In 2010, Hulu asked history’s only question: what if Stan Lee made Swan Lake? Would nerds study at all in junior fall? Or pass JPN 204 by guessing? I still mix up “university” and “debt hole,” so Hulu found a winner.
Meet The LXD. Or The Legion of Extraordinary Dancers. If you stop on the non-acronym, you won’t survive the show. Think dating a dancer–you’re not there for dialogue. Before Midnight might capture whatever adults talk about, but The LXD has a mad doctor poplock a Frankenstein to life. The Frankenstein also dances, but for good. Raw pathos. The LXD perfected art, by cutting it with the soft sci-fi Americans need to maintain focus or arousal. Including me.
It’s also the brainchild of Jon Chu, who directed Crazy Rich Asians and Step Up 3D. Creatively, it’s closer to Crazy Rich Asians: he saw an inexplicable gap and sprinted there before a better script. Granted, “telekinetic headspins” is more of a coke idea than “acknowledge a demographic exists.” So as a fan of The LXD, The Dark Tower, and hair metal: thank you cocaine. You’re the powdery heart of our culture. The flag needs more white lines.
This is the true heir of “silly dance film.” Not one scene makes sense. Sure, you’ll understand it. It’s dirt simple. If you can read Power Pack without backup, you can process the story. It’s just hiding between body rolls and secondhand descriptions of the X-Men.
Then there’s LXD’s power system: none. Dancepower’s nature, visual cues, public presence, and limits are completely rewritten each scene. Not episode. Scene. That seems normal if your bookshelf has less pictures. But after reading about Sukuna’s 2.5% boost to ice damage when he inhales during a full moon, it’s an adjustment. I know more about X-genetics than real human bodies, and Chu left me shrugging.
Here’s what I have: Dancepower is innate, unless it’s passed on to you, or you’re in love, or evil Zorro pop-locks a corpse to life, or you try really hard, or you find magic Nikes. Get the Nikes, that guy kicks ass.
Despite my X-Men cracks, there’s a little more Heroes in its DNA. The LXD enjoys introducing characters and spooky prophecy more than following up on either. Which chafed when Heroes promised narrative instead of The Nutcracker in Space. The LXD offers music videos with extra steps, and delivers. Empty calories? Sure. But less like Maltitol, and more like fistfuls of homemade frosting.
Drifting to junk food tells me it’s time for specifics. We’ll discuss two adventures in pirouettes. The first is what the premise naturally invokes, and awesome. The other is virtuosic insanity, and better.
Our title’s a little less over the top. This episode’s called “The Uprising Begins,” and I can’t define The Uprising after rewatching it. But it’s begun, and it’s televised. Or streamed. Streaming services were still catfishing venture capitalists, and backing semi-original ideas. A strategy replaced with sequels to Rebel Moon.
Luckily, we have a guide.
Who doesn’t explain this, or anything else. The LXD episodes open with cryptic rants by someone’s abandoned grandparent. These date it as an early web original: fast-forward buttons mean he doesn’t exist. I don’t know a word the narrator says after episode five. Maybe he switches to bird sounds, or reads from Dianetics.
For your convenience, I’ve averaged his monologues into one spiel. By hand. This would be a perfect AI joke, but we’re a week away from Dune rules and I want to survive. Enjoy bespoke nonsense.
The Uprising’s first skirmish unfolds in a C-Suite office. Executive hobbies shape the world, so it might be documentary footage. The manager/president/fanciest suit’s named Spex (go with it), and enjoys life on top. His runway model secretary narrates about his life of headspinless peace.
Spex is a breakdancer, like most great leaders. I don’t stand by the nation, faith, race, gonads, or species I spawned with. Bboys are chosen. Every Illuminati member has windmills. This element of The LXD, where a dance cabal runs Earth, is also documentary content.
A new hire interrupts the expository paperwork: a non-assassin named Tendo, with eyes stuck on “murder.” You know, the look you give your boss’ back.
They clock each other immediately. Bboy radar’s simple: you hear music from 1980, smell sativa before breakfast, or spot a wrist brace. If it seems like I’m going fast, the show’s faster. As God intended.
Once the last tryhard leaves the office, it’s on.
They whirl around on the desks. In the aisles. In the inexplicable dance-battle nook. My hands and feet search for controllers. It looks like Virtua Fighter with a DDR pad.
And it’s fantastic. Everything Chu didn’t learn about storytelling goes into shooting flips. Nothing’s worked this inexplicably well since Def Jam: Fight for NY. A lifetime of stories burdened with themes and structure made me expect a metaphor. Something about office rivalries, or corporate struggle. Nope. This is a one-round dance off to first blood.
Ah. Death. I meant to the death. And the late assassin has an inexplicable message for our hopefully-hero.
This isn’t just an assassination, or dance attack. It’s a suicide dance attack. This rhythm soldier hugged the rest of the Normandy before spinning his last. And skimped on the mining minigames, sealing his fate.
Anyway, that’s the cool-off episode after the crazy one. Here’s the crazy one.
“Robot Love Story” is—
One sec.
“Robot Love Story” is a slow burn. Starting, like most romances, with Zorro animating a corpse via Cosmic Cube. For all the wank about comics hijacking culture, everyone else loves Jack Kirby’s notes.
Malpractice? For the rhythmless masses, sure. For the Dark Doctor, another experiment in body isolations. And evil.
I didn’t add “The Perfect Specimen” above, though it looks like one of my free fonts. I think it’s aesthetic: moves like that sound punk in pre-production. Then again: after a big-time director, a dozen veteran dancers, and a writer worth at least a Wendy’s double stack, money might be tight.
Similar text replaces all the dialogue in “Robot Love Story.” It’s an upgrade, taking us another vital step further from Battle of the Year. Which my inbox says some bboys love. Odd, but every atrocity finds defenders somewhere in the comments. Or university. Or state department.
Acrimony aside, mad science creates a silent super-popper. He can only speak…through dance.
Unless you’re a hot nurse. Then he speaks normally.
The Dark Doctor isn’t having all this “beauty killed the beast” shit. He pops evilly. Making the hospital’s backup dancers more evil. And he’s good enough to sell that premise.
It’s extremely confusing. And cool. And more confusing. It’s shot kind of like bloodbending.
I assumed “The Dark Doctor” was an extremely taken name. Doctor Who’s been around for a while, and operated on that level of subtlety for about a decade. But all a casual search brings up is an ongoing manga, so it looks like The LXD plucked a premium IP name. Or at least scalped something buried.
Naturally, love-popping is stronger. It’ll take even more evil dancing to overcome Frankenstyle’s jawline. But the Dark Doctor knows how to delegate. And fires the series’ best line.
The Dark Nurse appears.
The Dark Nurse strides into battle, en pointe.
The Dark Nurse gets jumped with a bat.
A normal bat. She then loses a normal fight. I love this show.
It’s more interpretive (read: vague) from here. But in case you don’t read offscreen: the golem’s not super into his creator. It’s just the first volley of a popping war. Which is just one front of whatever the Uprising is. Whoever brings the bat probably has it clinched.
Until then, love-popping wins the backup dancers over. Frankenstyle teaches them robotting, seizing control of the hospital/asylum/system. Maybe this is the Uprising? Maybe the Uprising is in our hearts? Maybe I should stop jabbing and learn to enjoy life?
There’s one more miracle. Until now, we’ve mined reaction shots from a wheelchair-bound patient. He’s got an LXD ring, meaning something. Love-popping’s aftermath lets him rise.
The previous episode featured two friends practicing kicks in a warehouse. And rocked. But this Reanimator music video is where The LXD says “fuck it” and never looks back. Aside from the four or so times it looks back. It’s wildly uneven, really. But mostly nuts.
Once, I thought good media got multiple things right. Nope. The LXD has one good idea, and hits it with all six brain cells. An ideal number. A seventh cell would ruin clean footwork, and that’s all it takes to let the Dark Doctor win.
Sure. Here’s a tutorial for some evil breakdancing. I think. It has “dark” in the name.
This article was brought to you by our fine sponsor and Hot Dog Supreme: Waylan Russell, known in superpowered breakdancing circles as The Mad Cabbage Patcher.