The Revenge of Alice Cooper—review

 

Even some Alice Cooper fans can be confused about the difference between the group and the solo artist.

Once upon a time, in the late 1960s and early 1970s, Alice Cooper was a band, consisting of a lead singer named Alice Cooper (nee Vincent Furnier), guitarists Michael Bruce and Glen Buxton, bassist Dennis Dunaway, and drummer Neal Smith.

In 1974, after seven albums, for reasons that differ depending on who’s telling the tale, the band members went their separate ways. Alice Cooper, the lead singer, became a solo act. The other four found a new lead singer and attempted to continue as the Billion Dollar Babies (named for the AC group’s highest-charting album), but success eluded them. Buxton died far too young at age 49 in 1997.

Over the past fifty years, Cooper has maintained a core base of fans drawn to the power of the original group’s music (and his solo hits) and a macabre, theatrical stage show.

Even long-time fans sometimes refer to Bruce, Buxton, Dunaway, and Smith as Cooper’s backing band, but this is inaccurate. Originally, all five members were Alice Cooper.

At various points, the four surviving members have reunited for one-offs (Live from the Astroturf is a highlight) and occasional songs on Cooper’s solo releases. But they’ve never made an album-length return.

Until now.

The Revenge of Alice Cooper is like stepping into an aural time machine and traveling back to 1974 for the band’s follow-up to Muscle of Love. Sure, there’s nothing here that’s as anthemic as “I’m Eighteen” and “School’s Out,” or even “Elected” and “Under My Wheels.” But such comparisons are unfair. Those songs have had decades of airplay to burn into fans’ collective memories, tied to rites of passage and idealized memories of youth.

By contrast, chances are good that the songs on The Revenge of Alice Cooper will seldom be played on the radio, which is more a commentary on the sad state of that industry than on the quality of the songs here.

Because, make no mistake, the new album is excellent.

The record opens with “Black Mamba,” a quintessential Alice Cooper tune, filled with self-awareness and double-entendre. Just what is the black mamba, anyway? A literal snake “inside your bed sheets / Coiled into the folds so white”? A trouser snake (hee hee)? Both? Neither? The song is wrapped in the groovy, guitar-driven sound fans are accustomed to hearing from the group, making it the perfect introduction.

Some of the songs try too hard to be menacing and hip, serving only to remind audiences that the median age of the members is late 70s. “Wild Ones” suffers this way, but not as much as “Up All Night,” which would be right at home on any glam metal album from the ’80s. And “Kill the Flies” maps too-familiar territory for the band, another song about institutionalization and mental illness, topics that don’t play well in today’s more enlightened climate.

The songs get better with “One Night Stand,” a clever opus about two serial killers unwittingly attracted to one another. “Blood on the Sun,” composed by Dunaway, is the album’s best, reflecting on the senselessness of war and its proclivity for chewing up our youngest and best.

A surviving guitar part by Buxton highlights “What Happened to You,” ensuring that all members of the original band are represented. Elsewhere, lead guitar parts are handled by Gyasi Heus, a name I was unfamiliar with but whose work blends in well with the veteran members. Robby Krieger of The Doors plays on “Black Mamba.”

Cooper’s harmonica is a focal point on “Intergalactic Vagabond Blues” and “I Ain’t Done Wrong,” the latter being a cover of a Yardbirds song.

Unlike some of his contemporaries who have soldiered on into their later years, Cooper’s voice has aged perfectly. His raspy delivery is indistinguishable from his heyday, and he still sings with conviction. The decision to pepper the chorus of “Black Mamba” with “Ya ya ya,” however, is perplexing, as if a more appropriate lyric escaped him.

Presiding over the entire affair is long-time AC producer Bob Ezrin, who also helps with background vocals and plays the organ on “Kill the Flies.”

The regular album’s final song, “See You on the Other Side,” (two bonus tracks follow on some editions), would be the perfect career coda; however, at 77, Cooper has shared no plans to retire or even slow his incessant touring. An alternate explanation for the title is that fans will just flip the record over and listen again.

So, will Cooper’s touring band play any of this album on the road this summer and fall? Performing these songs without the original group feels wrong, yet the material deserves a live presentation. Bruce, Dunaway, and Smith will join Alice for his annual Christmas Pudding show in Arizona later this year, yet the logistics of them playing a regular schedule are likely more challenging. Let’s hope something can be worked out and that any such performances will be professionally recorded for posterity.

It’s not often that a band writes a new chapter after 52 years, and even less likely that it’s any good. The original Alice Cooper—the group, that is—has managed to do both.

How much will we pay for that upgrade?

The late, great Tom Petty made cogent and prescient observations about life in his song lyrics. One of my favorites, from the title track of 2002’s The Last DJ, notes that “all the boys upstairs want to see / How much you’ll pay for what you used to get free.”

He wasn’t wrong. In the years since the song’s release, we’ve seen “the boys upstairs”—corporate fat cats, government entities—find new and inventive ways to wring more filthy lucre from customers, often with our enthusiastic approval. Streaming services now charge us to watch our favorite shows and sports, and to listen to our favorite music.

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Yes, it’s still possible to enjoy broadcast TV (with a digital antenna that costs a little extra, of course) and listen to the radio. But embedded in many of these free platforms are offers to upgrade, to pay a little—or a lot—more to get something a little—or a lot—better. Maybe fewer commercials. Your favorite songs on demand. Entire seasons of more shows than you would ever have time to watch, even if you dedicated the rest of your life to nothing but.

Part of the consumer appeal, I’m convinced, is not so much the convenience, but rather a way to separate ourselves from the herd, to say “I’m special.” The unwashed masses may have to content themselves with broadcast radio and incessant ads for private-injury lawyers, but the rest of us use Apple Music or Sirius XM.

The thought of how capitalism works to divide us was brought home to me twice in the last week. My wife and I were on vacation, and the airline randomly upgraded us to first class. I’m not a trendy asshole, to quote another rock song (“Smash” by the Offspring), so I’ve never flown first class before.

Our first class experience was exactly that. An experience.

The seats were much larger. I had room to stretch my legs. The flight attendants distributed—wait for it!—warm towels. My wife was so impressed that she woke me up. We giggled when the attendant came back to retrieve the used towel with silver tongs. Then came snacks and drinks. Maybe it was me, but the attendants seemed to smile more.

(By contrast, the algorithmic gods did not favor us with another upgrade on the flight home. Instead, we were stuffed three to a row, instructed curtly when to raise and lower our tray tables, and seldom favored with eye contact, let alone smiles.)

The next opportunity to view the divisive side of corporate America came when we visited a theme park, paying what I, Scrooge McDuck, considered a scandalous price. However, for twice that amount, I could have skipped the lines at each attraction, basically walking onto the rides and leaving the hoi polloi to swelter in the heat and humidity.

I didn’t anticipate how resentful this would make me until I watched so many people using this option, waltzing past my wife and me and hundreds of others on ride after ride. Even though a logical part of my brain told me that A) I could have made a different ticket choice, and B) their decision to outspend me wasn’t personal, my irritation rose with the thermometer. (It was sweltering.)

And it didn’t stop there. For another upcharge, visitors could purchase a non-private VIP tour. For guests who dropped a few thousand dollars (prices varied), the private VIP tour removed even more riffraff.

So often, corporate and governmental forces find ways to monetize events that were once shared experiences. Flying on a plane and waiting in line for roller coasters are just two low-stakes examples. Where entitlement gets more serious—and dangerous—is when it actively makes us feel we deserve special treatment that others don’t.

Want your kids to have a private education? Great! But don’t advocate for vouchers that take money from public schools.

Have wonderful health insurance? Good for you! But don’t support government initiatives to rob others of the right to healthcare.

Fortunate enough to own a car? Excellent. Then don’t bitch about the cost of subsidizing public transportation.

I’m not blaming corporations’ attempts to maximize profits for all of society’s inequalities. And I’m not blaming people who are willing to pony up a little more for extra service, either. First-class tickets and sanctioned line-jumping didn’t create the disparities we see today.

But they are symptomatic of a culture that doesn’t value universal, communal experiences the way it once did.

It’s something to think about the next time you question the need for public institutions like libraries and clinics that serve everybody regardless of ability to pay (and rely on all of society to support via taxes), or when you equate “more money” or “upgrade” with a right to better, faster, and kinder service.

If more events were one-price-fits-all, without the artificial distinctions, maybe more of us would realize that “we’re all in this together,” to quote another song lyric, this one not written by Tom Petty.

Superman Treasury 2025: Hero for All

 DC's latest treasury edition takes full advantage of its larger size to tell an epic story. 

Superman Treasury 2025: Hero for All is the perfect appetizer or dessert for the new Superman movie. Written by Dan Jurgens and illustrated by Bruno Redondo (with "ink assists" by Caio Filipe and "Resurrection Sequence Art" by Jurgens, Brett Breeding, and Adriano Lucas), this story starts big and keeps going. 

I haven't read the monthly Superman titles for a long time, so some of the character changes were challenging to process (for instance, Lois and Clark having a son). Not to worry, because Jurgens brings new readers up to speed quickly and efficiently. 

This is essentially a Superman vs. alien invaders story that encompasses the major heroes of the DC pantheon—Wonder Woman, Green Arrow, Batman, Aquaman, and others. Jurgens even manages to incapacitate Superman early in the story but nevertheless keeps him onstage. His imprisonment becomes an opportunity for him to remember (and, in some cases, misremember) key moments of his life. By the time he's back in action, the entire ensemble cast is ready for an all-out battle sequence where the stakes, as always, are high. 

The real star here, however, is the artwork. I'm unfamiliar with Redondo, but this book makes me want to seek out other stories he has illustrated. His art is bold and dynamic, and his storytelling skills, even in the battle scenes, never leave the reader confused over who is doing what. Jurgens's script gives him ample room for gorgeous two-page spreads—Superman flying into action against a giant robot, Superman dramatically shaking off hypnotic captivity, and a stunning view of DC's entire cast of heroes. Lovely work.

The book ends with a few pages promoting the new film, the monthly comics, and some seminal collections. It is also printed on a better stock of paper than recent DC treasury reprint issues (which, to be fair, use newsprint to replicate the feel of the original books). 

Superman Treasury 2025 is as much fun as I've had reading a comic book so far this year. The creative team goes all out to provide audiences with a reading experience that could compare with the theatrical return of Superman, and they have succeeded. 

A summer of running, writing, and thinking about both

I’m an enthusiastic but average runner, part-time writer, and full-time teacher. As such, I’m often trying to relate writing—something many students dislike—to other activities they may enjoy.

So, while racking up miles on the road this summer, I pondered how running and writing are similar, hoping to spark more interest from the runners in my classes.

Both Running and Writing Require Minimal Gear

A beginning runner needs a decent pair of shoes and some light, comfortable clothing. A beginning writer needs something to write with (pen, keyboard) and something to write on (paper, computer). Sure, helpful add-ons exist for both. Runners may prefer a particular brand of compression socks or energy gels. Writers may gravitate toward certain software or an ergonomically friendly office chair. These extras can make both processes more efficient or less painful, but they aren’t necessary at the start.

Both Benefit from Regular Practice

If you’re athletic, you may run well even without formal training. If you’re highly verbal, you might write a good paper in one draft. But in both cases, you’ll never know how much better you could be without regular, consistent practice.

Both Require Preparation

Granted, the “just do it” philosophy can benefit both runners and writers—but not forever, and not in isolation.

When I was a beginning runner, I’d simply lace up and hit the road. Sometimes I tracked my distance and pace, but often I didn’t. My love of the activity was paramount.

As the miles—and the years—added up, I had to run smarter. Gone were the days of running twice a day, six or seven days a week. To keep crossing finish lines and remain a lifelong runner, I had to become strategic: follow a plan, complete workouts even when I didn’t want to, and listen when my body told me to rest.

Writing is similar. Sure, stream-of-consciousness moments (Anne Lamott’s “shitty first drafts”) are where great ideas are born—just like running fast reminds you why you love the sport. But once the raw idea is there, it needs structure. This means prioritizing time to get the story, essay, novel, or poem on the page—even when you’re not inspired. It means recognizing how a marathon writing session one day might burn you out for the next three. It means brainstorming more effective, practical ways to get the work done.

'When the Student Is Ready, the Teacher Appears'

The runner who’s ready to increase speed or mileage will find no shortage of guidance on doing so safely and efficiently. Likewise, writers can choose from thousands of books, blogs, and videos to elevate their craft.

Both Are Hardest in the Middle

At the start of a run, you’re pumped. Your legs feel light, your head is clear. Near the end, adrenaline kicks in and helps you finish strong. But the middle? That’s where things get tough. Runners can lose focus, bonk, or regret starting too fast.

Writing is no different. A great idea sparks momentum through the first and second pages. But then—wall. Especially with a word count. Like a runner at mile five of a ten-mile workout who hyperfocuses on her distance, students often leave the word counter open, painfully aware they’re at 596 of 1,200 words. Then 597. Then 598.

Screenwriter David Koepp says that when he finds out a writer is on page 71 of a screenplay (the dreaded middle act), he tells them he’s sorry—because it’s “brutal.”

Successful runners learn to run in the moment. The only interval that matters is the one you’re in, and it’s always the last, even if five remain.

Writers must learn the same lesson. Finish the current thought. Make the current point. Worry about the next one later. That next section might be tomorrow’s workout. For now, focus on the sentence in front of you. Hide the word counter—at least until the end of your session.

Perfection Is Impossible

You can be a mediocre runner, a strong runner, or an exceptional runner—but you’ll never be a perfect runner. There’s always some tweak to form or strategy. Even if you run a perfect race, you won’t repeat it every time.

The same goes for writing. You can always improve clarity, brevity, word choice, and audience awareness. You’ll write some very good pieces. But because every piece is different, your approach must change. That means perfection is never possible—and that’s a good thing. These are practices that never grow stale. There will always be techniques to adopt, discard, or refine.

Both Require Reflection

The Nike Run Club coaches, who are often in my ear, talk a lot about the mental side of running. You must be intentional, and that requires thinking about your choices—starting too fast, skipping a run, getting too little sleep, or neglecting to refuel. They recommend a running journal to help reflect and adjust.

Writers benefit from reflection too. Annotating a draft, writing a process reflection, or analyzing the time you spent on a piece (Did you try to do it all in one sitting? With a deadline just hours away?)—all of these can improve your next writing session.

Both Are Solitary and Collaborative

I’m introverted by nature, which partly explains why I enjoy running and writing. On a solo trail run, I control the pace, the path, and the pause points. When I write, I control word choice, sentence structure, and the examples I include.

And yet.

One of the best ways to stay motivated as a runner is to find a partner or group. They’ll inspire you to get out on a chilly morning or talk you down when you’re overly critical of your progress.

Similarly, a writing partner or group keeps a writer focused on the work and its impact. Because they aren’t emotionally attached to the piece, they can ask the hard questions and reveal gaps in logic you may have missed.

Both Can Be Done with Music—or Not

A good running playlist—with upbeat songs when you need speed and slower songs when you need to recover—can be invaluable. (Dad alert: Be safe when running with music on roads.) Similarly, some writers find certain types of music help them focus and push through tough sessions.

But not everyone does. I love running to music, but I can’t write to it. Many students say they write better with earbuds. I tell them: go for it. But if they constantly get stuck, I remind them that it’s okay to decrease the volume—or turn the music off entirely. Be self-aware enough to adjust the variables when you're not getting the results you want.

Neither Is Linear

In the literal sense, of course, running is linear—you’re journeying from Point A to Point B. But how you get there doesn’t have to be monotonous. Mix it up. Fartleks and interval training can enliven an otherwise boring run, and even in the final miles of a long outing, it’s okay to slow down or speed up for short stretches, just because.

Similarly, while audiences will generally experience your writing in a linear fashion, you don’t have to write it in the order they’ll read it. If you know how the piece ends, write that part first. If the body is already taking shape, finish it before circling back to your introduction. Do what works for you during the drafting phase, and rearrange as needed when you revise.

Both Require Adaptability and Flexibility

My work schedule means I can’t always run at the same time each day. Other obligations may cause me to skip a run or two. Being adaptable means I can find another time or method (like the treadmill in winter) to get the work in.

Writers benefit from the same flexibility. Computer down? Write in longhand on a legal pad. The source you thought would be a slam dunk turns out to be a dead end? Return to the database and try different search terms—or consider interviewing an expert instead of relying solely on secondary sources.

Both Require Selfishness

Friends, spouses, and colleagues can be a great source of support. But sometimes they don’t fully understand the time commitment required for success. A runner or writer committed to growth must occasionally be selfish when carving out time for a run or a writing session. Don’t apologize for that. Accept it as a necessary part of improvement.

A better you is also a better friend, partner, and colleague—so in the long run, the people around you benefit from your dedication, too.


Both Require You to Show Up

You can learn by watching other runners and reading about other writers’ experiences. But at some point, you have to do the work yourself. No one can run for you. Well—they could, but your stand-in would get stronger and leaner, while you’d just remain a spectator.

Likewise, someone else could write your paper, and you could slap your name on it. You might even reap superficial rewards—a good grade, publication, praise. But it’s not your work. More importantly, no one else can fully capture your insights or express your unique conclusions. Those are yours alone, unless you choose to share them on the page. And you should.

Both Are About the Journey

If you focus only on the finish line, you’ll miss the joy and beauty along the way. It might be the deer that crosses your path during an early morning run, or the bond that forms between you and your fellow runners as the miles unfold beneath your feet. Whether or not you achieve all your running goals is secondary if you’ve found value in the journey.

Writing offers similar rewards. It opens new avenues of thought as you explore a topic that matters to you. It builds closeness with your peers through the give-and-take of honest feedback. It gives you the deep satisfaction of crafting something to the best of your ability—and the confidence that with each completed draft, you’re becoming a better communicator.

Enjoy the process.

Superman has always been 'woke'

I'm pumped for the new Superman movie, more than I have been for earlier film treatments of the character. This current moment in history feels like it needs role models, even fictional ones, to inspire us to be better, individually and societally. 

The new film has been taking some knocks in certain quarters for being "woke." For people who use the term negatively, I guess this means that Superman is overly concerned with other people's feelings and emotions, that he is too soft and leans too far left. 

Being woke, to me, basically means giving a shit about other people and being aware of injustices that affect certain individuals and groups. This could be women, minorities, impoverished people, veterans, whoever. 

I haven't seen the movie yet, so I can't say if this new Superman is "woke" or not, but I assume he is. Superman has always focused on the downtrodden, on helping people who can't help themselves. 

The often-reprinted panels above (click on them to enlarge) are from the character's first appearance in Action Comics #1, cover dated June 1938. Superman is rather dramatically inserting himself into the crime of domestic violence. His comment, "You're not fighting a woman, now!" is certainly not enlightened, but his actions are what count.   

The next three panels show the aftermath, and a keen psychological awareness on the part of Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, the two young men who created Superman. Abusers are cowards who punch down, and when they encounter somebody stronger, they wilt. 

Siegel and Shuster were young Jewish men living in Cleveland when they dreamed up their now-iconic character, so they undoubtedly knew a thing or two about being on the outskirts of society, looking in. 

So, yeah, this newest iteration of Superman will probably be "woke." But that's not a new thing; the trait has been baked into the character since the start. Also, it's an odd characteristic to be seen as negative. Shouldn't we all care about each other? Shouldn't we all want to lift others up? 

Of course, it's okay to dislike a new movie. Like what you like, after all. But if you're hating on a character who's always cared a lot for the marginalized because he's caring a lot for the marginalized, and if you feel that way before you've even seen the movie ... well, I just think that's an odd flex. It might say more about you than about a movie, a character, or a studio. 

One more image. This one originally was used as one of those classic brown-paper-bag book covers, distributed to school kids by an arm of the Anti-Defamation League in the 1950s. Eight years ago, DC Comics restored and colored it. The message is as important—and as "woke"—today as it was seventy-five years ago. 

Stay woke, Superman. The world needs you. 

 

Jurassic World: Rebirth

 I'm an easy mark where dinosaur movies are concerned. Just give me some big critters chasing tiny folks and I'm happy. 

Since Jurassic World: Rebirth serves up plenty of that, I left satisfied. Screenwriter David Koepp provides a decent-enough plot to hang the dino action on, and director Gareth Edwards keeps the action brisk. Actors Scarlett Johansson, Mahershala Ali, and Jonathan Bailey are fine as two mercenaries and a paleontologist, respectively, sent to extract dinosaur DNA from the remaining Jurassic giants congregating along the equator. Rupert Friend is the capitalist villain (almost a redundant description) who wants the DNA to create a cure for heart disease, but only after his company profits first. 

A large portion of the movie—too much, in retrospect—is spent on the water, where our blood-extracting heroes chase down a Mesosaur and rescue the hapless Delgado family (played by Manuel Garcia-Rulfo, Luna Blaise, and Audrina Miranda) after their boat overturns. This sequence plays like a love letter to Jaws, complete with Johansson doing her best imitation of Quint, firing harpoons from the bow of the ship. 

After that, the crew and its rescued additions are off to a conveniently located island that once housed an InGen research facility. Plenty of dinosaurs are still skulking about, including a Distortus rex (I had to Google it), a mutated dinosaur that should have 20th Century Fox issuing a cease-and-desist because of its similarity to the critter from the Alien franchise. 

My favorite scene involves the Delgados in a dangerous river escape, pursued by an angry Tyrannosaurus rex. It's reminiscent of a scene from Michael Crichton's Jurassic Park novel that has never been featured in any of the movies, until now. 

Some of the dinosaur scenes in this franchise may be showing their age (pun intended), but they still provide the requisite thrills and fun. And, yep, if this spawns an eighth movie, I'll be there, natural selection willing.  

The Ultimate Classic Radio Collection

 

A friend told me recently that he finds himself reading and rereading older short stories and novels instead of newer ones. He wondered if it was an age thing, a security thing, or if the older stuff really is better. 

I don't know, but I can relate. While I still read, watch, and listen to plenty of contemporary works, I also find myself drawn back to older times. This is especially true with old-time radio from the 1930s through the 1950s, an era I loved when I was much younger and have rediscovered in the last few years, largely thanks to the Radio Classics channel on Sirius XM.

Enter The Ultimate Classic Radio Collection, with 400 shows on 200 CDs, released in 2024 by Carl Amari and the Classic Radio Club. The set is a sampler of everything that makes OTR so terrific—voice acting, sound effects, and multiple genres (suspense, humor, drama, detective, variety—it's all here). 

Some fans may prefer collections centering around a particular show, and plenty of these sets exist. The more popular shows—Jack Benny, Suspense, Fibber McGee & Molly, and Gunsmoke, among them—have multiple collections focusing solely on them. But the beauty of a set like The Ultimate Classic Radio Collection is that it introduces the listener to dozens of shows. At least that's how it has worked in my case. 

I doubt I would have ever sought out and listened to, say, Father Knows Best or The Kraft Music Hall (featuring Bing Crosby) without this set, but I ended up enjoying both. And many series that were only names to me before (Let George Do It, Bold Venture, Red Ryder) are now more familiar because each had at least two episodes in this collection. 

Each installment is remastered and sounds great. Original commercials are included for network programs, but not for syndicated shows. The commercials themselves are time capsules—cigarette promotions that extol the benefits of the habit, appliance pitches made directly to wives who want to please their husbands.

I received the set at Christmas and over the last six months, I've listened to about half the shows. Yes, the usual suspects are well represented. The previously mentioned Jack Benny, Fibber McGee & Molly, and Gunsmoke have multiple discs devoted to their contents. I also got a kick out of The 21st Precinct (especially "The Virtuoso"), Big Town, and The Black Museum (with Orson Welles' sonorous voice adding gravitas to the proceedings). The Damon Runyon Theatre was intriguing enough that I am now reading the author's short stories. 

Controversially, the set includes episodes of Amos 'N' Andy, a wildly popular show in its day that is now considered verboten because two white actors played the Black leads. The modern listener has to decide how to process these works, along with the realization that few—if any—shows of the period represented minorities and women fairly. 

The Ultimate Classic Radio Collection includes a generous book of background information about each show in the set. Photos of many of the performers are included on the last four pages. I wish more images had been included throughout the book; plenty of promotional materials for these programs still exist and would have been a nice addition. 

The last 32 discs in the set are devoted to Christmas episodes. That's a lot of Yuletide cheer! At the rate I'm going, I should get to those episodes in November and December, so I'm right on target. 

The elephant in the room with a set like this, especially one priced at $399 for physical discs (and half that price for digital downloads), is why the listener wouldn't just find all or most of the episodes for free on the many online archives devoted to the hobby. It's a fair question. For me, the answer lies in having complete episodes, digitally remastered, compiled in one place. Even if I had the time to do this (which I don't), I don't have the skills to remove the various scratches and hisses as well as Amari and his team. (Amari, the host of Hollywood 360, a radio show dedicated to OTR, answered the phone when my wife ordered the set and personalized my booklet, which was pretty cool.)

Bottom line is this is a great set with 200 hours (more than eight days!) of enjoyment. Even if you don't like every episode, it's still a bargain.