I mean, for real. I love Rosario Dawson/Claire, and I’ve heard she’s a great person in real life but I have to draw the line somewhere. Half-way through Marvel’s “The Iron Fist” I had come to accept the global lack of plot and/or character motivation, deciding to finish it only because:
A: Brandon is in it, on like episode twelve, and
B: It’s a preamble to the “Defenders” series
But still, I couldn’t help but cringe after Danny, the Iron Fist Rand, gets beat up in the back of a truck by stock bad guy #17 and causes the archetypal Russian chemist–whose daughter is of course being held captive by shadow corporation #23 so that he will help flood the streets with fire ass heroin–to be stabbed by stock bad guy #17, resulting in the classic sucking chest wound. The script, fine, expected it, whatever. The problem is that Danny takes said Russian chemist to secret superhero helper nurse Claire who decides that the only way to deal with his sucking chest wound is with a credit card.
“Do you have your credit card?” she asks.
Now clearly, there’s the money pun with Claire requesting billionaire Danny’s physical credit card to save someone’s life. It’s supposed to elevate this situation, add layers and shit, but it doesn’t. It’s just too far from practical. Remember when everyone was flipping shit about the whole pen-style emergency crics on medical shows like “ER”? The credit card chest seal improvisation far exceeds the standards of ridiculous, yes, even on a super hero show–most of which, by the way, are liminal fantasy, so the rest of the world does follow the rules of physics, etc. I wasn’t that upset at first though, even while staring at the credit card and gauze taped lightly–not even two inches mind you–around the wound, blood and air doing whatever it wants, however it wants on the Russian chemist’s chest.
The real problem is that they got my man back to their apartment and then left the sloppy credit card/gauze chest seal in place, not that it was or could have been working anyway. Claire was like, fuck checking my interventions. And even stranger, in the house stocked with, at minimum, food and water, there wasn’t any saran wrap? Was there no plastic in the entire house, or the the bodega down the street? Claire couldn’t walk into the clean utility closet at her old hospital and grab one of the Atrium kits? Not even a few fourteen gauge needles and chest seals? It’s just too ridiculous to not be distracting.
Of course, some people will be like, why does it matter? Well, just to start, it’s a tad troubling when such low quality art, narrative that is loosely bound to the world of nerdom that I call home is even acceptable. When Marvel studios won’t even bother to phone a friend for life-or-death scenes with characters that we’re supposed to care about, at least tangentially, what the fuck is the point of even creating the story? The tension dissolves. The plot–if there was one to begin with–would wither away. We just aren’t being taken serious as fans or even viewers, and it’s kind of sad.