The advent of MWC is always an opportunity for Google to shine a light on some smaller, but still useful, tweaks to its ecosystems. This year, the Android giant is unveiling a raft of minor additions to Android and Wear OS designed to further smooth the bumps in your digital life. That includes a new widget for Google Keep that’ll let you check-off to-do lists from the comfort of your home screen. You’ll also get the ability to, with a compatible watch, let you dictate notes and to-do list items from your wrist.

Another more notable change is improved noise cancellation in Google Meet when used on some Android devices. The company says that, much like the feature as it already exists, you’ll find the noise of nearby construction or other distractions will be crunched to oblivion while you chat. And, on the audio front, Google says that you’ll soon be able to use Chrome OS' Fast Pair feature to connect new Bluetooth headphones to your machine with a single tap.

Less notable additions include the ability to mash together different emoji to offer a more topic relevant response. In the example, you can merge the Basketball emoji with the Heart Eyes, to give you either a heart-shaped basketball, or add a basketball-like texture to those same heart eyes. Similarly, Android handsets will get new tap-to-pay animations to bring some cartoonish cheer to balance out the misery of spending money on things.

And, on the accessibility front, Chrome on Android will now let you zoom the size of content by up to 300 percent while preserving page layout. Wear OS 3+, meanwhile, will offer Mono-audio for those who might be distracted by stereo, as well as grayscale and color-correction modes for your watch display for easier viewing. If you’re interested in learning more about this, you can check out Google’s full and comprehensive work-up of all the features over at its blog.

AR is an exciting idea, but it’s not clear if there’s enough computational power in the world to make such a fantastic concept real. Undeterred, Xiaomi has unveiled its Wireless AR Glass Discovery Edition, a compact AR headset using the same Snapdragon XR2 Gen 1 found in the Quest Pro. The company says these oversized sunglasses offer an elegant way to blend the digital and real worlds while, most crucially, not requiring a physical tether to a smartphone.

Weighing 126g (4.4 ounces), Xiaomi crafted the hardware from magnesium-titanium alloy and carbon fiber parts to lighten the load. It’s also rocking a custom-made silicon-oxygen anode battery which, all in, Xiaomi says will reduce the physical burden on the user. (This user would like to disagree, speaking from experience that anything over 100g pressing on your nose is still too much to take for extended periods of time.)

As for the displays, the headset is packing a pair of microOLED displays hooked up to a pair of “free-form, light-guiding” prisms so pixel-dense, your eyes won’t spot the squares. The company says, too, that you’ll experience less brightness loss than with other close-up displays, and can crank out a peak brightness of 1,200nits. And, for immersion’s sake, the front of the lenses are electrochromic, automatically dimming when you need to focus on the virtual world.

The advanced hand-tracking is said to enable a new form of user interaction, whereby our hands can be used to manipulate the digital world. In a concept video, a wearer looks at a smart light and deactivates it by flicking a virtual switch hovering over the device itself. Users will also be able to, Minority Report-style, flick and tap around the internet (or video), and potentially use these for productivity purposes as well.

The advent of these glasses is also part of Qualcomm’s own plans to leverage its Snapdragon Spaces platform to boost XR devices. Xiaomi’s hardware, when paired with a compatible device like the new Xiaomi 13, and promises latency low enough that you won’t notice the lack of a wire. And the company says that it will “work closely with developers to expedite the arrival of AR,” so vital in the still-nascent space.

Unfortunately there’s no word on price or availability since this is very much a concept device as yet. Consequently we wouldn’t recommend setting up a separate savings account to put aside cash to buy one of these unless you’re really, really, really patient.

The following contains spoilers for Star Trek: Picard, Season Three, Episode Two: “Disengage.”

Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan is a 1982 movie that arguably saved Star Trek as a going concern. It was a cheap movie, but writer-director Nicholas Meyer made thriftiness a virtue, building a paranoid submarine thriller out of steely glances and jousting phone calls. Despite having no love of Trek, Meyer painted a broad sweep of an older Jim Kirk, his life, death and rebirth with the help of a son he never knew he had. It’s a sumptuous movie, full of smart dialogue and characterisation, with a drum-tight plot and great acting, not just a great Star Trek film, but a great film, period. And sometimes, I feel that its critical and commercial success was so big that it’s been to Star Trek’s overall detriment.

Whenever the creative well runs dry, Trek runs back to old comforts, and the Next Generation movies were perpetually looking for its own Khan. First Contact flipped the Moby Dick narrative, making Picard the Ahab against the Borg’s white whale. Insurrection borrowed the setting of Khan’s climatic finale, while Nemesis borrowed its plot beats; a wounded ship only saved by the heroic sacrifice of each series’ Tin Man character. Into Darkness then winkingly inverted those same plot beats, with Kirk nobly “dying” in place of his best friend.

Picard’s been telegraphing its intentions from the get-go, dropping every nod to fans about where we’d wind up. The Bennett-era movie callbacks remain en vogue here, and to my memory this is the first use of the Blaster Beam, or a soundalike, in a streaming era soundtrack. Much like all of the other nods, we’re watching a cargo cult being assembled in real time, boldly serving us up something we’ve only seen, oooh, four or five times at this point. So: Wounded hero ship facing off against a more powerful enemy? Check. Inside a nebula that’s disrupting normal starship functions? Check. With our lead suddenly presented with the news he has a son he never knew about? Check check check.

This week, Picard and Riker make it to the Helios to find Beverley in her stasis pod, guarded by her son, Jack. He’s a rakish Englishman who has already spoken two whole words in French while negotiating with a corrupt Fenris Ranger. After being rescued by the Titan, Riker starts hinting about the younger Crusher’s parentage, as if being the world’s most English Frenchman is a genetic trait. It isn’t long before Crusher is outed as an intergalactic con man and fugitive, and Shaw has him sent to the brig. He also, after several hours of allowing her to remain on the bridge giving orders to people, dismisses Seven for indulging two people we keep being told are “legends” and “heroes.”

There’s plenty of furrowed brows as Picard initially refuses to consider that he might have a son, and at no point does anyone suggest running a paternity test. You might expect it would be easy enough to whip out a tricorder or hypospray, or even the transporter records, and find the truth. But, you know, that would be too efficient, so we’re left with Picard and Jack facing off in the brig. Now, credit where due, Patrick Stewart and Ed Speelers sell the hell out of this scene, the first that feels in any way real so far.

All the while, the Titan is menaced by Amanda Plummer’s villain, who we know is evil because she’s smoking on the bridge of her ship, the Shrike, indoors! I wonder if this, too, is another nod to those older films given Plummer’s father faced off against Kirk in The Undiscovered Country. Maybe this is why I’m so out of step with so much of the (positive) critical consensus around this run. I find this raiding of Star Trek’s own text and paratext to be insular and repetitive, with it more interested in placating disaffected fanboys than telling a story with a point of view. If you want strange new worlds, new life forms and new civilizations, you’ll need to watch the show set 142 years earlier.

Then there’s Raffi. Last week, she uncovered that some nefarious type had stolen some deep tech from Aperture Science Starfleet. At the end of that episode, a Starfleet recruitment building big enough to fill the donut hole in Apple Park gets Portal-ed into dust, killing (just) 117 people. Now, looking to make amends for her, uh, failure? She’s looking into local crims in order to find out who exactly was responsible for the seemingly-unwarranted attack.

Now, this is the plot beat I alluded to in my preview, when Raffi, who is in recovery, is forced to do drugs in order to prove she’s not an undercover agent. The portentous music and Michelle Hurd’s acting sells the notion this isn’t a great idea, but Raffi’s committed to the cause. But while she’s incapacitated, her handler comes in to rescue everyone with some good, old-fashioned Mek’leth carnage. I couldn't help but feel a punch in the air when Worf popped up in all his glory, but the tonal jump doesn't sit well with me. 

You could be wondering why the Federation Ambassador to the Klingon Empire is doing covert intelligence work. But, by the end of the Next Generation movies, it was clear that Worf would just show up for a visit whenever the plot required. And even I’m not going to harp on about this too much, because it is never a chore to watch Michael Dorn do his work. As EW’s Darren Franich said in his definitive Star Trek essay series, “Michael Dorn knew Worf only got cooler when the show made him look goofy.” As goofy as he is here, he’s still Worf, and you just wish that Paramount had greenlit a Worf show three years ago instead.

I had hoped this episode, for its laggy table-laying, may be looking for a way to attack a well worn but fundamentally strong Star Trek trope. That being if it’s right and proper to hand over a potentially-innocent man to frontier justice, and if not, why not? There’s plenty of angles for the argument given the many shades of gray that most people can now comprehend. After all, the Titan is outside Federation space, and so you can’t, or shouldn’t, impose your values on those beyond your worldview. That can be countered by someone saying that natural justice is, or should be a universal virtue. And that these debates must sit side-by-side with the notion that the needs of the many (the 500-plus souls on the USS Titan) outweigh the needs of the few, or the (Jack Crusher) one. You could even have the supposedly “right” argument, the one aping Spock’s famous aphorism, espoused by the character most seen as an asshole, too. But no.

Unfortunately, Picard remains bad for all of the same reasons that pretty much every other Khan copy is bad: It has almost nothing to say. In fact, this episode seems to hinge on every person in the narrative suddenly becoming incapable of doing even the basic parts of their jobs. Since when would a security officer not search a prisoner for hidden technology before putting them in the brig? Since when would a ship at Red Alert be taken by surprise when a hostile vessel in front of them starts attacking? And why did nobody have the presence of mind to run a paternity test, which surely at this point in history could be done with the ship’s internal sensors? Not to mention, why didn’t Jack just tell the security guard he’d like to hand himself over rather than knocking him out? Maybe so we could have a few more moments of tension before the Titan chooses to make a break for the nebula and we roll the credits.

You may think I’m banging on unnecessarily about The Wrath of Khan but I think it’s justified here. If the production team weren’t looking to invite comparisons to a vastly superior project then they were unwise to take so many of its plot beats as its own. I mean, in Wrath of Khan, Kirk has sixty seconds to find a way to even things up between the wounded Enterprise and the Reliant. And he does so with a little bit of theatrics, some ingenuity, and by showing that he was a little cleverer than anybody gave him credit for being. When this version of Picard is placed in the same situation but given a whole hour to come up with something, what does he do? He marks time on the bridge while the younger actors with plausible-looking stunt performers can do the now obligatory punch fight so that the audience at home doesn’t start getting bored.

I wonder how often technology journalism is aspirational rather than useful, like when you watch car reviewers testing million dollar rides. I comfort myself knowing that while flagship laptops are pricey, there are few gadgets so eye-wateringly expensive that they’re just for one percenters. What then to make of Withings’ newest smart scale, the Body Scan Connected Health Station, which is priced at four hundred British pounds (around $479)? That’s mad money to pay for any smart scale, especially when you can get a great scale from Withings for a quarter of that price.

Withings’ Body Scan was actually announced back at the start of 2022, but the usual gamut of regulatory hurdles means it’s only now making its debut in Europe. It’ll arrive in the US at some point in the future, but given the FDA’s sausage machine it’s hard to get anyone to commit to a firm date. The intervening year has also dented the price, which was originally set at $300 before costs and the semiconductor crisis pushed things ever northward.

Withings is, and was, selling this on the basis that it’s not just a smart scale but a bigger suite of comprehensive body analysis tools. It’s supposed to be the equal of sort of gear you might find at a high-end gym or a low-end clinical setting. It analyzes your segmented body composition, runs a six-lead ECG, measures your nerve activity and monitors your vascular age. It’ll also use Galvanic Skin Response (GSR) to monitor the sweat levels in your feet to look for signs of neuropathy.

My first impression is that it looks like someone glued Withings’ cheaper Body Comp scale to its own weighted base and it feels wonderfully solid. So too does the grip, which you’ll need to do any of the fancy body-analysis tests during your morning weigh-in. It’s held in place with a thin but sturdy-looking braided tension-reel cable that I’m sure will survive a lot but, that said, I’m not going to leave it in the vicinity of my children.

Withings has the setup process down to a fine art: Wake the scale, open its Health Mate app, give it your WiFi password and sit back. The mandatory software update took all of two minutes and then you can set a weight loss goal inside the app. Weigh in for five days in a row, and it’ll then be set and ready to give you suggestions on how better to improve your lifestyle. You’ll also be shown a series of how-to guides teaching you how to get the best out of your new hardware.

Not that there’s much to learn: Get on the scale, hold the grab at pelvis height and wait 90 seconds for it to do its thang. It’ll run the gamut of tests measuring your weight, body fat, muscle mass, visceral fat, ECG, Pulse Wave Velocity, vascular age and nerve health. It’ll then relay those data points to you in a big, bright, bold and easy-to read manner, followed by the day’s weather and an indicator about the local air quality (pulled from an online service).

Daniel Cooper

I’ve spent a lot of time looking at scales, and some scales like to put a lot of data on a very small screen to the point where it’s unreadable. Withings has nailed the UI here, and despite the full color display, the layout is clean and everything is super easy to read. Especially at 7am when you’ve just staggered out of the shower and you don’t yet have your glasses on. Fonts are clear, trend lines are chunky and cleanly differentiated from the background. It seems simple, but you’d be surprised how many companies don’t get this stuff right. The sense of details being sweated extends to the fact the scale has a vibration motor, telling you when the process has started and finished.

I’ve always praised Health Mate as Withings’ secret weapon in the health-tech wars, with its clean UI and depth of data. I was concerned that, as its devices get more powerful, it’d start to feel flabby or cluttered, but the card layout on its home screen remains easy to digest. Each lozenge presents a small graph that just shows the trend rather than stuffing it full of individual data points. And it’s only when you press into each sub menu that you can see the information in its more precise glory.

It’s early days, but there’s been nothing on the analysis that feels like it’s wrong, although it’ll need a lot of calibration testing to prove that definitively. The segmented body composition is certainly spot on, highlighting the areas of my body that are carrying the most timber. And it’s nice, easy to understand, and sobering (delete as appropriate) to see the healthy and unhealthy parts of my body. Having all of this laid out with Withings’ new Health+ coaching system, too, which will start offering suggestions about how I can improve, is also a benefit.

I know people will disagree with me, but I like the fact that the Body Scan has an integral, USB-C charged battery with a rated life of a year. Some folks prefer having AAA batteries instead, but I always feel that when you’re spending this much on a scale, being tasked with buying batteries on top makes me feel like I’m being nickel-and-dimed. I’m also of the opinion that any recurring revenue service has to work pretty hard to justify my cash, but I’ve not yet had enough time with Health+ to say if it does or not.

There is the problem that all of this data may not be taken very seriously by your physician if you rush in asking for help. A medical practitioner in the UK, who asked not to be named, said that while the inclusion of a six-lead ECG in a bathroom scale was impressive, they wouldn’t be swayed by the results it produced. Instead, they would look at the symptoms the patient was presenting, their medical history, and would run their own ECG before making any judgment. And that there was a risk of data being misinterpreted by novice users and using it to make poor decisions.

So, on one hand, I’ve got nothing but praise for Withings’ Body Scan Connected Health Station, which is the pinnacle of what a smart scale can be right now. And I’m certainly thrilled at the idea that you can have this wealth of data all collated in a single place for better monitoring of your health. But, and it’s the most obvious but in the world, I’m not sure anyone really needs to spend this much money on one. Especially if you already have a smart scale and a smartwatch that can do some sort of heart health analysis with an ECG.

In many ways, it’s like one of those car reviewers showing you what you could have if you had a spare million in your checking account. Yes, it’s well made, does everything you could ask for, and does it all within one of the best health tech ecosystems on the market. But for this money? You can get to work just as well in a Toyota as you can in a Maybach.

The following contains spoilers for Star Trek: Picard, Season Three, Episode One: “The Next Generation.”

In the 25th Century…

There’s a wounded starship playing possum in the beautiful, merciless vastness of space, and inside, is a museum. The captain’s quarters holds a trove of props from that old TV show you watched when you were a kid, maybe you still do as an adult. There’s a hypospray, a ready room terminal playing the logs from “The Best of Both Worlds: Part One” and the captain’s dead husband’s personal effects. When an intruder alert sounds, the sleeping captain snaps into action, brandishes a phaser rifle and sets about defending her turf. In a chiaroscuro corridor, she goes full Rambo against two skull-headed villains, and wins, but takes a shot to the gut for her trouble. As she desperately tries to escape, she makes one last, desperate call for help – to Admiral Jean-Luc Picard.

Picard, of course, is in his own museum: He and new beau Laris are staring at his Ready Room painting of the Enterprise D. At his desk, there’s his Ready Room chair from the Enterprise E, and in front of him, a Ressikan Flute and a Kurlan Naiskos. Later, his combadge from the D will start to chirrup, and Picard will dig through boxes of isolinear chips and old uniforms to find it. Less than ten minutes in and you can already imagine the Reddit threads and website articles listing every single easter egg lurking in the half-focus. “Why would anyone send a coded message to a more than twenty year-old Enterprise D communicator?” asks Picard. It’s a fair question to ask given the whole thing makes absolutely no sense in the show’s internal logic.

With a message of distress from his former beau, Picard leaps into action by having a nice sit-down chat with Laris. To be fair, Picard was never a kinetic man of action, and he does need to check in with his new partner’s feelings before running off to rescue his old one. Once he has done that, he leaps into action by going to Ten Forward for a boozy sit-down drink with Riker.

The scene transition has Picard staring at the Enterprise D painting before we crossfade to an Eaglemoss model of the D on the bar shelf. If there was one thing this show needed, it was more beauty shots of memorabilia lovingly presented on shelves. Although there’s a glimmer of self-deprecation, with the server declaring that “nobody wants the fat ones.” When a sinister figure winds up following Picard and Riker out of the bar, they drop the same Enterprise D model into a glass for one last close-up.

After a detour to Raffi, undercover on M’Talas Prime (real subtle, Terry), the fanservice goes broader. First up, we’ll get some nods to the ‘80s Trek movies, paying off the Wrath of Khan-aping “In the 25th Century…” title card. Riker and Picard banter on their way to Spacedock, hatching a plan to hijack the Titan to mount a rescue mission under the nose of its new captain, Shaw. But the Titan has been so completely refitted from the Luna class that it gets an A on its registry as a “Neo Constitution Class.” I’ll admit – this managed to short-circuit my nostalgia glands, since I’m a sucker for Andrew Probert and Richard Taylor’s starship design and Jerry Goldsmith’s Motion Picture score. And when it pulls out of Spacedock before leaping to warp, a la The Search for Spock, we even get some of James Horner’s beloved french horns added to the mix.

Then, again like Wrath of Khan, Picard and Riker are piped aboard with the old-fashioned square electronic whistles by Seven. Shaw is, alas, not for turning, and as well as insisting that Seven use her human name (in a way that clearly makes her uncomfortable), he starts needling both Picard and Riker. The latter for his liking of jazz, the former for his past as a Borg, mirroring Sisko’s needling Picard on their first meeting.

650 or so words in and I haven’t really spoken about the plot, because not much has happened. After 40 minutes, Picard has received a distress call and spoken to lots of people about it, and that’s about it. There’s been plenty of callbacks and continuity porn, paraphiliac depictions of old props, but very little forward motion in the narrative. Picard and Riker make it to Beverley’s ship only to find her in a stasis pod, with her son keeping watch. They’re attacked and left stranded with no hope of escape while a big pointy ship with a Romulan-esque design menaces outside.

Now, remind me. A successful Starfleet Admiral gets a distress call from an old flame, a Doctor no less, who is being threatened by things unknown. When he comes to her aid, he first meets her adult son who instantly gets into a fistfight with the good guys before they realize who he is and what he represents. All the while, our heroes are being menaced by a much more powerful vessel which is looming long in the background. Have we ever seen that in Star Trek before?

The following article contains spoilers for earlier Star Trek properties but doesn’t reveal specific spoilers about Star Trek: Picard season three, not that you should be watching it anyway.

It’s 2034 and Warner Bros. decides it needs to wring more cash out of Friends, the decade defining cultural juggernaut and sitcom behemoth. Imagine what that show would be like; A warm and cozy three-decades-later check-in on characters you know intimately well. After all, you probably spent your formative years watching them mature from young single New Yorkers to a series of families. Maybe it’ll tickle those nostalgia glands, reminding you of when you watched the show with your own family as a kid.

Unfortunately, the hotshot creator of the age decided they want to go in a different direction this time. This needs to be a dark and gritty miserycore grief orgy that better reflects our more rough-and-tumble times. After all, TV these days can’t be gentle or comforting, offer escapism or posit a better world, not since Trump, Brexit, Bolonosaro, January 6th and Ukraine. The creative team have got that quote on a poster in their office, the one about thetriumph of evil, and they’re not going to sit idly by, they’re taking a stand.

In the sequel, Rachel’s famous for her wellness TikTok that often makes allusions to “reclaiming” the US as a white ethnostate. Joey lost an arm while filming a movie and is now in prison after a failed heist to pay off his life-ruining medical debt. Monica’s got a crippling adderall addiction and slips away most nights to murder the neighborhood cats and dogs. Everything’s shot in ultra gloomy vision, and there’s no laugh track, jokes or a studio audience, just unrelenting misery.

This revival is dense with references to the Friends backstory as well as the broader Friends universe. Remember that Lisa Kudrow played Phoebe’s twin sister Ursula on Mad About You, right? If not, you better get yourself to Wikipedia to study up. I mean, it won’t be relevant to the plot, but it’s something you remember, so clap, go on, clap.

You might be wondering why such a project would be allowed to happen, given that it wouldn’t be fun for fans of the original series. Times change, characters age, but you can’t turn a cozy sitcom into Breaking Bad overnight and expect that to be satisfying. You’d hardly think it’d be a big pull for newbie viewers either, who’d probably steer clear if they weren’t already familiar with 236 episodes of intricate backstory. Nostalgia revivals don’t need to be slavish to their source material, but it’s hard to see the appeal for something so grim and unpleasant.

Apropos of nothing, let’s talk about the third and final season of Star Trek: Picard.

Trae Patton / Paramount+

Season three was sold as something of a course correction for Picard after its first two deeply unpopular runs. It ditched all but Raffi from the roster of original characters created for it, and instead pulled in the stars from Star Trek: The Next Generation. As well as the returning Jonathan Frakes, Marina Sirtis and Brent Spiner, we’ll see LeVar Burton, Gates McFadden and Michael Dorn back in action. And, in the six of ten episodes I’ve been permitted to watch under strict embargo, I’d say only one of them feels like the character we know and love.

Unfortunately, while we have the other TNG stars, the creative team of Executive Producer Alex Kurtzman and showrunner Terry Matalas didn’t bother to grab any of that show’s lightness of tone. Picard remains a grimdark slog, shot on perpetually underlit sets and featuring a succession of increasingly-bleak setpieces. The plot is stretched so thin that the first four episodes turn out to be little more than an extended prologue for the rest. A prologue that could, I should add, have been an efficient, and possibly more enjoyable, hour. The story is so obvious, too, that you’ll be ahead of the characters pretty much non-stop as they stumble from one idiot plot to the next.

It’s maddening that we can see how much of the plot is blocking itself to ensure things can’t move forward too quickly. There’s a whole episode of gosh-isn’t-this-tense tension that could have been eliminated if anyone in Starfleet pulled out a tricorder and used it as God intended. In this utopian future, where science and technology really are advanced enough to look like magic, why does nobody employ the tools hanging from their waistband? Mostly because Paramount ordered ten episodes, and ten episodes is what we’re going to give them. Another episode has a time-filling punch fight runaround because it’s now somehow impossible for a serving officer to use a Federation ship’s intercom system to call the bridge and warn them of impending danger.

Picard is one of those series where you often find yourself shouting at the screen as the next stupid moment unfolds in front of you. Even worse is that the show’s creative team seem to think that it’s us, the audience, who are deficient in the thinking department. There is scene after scene in which characters repeat the same lines back to each other because the crew assume we’re not paying attention. Because of the limits on spoilers, I’ve re-written a scene to match the sentiment, if not the words verbatim, so you can get a sense of what to expect:

CREW 1: The ship is being pulled closer to the black hole’s gravity well.

CREW 2: We do not have enough power to pull ourselves away, sir.

RIKER: Are you saying that we’re dead in the water?

CREW 1: We will be passing the black hole’s event horizon in 17 minutes.

RIKER: We’re dead in the water and we’re sinking.

PICARD: We’re going to be dead in 17 minutes, Will, unless we can find a way to solve this.

RIKER: We’re sinking into quicksand, and there’s no time to grab a helping hand.

The irony is that this run is so thicket-dense with references that the show basically assumes that you’ve already seen pretty much everything produced during Trek’s gold, silver and bronze ages. But, to make sure nobody’s left behind, everyone has to speak in exposition so hamfisted that, now that this is over, I think Michelle Hurd deserves personal injury compensation. Raffi gets saddled with so many cringe-inducing lines where she states, and restates and re-restates the obvious that I started grasping fistfuls of my own hair to relieve some of my discomfort.

And as for the storyline, what can I say? It’s clear that Alex Kurtzman is only comfortable writing in a single register. His go-to is usually a militaristic, testosterone-fuelled paranoid Reaganite fantasy in which the real villain was our own government all along. He did it in Into Darkness, Discovery season two and even the first season of Picard – to the point where Starfleet is now so lousy with double agents that all of their schemes fail because the saboteurs are all too busy sabotaging each other’s plans instead of that of the wider Federation.

If Picard is nothing else, it’s nearly pornographic in its use and misuse of franchise iconography. I always felt that Jeff Russo’s Picard theme sounded more like the library music for a corporate advert than the makes-your-heart-soar theme a Star Trek deserves. And here, it’s been ditched in favor of Jerry Goldsmith’s sumptuous, nectar-for-the-ears score for First Contact. The first title card is a direct pull from Wrath of Khan, and pretty much every element therein is an elbow to the ribs, reminding you of older, better Star Trek movies and TV series.

An early scene has a character “hijacking a starship” under false pretenses while it’s in spacedock. You know, the mushroom-shaped megastation orbiting Earth from The Search for Spock onwards. And because we’re already going beat-for-beat for a sequence xeroxed from 1984, said starship even jumps to warp as soon as it’s past the exit doors. Despite the fact that the sort of hardcore Trek fans who would spot the reference would also note that you’re not meant to jump to warp while inside a solar system when there’s no urgent need to do so.

I’ll admit, this is postgraduate degree-level Star Trek nerdery, but you can’t have it both ways: If you’re trying to placate hostile viewers with the excessive fan service, you can’t then complain when they point out that you’re doing it all wrong.

The show’s teaser trailer already revealed we’re getting an overstuffed roster of villains to round out the run. Amanda Plummer’s captain of an enemy ship that shares a design with the Narada from Star Trek ‘09. Then there’s Daniel Davis’ holographic Professor Moriarty, as well as Data’s evil twin brother Lore. Both of these sorta make sense in the context, but there’s a hell of a lot of narrative scaffolding to explain away the fact that Brent Spiner is now 74 years old. (The dude looks good for it, but it’s hard to play an ageless android when time marches on and the de-aging CGI budget is spent on smoothing out Patrick Stewart’s face for a single flashback and the pointless needle-drops that open every episode.)

Now, before you scurry off to Memory Alpha to confirm that Moriartywas locked away in a holobox at the end of “Ship in a Bottle,” and Lorewas disassembled at the end of “Descent Part 2,” yes, they were. Try to remember that showrunner Terry Matalas and executive producer Alex Kurtzman treat Star Trek’s continuity less as something which informs storytelling and more as a series of shiny objects to keep us all amused when the plot sags or anyone has any time to think about what’s going on.

I’ll also add that the trailers and promotional material have very intentionally kept a lot of material back. There are more classic-era heroes and villains crowbarring their way into the story in the way that, if it were fanfiction, would seem excessive. But, if I’m honest, the second or third time someone, or something, familiar popped up, I wasn’t whooping and cheering, I was sighing. The Star Trek universe is vast and broad and deep, but Picard makes it feel like a puddle where everyone knows each other, and everyone under the age of 30 has grown up watching The Next Generation. If you’re serving in the US Navy, for instance, how likely is it that you’d know the ins and outs of every exploit of even the most well-traveled combat vessel?

Now, I don’t have the language or experience to discuss this properly, and I’m aware of others who do feel differently. This is just my opinion, but I think the depiction of drug and alcohol use in Picard has always felt off. And since I can’t talk about the third season, I’ll talk about the first, where something very similar happened and is just as vexing here as it was back then. Raffi deals with her son’s rejection by relapsing, but then mere hours later, she’s back at her station and advancing the plot. I don’t recall a sense that her use clouded her judgment and I don’t think it was discussed subsequently – so despite the portentiousness in the build-up, it was depicted almost like someone just having a bad day and knocking back some drinks. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, because there are plenty of people who use drugs and it doesn’t impact their professional lives at all. (Read any Making-Of book about The Original Series and you'll notice how more than a few references to the production team's drug use.) But if you’re going to write a plot where scenes hang on the will-she-or-won’t-she tension of relapse, but it all turns out to be hunky dory straight after, what was the point of depicting any of this in the first place?

Then there’s the violence, and the casual way that it’s doled out, especially in the show’s numerous interrogation scenes. I’m not advocating for forced confessions, but given Starfleet’s advanced science, and the Federation has a planet of literal telepaths at its disposal, why are we always punching people in the nose with a butt of a phaser pistol? I mean, I know why: It’s a nerdy sci-fi show play acting as a muscular basic-cable drama, but that doesn’t mean it works. I’ve often theorized that many modern-day Star Trek creators would much rather be over the hall making their own Star War instead. Maybe I’m wrong, and the Picard crew is really nostalgic for the hamfisted Bush-era politics of 24.

Trae Patton / Paramount+

It was always going to be hard to pull Picard out of its creative slump that started back when the show was greenlit. If there was ever a character who we’d seen grow, change, mature and treat his own life with more kindness, it was Jean-Luc Picard. Some of TNG’s best episodes forced Picard to consider his own life, his history, his mortality, his motives, including the series’ grand finale. “All Good Things” isn’t just good Star Trek, it’s one of the best series finales ever made, encompassing the entire breadth and depth of The Next Generation in one glorious sweep. And between seven years of TV and four less essential but still important movies, he was done.

I wrote somewhere, I forget where, that a smarter idea would have been to center the action on a less-well served member of the Enterprise D crew. I’d have been second in line to watch a Geordi LaForge spin-off (behind uber fan Rihanna, of course), and there’s plenty to explore there. Or a Beverley Crusher spin-off, as she solves people’s problems as a simple country space doctor back on Earth or on some far-flung planet. Maybe a sci-fi version of In Treatment fronted by Marina Sirtis could have worked, and would have certainly cost less than this.

All of which would be preferable to what we got, which despite initially having a Pulitzer Prize-winning novelist at the helm, was two years of go-nowhere, do-nothing bore-a-thons. Its brief moments of cleverness drowned out by the baffling character decisions, tin-eared dialog and ligneous acting. And both had plots which would have struggled to fill a movie stretched out across a painfully slow ten hour runtime.

And that’s before we get to the moralizing, which had characters pointing at a bad thing and saying “thing bad.” I don’t think the second season’s 26 percent rating on Rotten Tomatoes is because the (inexplicably) conservative wing of Trek fandom was outraged that a show about happy space communists solving problems while remaining friends suddenly “got woke.” Good, old-fashioned Star Trek at least had the good grace to cloak its progressivism in allegory that could slide past the otherwise closed minds of some of its viewers. By comparison, Picard felt like the first draft of a high school theater production made the term after the teacher had explained agitprop.

Maybe that’s why I feel so annoyed by Picard, because all of the things that are wrong with the show, and its kin, are examples of amateurishness. Amateurish plotting, amateurish dialogue, a lack of thoughtfulness about the material, what it says, or what it’s doing. Just an endless parade of big, dumb, brash, po-faced melodrama used in place of some sort of maturity or integrity. I don’t expect Star Trek to be brilliant all the damn time, but I do expect a minimum standard of something to be upheld. And this falls so far below it, it’s hard to call it Star Trek. Some people will call that gatekeeping, but Star Trek can be anything it damn well wants to be, so long as it's competently made and halfway entertaining. 

The constant callbacks got me thinking about the period when Nicholas Meyer was, directly or indirectly, the major creative force behind Star Trek. It’s been 32 years since his 1991 swansong, The Undiscovered Country, and it remains a high-water mark of cinematic Trek. Drawing to a close the story of The Original Series crew, Meyer didn’t go for nostalgia, but savaged his characters, exposing their flaws, their bigotries, their failings. There was redemption, and heart, and it never needed Meyer to stage endless close-quarters phaser-fu fights in unlight rooms.

But that was a filmmaker with a clear vision, and the good graces to really drag his characters in the dirt before washing them clean. Imagine what would happen if Picard encountered any of the same level of subtext – they’d probably spend an hour running from it before beating it over the head with the butt of a phaser rifle and then spend the next hour feeling glum about it. If nothing else, I’d say don’t even watch Picard for ironic kicks, lest Paramount think it’s somehow a runaway hit and continue to produce crap like this.

Poker Face isn’t the sort of show that can be spoiled, but have a warning anyway.

I always think there’s been a gulf between production-line TV and its prestige brethren, but that the internet helped demarcate its edges. NCIS was the most-watched drama series in the US from 2009 onwards, but you don’t see The Ringer giving an essay-length breakdown to every episode. These days, prestige drama in the peak-TV mold is pored over and chewed around by the internet sausage machine. Everything else is deemed disposable, despite the obvious and sustained success of the stuff most people are actually watching on broadcast networks. There’s a lot of snobbery there, but also I suspect the The Rookie audience isn’t too fussed about reading a 2,000-word breakdown by an underemployed Yale grad about last night’s Nathan Fillion fights crime action.

Poker Face, then, is an attempt by what I’ll only-slightly-sarcastically call “prestige TV people” into making production-line TV. Like when a stuffy gourmet chef wants to burnish their “down with the kids” credentials by making the sort of dirty burger you can only appreciate at 3am. Interesting then that, despite the fact its co-creator and star are both poster children for Netflix’s revolution, that the show was set up at Peacock. Created by Rian Johnson, fresh from the success of Glass Onion: A Benoit Blanc Mystery, and Russian Doll’s Natasha Lyonne, Poker Face is an unashamed homage to a lost age of TV. Or, you know, lost if you’re not paying attention to whatever CBS is showing on Thursday and Sunday nights.

Lyonne stars as Charlie Cale, a woman with a troubled past who has developed the miraculous ability to tell when someone is lying. After attempting to use her talent to get rich quickly on a lazy poker tour across the US, she’s caught by a Reno casino magnate. He offers her a hostess job, in exchange for not murdering her to death, making her promise not to use her talent again. When he retires, and his grabby son takes over, he opts to use her talent rather than keep it hidden, embroiling both of them in a murder mystery. Which eventually leads her taking a road trip in her Plymouth Barracuda, solving murders wherever she goes.

And, certainly, the show has leant into the idea that Poker Face is probably the closest thing we’re going to get to a millennial Columbo remake. Certainly, the creative team haven’t been shy about drawing the parallels between the ‘70s classic (and, uh 80/90s less classic) and this. It uses the same Inverted Detective Story structure, with the lead character absent in the first act while we see how the murder was committed and the attempts to build a watertight alibi. Not to mention the choice to title the show with boldface yellow text, complete with copyright date under the title card, and its overall ethos. You’ve got a streetwise, rough-around-the-edges New Yorker with a knack for solving crimes and a classic car. And, much like in its inspiration, Lyonne is going up against a series of A- and B-list guest stars, since the most famous guest star (or stars) is the one that did the murder.

NBC Universal

The differences are mostly down to packaging, since Columbo was conceived as a series of movies-of-the-month. (Columbo was originally 90 minutes, but many episodes were “supersized” to two full hours, very commonly to their detriment.) Poker Face is set up as an “episodic” case-of-the-week show, with streaming’s runtime freedom meaning that some episodes run between 80 minutes and just 50 minutes, when the plot is slender enough to justify the trim. That’s good, because it rarely feels like any episode overstays its welcome, and they often skip along at a breezy old clip.

But this efficiency also robs us of one of the highlights that made classic Columbo as it could often be. Watching a short, scrappy, working-class cop square off against higher status opposition was always a delight. And the show would build up to these confrontations, parceling them out along the way toward the eventual denouement. Star Peter Falk was a great, if difficult, actor, and he would often be squaring off against one of his real-life friends, each one a superstar. And they would load each confrontation with depth, nuance and tension as Lt. Columbo sliced apart their “watertight” alibi with a razor blade. Watching Falk against John Cassavetes, Patrick McGoohan, Robert Culp or the amazing Jack Cassidy was electrifying television. And all of this is cast aside, because Charlie is apparently a human lie detector that knows whenever the guest star lies in her presence. (This is rather unsubtly demonstrated most of the time by Charlie reflexively coughing a naughty word describing male cow poops that we’re no longer allowed to write here.)

In its place, is the recurring twist (if it can be called that) that Charlie was actually present or somehow involved with the situation leading up to the murder. So while Lyonne is absent for the first act of the show, you then see an abbreviated version of those same events showing how Charlie came to be inveigled with the events (and has an emotional stake in solving the crime). In a way, you’ll start wondering how exactly we’ll see Charlie pop up and which scenes that we just saw was she lurking in the periphery of. It’s an elegant way of tying the character and the murder together without making her a shabby police officer in a beige raincoat.

But you don’t need to be a Columbo fan to enjoy Poker Face, and the ultimate litmus test was making my aggressively-Columbo-indifferent wife watch the screeners with me. She said that the show was fun, and it gives you the “joy of seeing how Charlie was there all along.” And that, much like another of her favorite detective shows, Jonathan Creek, you can play along at home, looking for the clues that will eventually point Charlie to solving the case. (The show does play fair, too, and gives you the chance to spot a clue that our hero won’t clock for another few minutes.)

NBC Universal

The benefit of the episodic nature of the series is that you can dip in and out of it as you feel like it. I watched the six (of ten) episodes Peacock made available for review in dribs and drabs, watching one, then taking a day off, then the next, in a way that felt similar to how it’s intended to be seen. The only issue for would-be dippers is that you may not quite understand why, at the end of half the episodes, a character I won’t name pops up to glower at Lyonne. This is something the show has borrowed from older shows, where our hero was always on the move in order to stay out of the clutches of the overarching villain and keep the story going. But you’d be a fool not to at least watch the pilot episode, which was written and directed by Johnson. (The second episode, where he just directs, sags a little as it opts to restate its premise for anyone who decided to watch TV like a psychopath and not just start at the beginning.)

Tonally, Poker Face is breezy, despite its rough-around-the-edges world, and there’s often one killer joke in every episode. As much as some episodes might draw from a darker palette, none are even close to being described as “heavy.” It’s not afraid to be a little silly, either, but I’d spoil the fun in explaining how or why it is, so you’ll have to discover that bit for yourself. In fact, most of the fun of the show is just in the watching, so I can’t imagine anyone will be racing to write 2,000-word essay-length breakdowns about how each episode unfolded. Just repeat to yourself: It’s just a show, I should really just relax.

Poker Face debuts on Peacock on January 26th, 2023, with the first four episodes streaming at launch. A new episode will debut every following Thursday for the next six weeks.

I’ve worked from home for twelve-plus years now, and between that, kids and COVID lockdowns I hadn’t realized just how much my world had shrunk. We have one car that my wife uses to go to work, so I spent my days getting around on foot, or using the local bike share scheme. But it was only when I started listing where I go, that I realized how small my world has become. These days, I’m limited to my office, the backyard, my kids’ school and the nearest, admittedly lackluster strip mall. I think I blinded myself to how small my horizons had become until I was given an excuse to probe beyond.

This, I should explain, came in the context of my 38th birthday, after deciding that I would try a ground-up rebuild of my bike. A 2005 Falcon Nomad, which had been sitting in a succession of sheds for the last 15-or-so years. I figured I’d ask for the tools, and a book explaining what to do, and then teach myself to strip and reassemble a bicycle as I went. This, friends, did not go very well, since the bike’s advanced age and poor state meant every repair I attempted, from paint job to brake replacement, went horribly wrong. (Maybe I should just concede that I'm not, and never will be, "good with my hands," and that when the apocalypse comes, my role will be to be hunted and eaten.)

Daniel Cooper

It also seemed the ideal moment to try Swytch, a product I’d been interested in for several years at this point. The company produces a retrofit e-bike kit that can be easily bolted onto existing bicycles, giving them a new lease of electric life. All you need to do is swap out the front wheel for a new one with a built-in 250W electric motor, which comes with a battery, pedal sensor and controller. Now, depending on your patience and budget, you can snag a Swytch kit for around £450 ($550 before tax), although it’s commonly more expensive. That said, a Swytch kit and an analog bicycle is often far cheaper than all but the most basic (and ugly) of new e-bikes.

(There’s also the longstanding point that millions of people have bikes in similar states of disrepair in their own sheds or garages. But a lack of confidence, or fitness, means that they won’t get them out and reacquaint themselves with cycling. If you could easily and cheaply add an electric motor to one, however, then most of those objections fade away pretty quickly.)

Buying a Swytch kit is more complex than just heading down to a store and snatching one up – you’ll need to let Swytch know the size of your existing bike and wheels. You’ll need to send them detailed measurements of your front forks, and the size of the gap into which a wheel can be inserted. Then, after some delay, it’ll send you a custom-sized wheel built to fit into the space, with all of the necessaries to get you up and running.

Daniel Cooper

The ads say that if you’re capable of changing a tyre, then you’re capable of installing Swytch, which is accurate. Even I, who couldn’t get my rear brakes to sit properly, was able to screw in the wheel and wire up the cable. Once you’ve done, it’s mostly self-explanatory, although I would have liked some more guidance as to best placement for the pedal sensor. You basically just use a hex key to bolt on the little OLED display, battery controller / mount and wire up the (color-coded) cables, using the cable ties supplied to keep everything tidy.

One tip – when you’re attaching the wheel of magnets to the crank arm and the Hall Effect sensor, leave your cable ties loose until everything’s lined up. That way, you can make finer adjustments, useful since every Swytch customer is entitled to a quick video call with a tech support person. They’ll survey your setup, and make sure that your installation has been successful, and offer any hints to improve your performance. (To be honest, I still don't think I've necessarily got mine in the best place, but imagine that my ability is very much the deepest floor and that most people will do much better.) 

Previous Swytch models required battery packs that were closer to purse sizes than anything more elegant. The new innovation with this generation of kit is the greatly reduced size, with the Air battery pack now small enough to fit into your pocket. Swytch Air’s 36V battery pack will run you around 10 miles of assist on Level 2 power, and is a little bigger than a beefy mobile power brick. The company has made a deal about the fact that Air is more or less “pocketable,” although you wouldn’t want to keep it in your back pocket for any serious period of time.

Daniel Cooper

More crucially, at 700 grams, or around 1.5 pounds, it’s light enough to toss into your bag when you’re parked up. Oh, for completeness’ sake, there is a larger version of the Swytch battery, Max, which has a quoted range of around just under 20 miles and is a little under twice the size and weight. Although both of these are on the conservative side, mostly because the kit won’t kick in if you’re cycling in flat, easy conditions. So you can actually expect that distance to run for quite a bit longer, good for days where you’ll be covering plenty of ground.

I had a fairly busy day last week, with a trip to two different medical centers on opposite ends of the city and the bank in between. The whole journey would have taken me about 20 minutes for each leg of the trip by car, or several hours if I’d taken the bus. But while I’ve not cycled 10 miles in a single go, on mostly major roads, for… decades at this point, I felt that the Swytch could help. After all, if the terrain was rough, I could kick in the assistance to help me, and I wasn’t worried about running out of energy for the same reason.

Daniel Cooper

The other thing a Swytch kit does is offer you the power that gives you the confidence to do the hard stuff. Like powering up a hill, or sitting between cars at the lights, knowing that you’ve got the electric power to not get chewed up when we have to start. Knowing that I can pretty easily kick up the assistance level and get my speed up to 12-or-so miles an hour before the driver beside me can put their foot down makes for a sturdier ride.

Now, there’s nothing that Swytch is doing that more technical-minded riders couldn’t do on their own. I’ve seen forum talk about saving money by opting for a third-party wheel kit and some hefty DIY, but I don’t think this applies here. Swytch isn’t charging mad money for the setup, and offers a cohesive, sealed package that offers you peace of mind and proper technical support.

There are downsides… obviously there are downsides. Bolting on the machinery for an e-bike onto one that wasn’t built for it is a little inelegant. It required a lot of fiddling, and I’m still not sure that I’ve got it set up as perfectly as I could do, but it’s certainly achievable. Taking up so much space on your front handlebars, too, means that you’re losing a lot of real estate to the battery mount and controller. If you’ve got bike lights that sit close to the bar, you might need to relocate them to the head tube, and then find it’s not as useful a place to stick them.

Daniel Cooper

As for pricing and availability, that’s a little complex: Swytch will charge you up to £999 (around $1,010 excluding the UK’s sales tax) for a kit if you want one as quickly as it can ship one to you. But it’ll also offer – at the very minimum – a 50 percent discount if you choose to wait for a later shipment from the factory, with that figure rising up to 60 percent depending on your patience. If you’re prepared to delay your gratification for long enough, you could snag one of these things for £450 (around $550 before tax), which as far as I’m concerned, is the price this thing becomes a no-brainer.

I’m sufficiently impressed by the Swytch kit to want to buy the unit currently bolted to my bike. The ability to quickly and easily add so much power, with all of the privileges that conveys, is pretty darn special. I can heartily recommend it to people with bikes rusting in their sheds, who want to get back on the road but are worried their fitness level won’t permit them to travel very far. Take it from me – it’s worth it.

Samsung may have found a way to strike a hefty blow to the United States’ burgeoning right to repair movement. It has approached the International Trade Commission (ITC), requesting an investigation into the importation of third-party OLED displays for independent repair stores. And if the ITC finds in Samsung’s favor it would, in the words of Louis Rossmann (who published the text of the complaint), “fire a kill shot on the entire repair industry.”

Put simply, Samsung’s claim says that it creates AMOLED displays for mobile devices, and that those displays are covered by a number of patents. But factories in China (and elsewhere) are, according to Samsung, churning out similar screens that infringe upon those patents. And that these screens are often imported by third-party repair businesses in the US as a cheaper option than buying authorized parts directly from, in this case, Samsung.

Several businesses are named in Samsung’s complaint, including MobileSentrix, Injured Gadgets and DFW Cellphone & Parts. Many offer wholesale parts and equipment to other repair companies, as well as their own over-the-counter repair service. Samsung wants the ITC to issue orders blocking the importation of these replacement display parts at the border. It has also requested that the named companies be ordered to stop importing, selling or using the products in question.

Now, Samsung is well within its right to protect its intellectual property, even if it’s going about it in a very interesting way. Rather than address the violating factories directly by seeking remedy where those businesses operate, it’s opting instead to block imports into the US. Given the cavalier manner that foreign IP is treated in some parts of the world, it may be easier to go after the customer than it is to attack the suppliers. Samsung’s lawyers did not respond to our requests for comment at the time of publication.

On January 4th, 2023, the ITC announced that it would open an investigation into the import activity under section 337 of the Tariff Act (1930). This gives the ITC broad latitude to look into if the act of importing a product into the US would harm a business operating here. That includes both the infringement of registered patents, as well as the “misappropriation of trade secrets.” And the remedies on offer include the prohibition on further imports as well as the blanket ban on further attempts to acquire this hardware.

The ITC has become a useful tool in corporate America’s arsenal when looking to avoid a drawn-out courtroom battle. Law firm Meyer Brown’s report on section 337 explains that companies use Commission because it offers a “highly accelerated procedure” and “powerful remedies” which are “not available in federal courts.”

If Samsung’s request is successful, it could prevent large volumes of third-party OLED displays from being imported to the US. This would have consequences for the small and medium-sized repair businesses that have grown up around repairing broken smartphone screens. It would also funnel significantly more people toward Samsung’s network of authorized service centers.

Few individuals are willing to speak on the record concerning the present state of Android device repair for fear of souring already-strained supplier relationships. We heard from multiple sources that the perpetually under-fire third-party Apple repair ecosystem is luxurious compared to its Android equivalent. One individual, who asked not to be named, said it was often difficult to source replacement parts for Android handsets, which regularly cost more than those for equivalent Apple products.

Another said that standalone Android repair businesses often struggle to stay afloat since they have to charge higher prices for display replacement. And many customers, when shown the potential cost, prefer to ditch their device in favor of replacing it outright. (We noted, too, that on Samsung’s US cracked display support page, the first option in the list is to upgrade your phone rather than opting for a screen replacement.)

In its case to the ITC, Samsung says that it has “sufficient manufacturing capacity” to “assure demand is met for OLED displays as replacement,” which are “supplied through authorized channels.” We could not contact anyone inside Samsung’s authorized repair channels for comment, but one independent repairer who claimed knowledge of the situation said that wasn’t necessarily the case. They believe that Samsung repairers often face long wait times for replacement parts, and that the company often can’t fulfill demand quickly enough.

The Repair Association and US Public Interest Research Group issued a joint submission to the ITC on January 12th, which was shared with Engadget. It said Samsung was behaving in a manner contrary to the US’ present push to reduce the proliferation of e-waste. They added the move was likely anti-competitive and designed to box out independent repair technicians. And that, if Samsung is concerned about patent infringement, it should seek to negotiate with the infringing factories directly or propose “fair and reasonable” licensing terms.

When contacted, the ITC said that it did not comment on ongoing matters, and it will likely be some time before we learn its decision. Rossmann, in a YouTube video posted to his channel, added that this may not just affect Samsung displays, but also any OLED display supplied by Samsung. Which includes a number of displays for iOS devices, given that Samsung Display reportedly supplies 70 percent of all screens for iPhones. Which means that, if the ITC interprets this in the broadest possible terms, the right to repair movement may be in for a long battle.

The official Philips Hue app sucks.

You'd think that, being the oldest name in the smart lighting world, Philips would have the best app on the market. More than a decade of iterative improvements and a mature hardware world would see the app rise proudly above its competitors. Sadly for me, and every other Hue user, the company seems to have fallen asleep behind the wheel.

(Yes: I know that Philips Lighting rebranded itself as Signify, but let’s not confuse matters here.)

I picked up a Hue starter kit and some additional Lux bulbs back in 2013, and was very impressed with the setup for at least ten minutes. It very quickly became one of those gadgets that only really got used to show the power of your smart home to visitors. And they rather quickly tired of my ability to change my living room lights from white to purple, and back again. In fact, I mostly used the bulbs as glorified dimmer switches, which wasn’t enough to justify the high cost of the initial investment.

At some point, the app started insisting I replace the v1 (round) Bridge for the v2 (square) model. And I bristled, already feeling aggrieved that Hue was all mouth and no trousers, I resented having to pay when the existing system worked perfectly well. Especially since I could have used that money to buy more Hue bulbs and further lock myself into Philips’ ecosystem.

No tears were shed when the Bridge eventually got smashed by one (or both) of my kids when I was out of the room. I decided, in a tiny flurry of COVID-19 lockdown-induced Marie Kondo-ing, that I’d toss the box into the trash and be done with it. After all, it was broken, and changing the color of my bulbs did not spark the joy I was expecting, not to mention the fact that Philips loves to charge a lot of cash to sync your lighting to a movie playing on your TV.

Last month, my wife asked me why we weren't able to use Hue any more, and I explained the situation. She asked how much it would cost to fix it, and found a sealed, unused, second generation Bridge available on Facebook Marketplace for half the price at retail. So we snapped it up, obviously making the usual security checks about buying second hand IoT gear before plugging it into our network.

That was, however, when the troubles began, since you can’t just sign in to your existing Hue account, hook it up to the new Bridge, and be done. Nobody at Philips seems to have imagined that it might be worthwhile building out the ability to revive an account tied to a dead bridge. In fact, there’s no way to connect anything without a fresh login, and the bulbs themselves are tied to the old one. The app also doesn’t provide any way to hard reset a bulb, or in fact do anything beyond leave you staring at a splash screen.

For about half an hour, I did wonder if I’d just wasted some cash on a new Bridge but never to get things working again. I felt a frustration, a powerlessness, the sort that comes when you’re locked and bolted out of a building at 2am in an unfamiliar city and your phone’s out of charge. My login wouldn’t work, because my bridge wasn’t connected to the internet. A new login won’t even acknowledge the presence of the expensive hardware all over my house. My hands got very itchy.

This is the kicker: I’m not the first person to learn how bad Philips’ software development is, because there’s a whole army of third-party Hue apps out there. Much in the same way that charity is an indictment on behalf of the state, the depth and breadth of Hue apps available is a massive critique on Philips’ lackluster app development. You’re paid to do this, and there’s no available function in the app to be able to fix what could be a fairly common problem.

I opted to use Hue Lights, one of many independent apps that offered the ability to hard reset a bulb. All I had to do was bring each bulb close to the bridge (you’ll need a lamp handy), turn it on, and hard reset each unit individually. Then I could reconnect them to the new bridge and, as if by magic, could then start using them with the official Hue app. Not that, I’ll be honest, I really want to. Because this third-party, very simple app has more power than the official Philips app and it’s easier to use. If you haven’t tried it, I heartily recommend that you do. At least until Philips gets its act together.