linear plotting fashion; Elektra enrolls Matt to investigate the Japanese arm of Roxxon, who turn out to be Yakuza, who turn out to be undead ninja, who are secretly preparing for some apocalyptic war centring around Elektra herself. There is a clear chain of causality there, in a very “a leads to b leads to c leads to d” sort of way. However, it is interesting to try to figure out how “a” and “d” connect directly to one another.

Did Elektra know about the Hand when dealing with Roxxon? Regrets Only suggests that she didn’t know she was dealing with the Yakuza, as she observes, “I stirred the pot a little on the business side and who came knocking at my door? The Yakuza.” However, Guilty as Sin suggests that Elektra is not a reliable narrator. Similarly, given the Hand’s interest in Elektra as suggested in The Dark at the End of the Tunnel, was that a factor in their investment in the company owned by Elektra’s father? It all seems a rather large contrivance, unless various parties knew.

Eating it all up...

Eating it all up…

There is something to be said for ambiguity in plotting, in allowing the audience to reach their own conclusions. However, there is a sense that the second season of Daredevil avoids explaining any of these plot elements because they would only raise more questions. It is heavily suggested that the massive hole at the climax of Semper Fidelis was dug to recover the sarcophagus, even if it is not explicitly stated. However, explicitly confirming that plot details would only raise more questions about what a Japanese sarcophagus was doing buried in New York.

These are all examples of a weirdly tight structure imposed around a decidedly loose plot, something of a three-act corset. It is hard to complain too much in the moment, particularly when the show provides such immediate visceral thrills as Matt and Elektra getting dressed up to take down some baddies at an upscale gala. Regrets Only has some wonderful moments, from Elektra quietly tearing her skirt before going into ass-kicking mode to that wonderful shot of a brutal brawl behind frosted office glass.

Frosty reception...

Frosty reception…

Regrets Only is a lot of fun, but it also marks the points at which the fault lines begin to show in the larger arc of the season. They will only deepen as the season continues on.

You might be interested in our other reviews of the second season of Daredevil:

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