Phrasemaker

By the time Andor premiered in the fall of 2022, it was the third live-action Star Wars series of the year, wedged between the neon fan-service of Obi-Wan Kenobi and the meme-factory that was The Book of Boba Fett. It was the show you streamed with the volume up and the expectations down—a cerebral detour in a galaxy increasingly allergic to subtext. But by the end of its first season, Andor wasn’t just the best Star Wars show; it was the only one you could talk about at a dinner party without sounding like you were explaining a Funko Pop.

Now, after a real-world time skip to match the onscreen “ONE YEAR LATER” title card (yes, they did it Ghostbusters II style, no notes), Andor is back. And Tony Gilroy is done easing you in. The first episode of Season 2 kicks off with Cassian Andor casually infiltrating an Imperial test facility, stealing a TIE fighter, and flying it like he just unlocked the tutorial level. It’s messy, thrilling, and entirely deliberate. “People thought Season 1 started slow?” Gilroy seems to be saying. “Fine. Here’s a car chase in space at minute five. Happy now?”

Cassian’s getaway—clumsy, chaotic, and scored with the tense intimacy that’s become the show’s signature—isn’t just a flex. It’s a thesis. This isn’t Star Wars with wisecracks and Wookiees; this is Star Wars where espionage is sloppy, where every quiet moment is followed by a morally compromising decision, and where even the droid is depressed.

The season structure mirrors this sharpness: four arcs, three episodes apiece, each arc separated by a one-year time jump. It’s like bingeing four gritty space thrillers with matching cover art. And yes, that math adds up to a countdown clock ticking toward the events of Rogue One, aka the most suicidal heist movie in franchise history. You can practically hear the calendar pages flipping.

Back on Sienar (a planet? a manufacturer? both?), the TIE theft sets the tone. Cassian’s contact is a low-level tech playing double agent, nervously running pre-flight diagnostics while desperately avoiding eye contact. When he finally speaks, Cassian gives her a rousing pep talk with those Diego Luna eyes—the kind that suggest your whole rebellion might be worth it, if just for this moment. It’s the most tension you’ve seen built around a vehicle since Drive.

The episode doesn’t slow down. It cuts from the frantic escape to a first-person home invasion nightmare, only to reveal it’s all happening inside Bix Caleen’s head. She’s safe (for now), holed up with ex-Ferrix expats Wilmon and Brasso on a nowhere planet called Mina-Rau, working as an unlicensed space plumber. They’re anxious. They’re undocumented. And yes, even B2EMO the droid is monitoring Bix’s sleep like a concerned parent with a clipboard.

Meanwhile, Cassian’s next rendezvous goes sideways because, apparently, cosplaying as an Imperial test pilot works too well. He gets mistaken for the real thing by a clumsy rebel cell straight out of a Coen brothers film. These aren’t clean-cut heroes—they’re paranoid, confused, and constantly yelling over each other. It’s funny until it gets deadly. Cassian’s stuck, mid-argument, mid-blaster fight, mid-existential crisis.

And just when you think we’re done jumping locations, here comes the Empire. Not a hologram. Not a spooky mention. A full-on war council chaired by none other than Orson Krennic—yes, Ben Mendelsohn is back, oozing colonial menace with that signature passive-aggressive politeness. He’s planning a “whisper campaign” to justify a hostile takeover of Ghorman, a planet full of silk spiders (which we hear about but tragically do not see—cowards!). Dedra Meero, still looking like she’s trying not to throw up in every scene, suggests using the rebels’ incompetence to make the crackdown seem “justified.” She’s not wrong.

Elsewhere, director Ariel Kleiman sneaks in the most devastating moment of the episode without raising his voice: a single-take tracking shot of Mon Mothma hosting her daughter’s pre-wedding festivities. The camera floats through chandeliers and covert glances until, boom—Luthen Rael crashes the party with a grimace and a warning. It’s the rebel version of your high school ex showing up at your wedding rehearsal in a trench coat.

For all its pacing pyrotechnics, Andor still plays it close to the chest emotionally. These characters don’t monologue about hope. They grit their teeth and power through compromise. Every clean hallway hides an ambush. Every plan goes sideways. Every rebel is a liability waiting to happen. It’s exhausting, and that’s the point.

If Season 1 built a rebellion in slow-motion, Season 2 lights the fuse with a TIE fighter engine roar. There’s no safety net, no nostalgia bait, no Grogu to save the day. Just Tony Gilroy daring the rest of Star Wars to keep up.

Good luck to them.