Science Corner: Was Canceling The Acolyte a Mistake?

Ever get hit with the realization that you should have asked for help three mistakes ago? One incident from when I was a science apprentice continues to haunt me. I was an undergrad working in a cell biology lab. Among my regular tasks were two that involved different kinds of cuvettes–small rectangular tubes. One was used to assess bacterial growth; you put a sample of bacteria in liquid culture in the cuvette and measured how much light was blocked by the bacteria. That one was clear; the other cuvette had metal sides for conducting electrical current. It was used to punch holes in bacterial cell walls to allow customized DNA molecules inside.

One day, I got confused about which cuvette I needed. How exactly that happened, I can’t say; in hindsight it seems pretty obvious how the design of each was connected to its function. I’m pretty sure I had some doubts but I didn’t ask anyone, probably because I thought I was too far along in my training to not know. I put some bacteria inside and inserted the cuvette into the machine, at which point all doubt was removed. Not only were they function-specific, but they were machine-specific too. My chosen cuvette had a notch that was incompatible with this slot. The cuvette could slide in, but not slide back out.

Surely now I asked for help, right? Would we be here if I did? Resourceful science apprentice that I was, I opted to take out my pocket knife (!) and see if I could lever the notch around the bit that was holding it in place. This was a literal Swiss Army knife and yet I managed to find a mechanical task it could not facilitate, at least for my skill level. On that day, in my hands, it was just the tool to slice open my finger. Not bad, nothing that required stitches or anything. But enough to finally cut through my pride and get me to ask for help. Of course, help was readily forthcoming and much more understanding than I feared. And I never used the wrong cuvette again.

I found myself reflecting on this story while watching The Acolyte, the latest Star Wars TV series. At its core, the show is a mystery, one of those where you can sense that someone’s dark past will be revealed in an extended flashback in episode 6 or 7. If this were a prestige drama, there’d be the detective struggling with their own demons, a family coming apart at the seams from doubts and allegations, and a cynical view of seemingly idyllic small towns. Here, we get Force-enhanced martial arts fighting, new variations on the iconic Jedi weapons, and a Wookiee in a lightsaber duel. Yes, please.

Eleventh hour confessions do come, revealing a series of compounding mistakes. Some are deliberate decisions that are understandable in isolation, even if we the viewers can see the shape of the hole and wish the characters would stop digging. Some are made with the knowledge that rules are being bent or abused, but the characters feel trapped by the consequences of previous mistakes. The most tragic, however, are a pair of judgment calls made in the heat of the moment. I thought one was executed better than the other, but I think in both cases we are meant to understand that the characters had mere moments to make trolley problem-esque decisions. Again, in a more down to earth story, picture one of those moments where even as someone is pulling the trigger on a gun, regrets are creeping in. Watching at home, we can simultaneously see why the trigger was pulled, why it was the wrong decision, and how a whole series of lamentable events created the circumstances where it felt inevitable.

Apparently, not everyone wants that sort of storytelling from a galaxy far, far away. Sure, real life can be complicated, but can’t we have some uncomplicated heroes to look up to? I am sympathetic to that view, and in the case of specific characters, I’m all for that. Superman should be aspirational; I don’t need to find out that the Man of Steel has feet of clay. Individual Jedi can be aspirational; I wouldn’t be thrilled to discover that Yoda had serious skeletons in his closet (even if they are just hands and forearms). But part of what I appreciate about Star Wars is how it can portray more than individual characters’ journeys. It can also tell stories about institutions and collective action. The Jedi vs the Sith is not just about heroes who make good personal choices against villains who make bad personal choices. It is about the values of the Jedi order and the practices and structures they build to embody and perpetuate those values contrasted with the values of the Sith and how they organize themselves as a result of those values. For example, the rule of two is not only a bad idea because the Sith are bad; it severely limits accountability and provides no support network for trainees.

In The Acolyate, I saw great potential for a story about institutional accountability–made engaging by including some laser sword battles along the way. Yes, it is painful to see the heroes make mistakes. But how else do you tell an aspirational story that calls us to be transparent about our mistakes, a story about creating processes that prevent individuals from being put in a position to make those kinds of potentially tragic split-second decisions all on their own and have to carry the burden of the consequences alone? I’d watch that story. Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like I’ll get to. In this moment of streaming, it appears that anything less than an immediate and unanimously ecstatic response gets a show cancelled, leaving The Acolyte very much at what felt like the halfway point of a complete story.

So allow me to tell another of my own. This will come as a shock, but the cuvette incident was not my last mistake. At my current job, we process a lot of data from hundreds of different hospitals. That data includes various dates and times and different hospitals can format them differently, so we have to keep track of which format to use for which hospital. One time, I needed to update some of that format information, but I accidentally updated all of it so that every hospital’s data was treated the same. Fortunately, I realized it quickly and was able to use a backup to make things right. Still, I could have been on the hook for the mishandled data. But our company culture is to expect that everyone will make mistakes from time to time so we have processes to minimize their impact, like reviewing each other’s work. That way, if we follow the processes, we can consider that the organization owns the mistakes, not individuals. A riveting story, I know. Wouldn’t it have been better to see the Jedi Order dramatize such institutional grace with Carrie-Anne Moss and some kung fu?