There is something so curiously endearing about a show that tries with no shortage of desperation to be the coolest thing since frozen, sunglass-wearing sliced bread. Where most shows would simply have a character make a one-liner before collectedly planting a bullet through an enemy’s forehead, Jormungand painfully draws it out so the audience can fully appreciate just how totally radical it wants them to think it is, because its sense of what’s hip was originally from the dark age of glam metal and Reaganomics and it wants to catch up to what the kids are into these days, like autotuned Engrish.
In what’s probably the only such example in the history of mankind, Jormungand is entertaining specifically because it tries way too hard to impress, with writing that manages to be incredibly boring when it doesn’t revolve around each character’s own kind of psychopathy applied in the goofiest ways possible. So in an otherwise dull second season that revolves around actually developing the characters to the extent that any show would only do if it planned on killing them off, an episode centered on the simple premise of “Wilee likes bombs. Wilee uses bombs well. See Wilee use bombs well,” is refreshing, especially when it actually manages to be organically cool for once. As an ordinary episode, it doesn’t hold a candle to other greats of the fall season, but when compared to the dry fare that Perfect Order has provided us up to this point, it’s a welcome respite to have a man sabotage a British PMC’s bombs as opposed to be monologued to death by living statistic spreadsheets given flesh.
Going into the first season, I initially thought that it’d delve into the human side of war, with Koko’s position as an arms dealer operating as a sort of middle ground to explore the nature of various conflicts through the objective lens of an opportunist looking to offload as much of her merchandise with as big a profit as possible. And then we learned just how loco Koko was, characters like Dr. Miami and a burly masked guy that kills with hedge trimmers were introduced, and all semblance of subtlety was (thankfully) thrown out without a second thought.
Now that it’s back in the form of a pasty white CIA agent, sitting on what could have been an interesting show with what I thought would be no sign of budging, it’s not entirely welcome. It’s up to episodes like this to remind me that under Perfect Order’s stale shell of stuffy storytelling lays a soft, nougaty center of gleeful one-off episodes and hilarious rap lyrics, ready to be consumed with poorly-stifled giggling. It tries so very hard to entertain and leave the audience with its collective jaw hanging wide open that it succeeds in spite of previous failures. So Jormungand, please, don’t give up being a cheesy slice of arms dealing action. You’re too good not to be.