Television Review: Home (The Expanse, S2X05, 2017)

Home (S02E05)

Airdate: February 23rd 2017

Written by: Mark Fergus & Hawk Atsby
Directed by: Dave Grossman

Running Time: 46 minutes

The chasm separating merely good television from the truly exceptional often resides in a creative team’s willingness to defy expectations, to shatter the very formulae they themselves established. Few series demonstrate this audacious spirit as profoundly as The Expanse, a show which, from its inception, meticulously cultivated a signature rhythm: taut, propulsive episodes culminating invariably in heart-stopping cliffhangers, expertly engineered to propel viewers into the next instalment. Yet, nestled not even at the season’s midpoint but deep within the crucible of Season 2, the episode Home" performs a masterstroke of narrative subversion. It brazenly discards the cliffhanger crutch, opting instead for an ending possessing the profound, resonant weight of a season – or even series – finale. This is the deliberate, satisfying closure of one of the show’s most meticulously crafted and emotionally devastating plot strands, proving that true confidence lies not in perpetual suspense, but in the courage to conclude.

That strand, of course, belongs irrevocably to Detective Josephus Miller. Introduced as a cynical, world-weary Belter cop on Ceres, Miller was initially nothing more than a hired tracker, commissioned by Julie Mao’s powerful Earth father to locate his renegade daughter. Julie, having abandoned privilege to join the Outer Planets Alliance (OPA), became tragically ensnared by the extrasolar protomolecule – a virulent, reality-bending pathogen. Her unwitting role as vector ignited the apocalyptic outbreak on Eros Station. By the time Miller finally reached her, Julie was already lost, consumed by the alien entity. Yet, in her absence, Miller’s mission underwent a profound metamorphosis. Professional obligation dissolved into obsessive, hopeless love, transforming his quest from finding a living woman into avenging a ghost. He turned his fury against the corrupt Protogen scientists who unleashed the horror, against the protomolecule itself, and ultimately, against the very notion of his own survival. His journey became one of penance and purpose, inextricably bound to Julie’s spectral memory.

Home commences with Miller seemingly poised at the culmination of this grim pilgrimage, stranded on the ravaged surface of the protomolecule-infested Eros asteroid. The desperate gambit to slingshot Eros into the Sun has catastrophically failed. Miller stands alone, a nuclear device at his side, its timer malfunctioning, sealing his fate. Simultaneously, the Rocinante crew experiences a surge of disbelief swiftly curdling into horror: Eros, defying known physics, has initiated propulsion, altering course not towards solar oblivion but on a direct, terrifying trajectory towards Earth. The protomolecule, or the emergent intelligence it fostered, had rewritten the rules of celestial mechanics. Undeterred, the Rocinante commits to pursuit, maintaining a tenuous, crackling communication link with the doomed detective, a fragile tether across the void.

The news of Eros’s deadly vector forces the reluctant hand of the United Nations leadership. With Earth’s survival at stake, they order the launch of half the planet’s thermonuclear arsenal, a desperate hope to intercept and obliterate the asteroid before impact. When the missiles lose Eros’s radar signature amidst its unnerving acceleration, the Rocinante steps into the breach. Holden volunteers the ship for the near-suicidal task of visually marking the target, a decision demanding the crew endure punishing G-forces as they strain the ship’s limits to keep pace with the inexplicably swift celestial body. The physical toll on the crew – the gritted teeth, the laboured breathing, the sheer strain of maintaining position – becomes a visceral counterpoint to Miller’s solitary ordeal.

Amidst this cosmic crisis, Miller conceives a final, alternative gambit. Learning of a mysterious heat source deep within Eros, he resolves to penetrate the infected station’s heart and manually detonate his bomb, aiming to destroy the protomolecule core. His descent into the station’s necrotic depths is a haunting odyssey. He begins to perceive a voice, initially indistinct, then chillingly familiar. Encountering strange, human-like manifestations sculpted from the protomolecule – echoes of its countless victims – Miller grasps a horrifying, yet strangely poignant, truth: the entity has absorbed the memories, personalities, and very essence of those it consumed. Most significantly, it has assimilated Julie Mao. She, in turn, had somehow imprinted her own will onto the protomolecule during her infection. Following this spectral trail, Miller journeys to the Blue Falcon Hotel, the site of Julie’s physical demise. There, he encounters her new incarnation: not a monster, but an ethereal, otherworldly figure radiating profound loneliness, a being who simply yearns to "go home," repurposing Eros as her vessel for an interstellar voyage. In a scene of breathtaking emotional intensity, Miller marshals every ounce of his being, his love, his grief, his understanding, to persuade her. He convinces Julie to alter Eros’s course, not towards Earth’s destruction, but towards the relative safety of Venus. Recognising the futility of escape and the necessity of his presence for her transformation, Miller chooses to join her. As Eros plummets into Venus’s atmosphere, Earth is saved. Aboard the Rocinante, the crew raise a silent, solemn toast to their fallen comrade, the weight of his sacrifice settling upon them.

Written with remarkable economy and emotional precision by Mark Fergus and Hawk Ostby. Home stands unequivocally as the pinnacle of The Expanse up to that point. Directed with masterful control by Dave Grossman, the episode transcends its genre trappings through exceptional visual storytelling. Grossman harnesses cutting-edge special effects, seamless CGI, and innovative production design not merely for spectacle, but to forge a narrative that is relentlessly suspenseful, intellectually stimulating, and ultimately cathartic. Crucially, it breaks the show’s established chain of manufactured tension, demonstrating that profound satisfaction can stem from resolution as much as anticipation. Miller, arguably the series’ most complex and compelling character – a man whose descent into obsession was meticulously signposted yet never diminished in tragic power – meets his end. Yet, his demise is neither cheap nor nihilistic; it is spectacularly heroic, deeply personal, and imbued with a hard-won sense of purpose. He sacrifices himself not just to save tens of billions of lives, but to finally reunite with the object of his devotion, finding a twisted, transcendent peace in the heart of annihilation.

Grossman’s direction elevates the protomolecule, now irrevocably shaped by absorbed humanity, from a source of pure body horror into something unsettlingly beautiful. This is nowhere more evident than in the portrayal of Julie Mao. Her nude scenes, illuminated by the pulsating, organic light of the protomolecule, are rendered with such artistry and reverence that they feel utterly devoid of exploitation. Instead, she appears ethereal, almost angelic – a being transformed, not degraded. The final moments, as Miller and Julie are united, constitute one of the most emotionally resonant sequences not just in The Expanse, but in all of twenty-first-century science fiction television. It is a love story written in starlight and sacrifice, devoid of sentimentality yet overflowing with profound pathos.

Grossman judiciously injects moments of levity to prevent the overwhelming tension from becoming suffocating, such as Camina Drummer’s brilliantly defiant middle finger directed at the imperious Fred Johnson when ordered to fetch coffee – a perfectly timed burst of human defiance. However, the subplot involving Chrisjen Avasarala, tearfully bidding farewell to her husband via comms as he evacuates Earth while she remains to face potential annihilation, occasionally tips into excessive melodrama. While Avasarala’s political struggle is vital to the larger narrative, this particular scene feels somewhat extraneous within the intensely focused tragedy unfolding on Eros and with the Rocinante. A tighter focus solely on Miller’s pilgrimage, Julie’s transformation, and the Rocinante’s desperate race might have elevated "Home" from near-perfection to absolute mastery. Yet, even with this minor blemish, the episode remains a towering achievement.

Home is a testament to the power of narrative courage. In an era saturated with television designed for endless consumption, engineered solely to keep viewers perpetually hooked on the next cliffhanger, The Expanse dared to offer something rarer and more valuable: a definitive, emotionally rich conclusion. It proved that the mark of truly exceptional storytelling isn’t merely the ability to keep audiences guessing, but the wisdom and artistry to know when a story, and a character, have reached their necessary, resonant end. It is the moment The Expanse ceased being merely good television and announced itself as something very, very great.

RATING: 8/10 (+++)

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