John’s the smart one, Paul’s the cute one, George is the quiet one, Ringo’s the funny one. Leonardo leads, Donatello does machines, Raphael is cool but rude, Michelangelo is a party dude. Blanche is slutty, Rose is stupid, Dorothy is sarcastic, and Sophia is both sarcastic and old. It’s pretty easy to break many groups of four notable figures down into their respective roles. On Skeleton Crew, it’s a little too easy.

Now, co-writers/co-creators Christopher Ford and Jon Watts have no problem creating a watchable, compelling adult. He comes in the form of Jude Law’s character, Jod Na Nawood, aka Captain Silvo, aka Crimson Jack, and he’s always just on the right side of the line. He helps the children escape from the dread pirate Brutus’s brig, but mostly because they have a ship he can escape in; he points out to a skeptical Fern there would have been no point in freeing himself with his Force powers before now without a getaway car. He risks his life to sneak back into Brutus’s HQ and free the ship’s droid, SM-33, but only because the children refuse to help him unless he does so. He agrees to serve as their employee rather than partner for much the same reason. 

In other words, Crimson Jack or whatever you want to call him is not a bad guy, even if he does get into a brawl with a tiny little owl lady named Kh’ymm over the coordinates for the children’s lost home planet, At Attin. (Apparently it’s the last survivor of a set of worlds hidden away from the rest of the galaxy by the Old Republic to protect its treasures, the maintenance of which the children now realize is the job of all their parents.) Silvo not gonna hurt these kids, which likely means he’ll only be out for himself for so long. 

In the meantime, though, he’s a pleasantly familiar Star Wars type: an Force-wielding Han Solo, a mellower Cassian Andor. What he really reminds me of most, though, is the young Obi-Wan Kenobi I had in my head prior to the release of George Lucas’s prequel trilogy: a dangerous, devil-may-care swashbuckler of the stars. What makes him come to life is Jude Law, whose best work always carries with it the sense that something’s slightly off behind that disarmingly handsome grin, and that his sense of humor hides real darkness. (His delivery when Jod rejects Fern’s assertion that the Jedi never leave a man behind is a series highlight.)

Without Law’s star power and talent, carefully honed over decades, the kid characters just don’t hold up by comparison. Wim remains simultaneously defiant and credulous, two annoying traits that make him hard to take under almost any conditions. Fern, whose ability to take charge of the situation made her the hero of episode 2, comes across as boringly one-note in her opposition to Jod’s very clearly necessary involvement in their escape. Neel is cute, obviously, but cloying, and the lack of nuance in his voice acting can’t be made up for by physical performance since it’s just someone in big blue elephant mask or whatever. 

KB is the exception. Even though her eyes are usually covered by a cybernetic visor, they’re wide open. She’s able to see nuance in the matter of Jod, instead of believing either everything he says (Wim) or nothing he says (Fern), two very dull poles around which to orient your core cast’s relationships. It’s KB who gets Jod to agree he works for them, not the other way around. And it’s KB comes closest to getting the truth out of Jod about who and what he is by calculating the probability that he’s what Wim says he is: a Jedi. The odds turn out to be very low. 

“Not everything in the universe can be calculated,” Jod replies, after turning out the lights with a flick of his fingers. “Sometimes, you need to trust your gut.”

Director David Lowery brings some real visual panache to Jod and the kids’ escape from Brutus’s spaceport. There’s a bit with a severed fuel line that whips back into the port wreaking havoc after Jod tears free of it by jumping their ship into hyperspace that feels almost Game of Thrones in its use of sheer physics to produce memorably violent visuals. (Remember the big chain on the Wall swinging down and wiping out those wildlings? Something like that.) Some moments clearly intended to be memorable feel a bit sweaty: Those shots of the five heroes in silhouette against a gorgeous glowing planet bite from E.T., The Monster Squad, and The Fellowship of the Ring simultaneously. But others are surprising and clever, like the gun turrets on Kh’ymm’s HQ that turn out to be telescopes instead, since it’s an observatory rather than a fortress. 

One last thing before we say goodbye to the kids’ search for home/Jod’s search for the legendary treasure of At Attin: Things are weird back home. A safety droid meets with the concerned parents of all four kids. (For those keeping track of queer representation in the Star Wars Universe, KB’s parents are lesbians, which is nice.) Much is said of “the Supervisor,” a figure with the power to contact the New Republic about the missing children, but, they feel, would be unlikely to risk it. The safety droids, the Barrier, the laws against starships, the fact that the kids have no idea how many worlds there are in the galaxy or what stars are — this Supervisor has a lot of explaining to do. My hope is that Wim, Fern, and Neel evolve into more interesting people by the time that explanation arrives.

Sean T. Collins (@theseantcollins) writes about TV for Rolling Stone, Vulture, The New York Times, and anyplace that will have him, really. He and his family live on Long Island.