Series Review: Nikita

Tech-heavy spy drama at its most intense

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by Matthew Ferri
*Vague spoilers

A rogue agent makes it her mission to take down a secret criminal organisation she used to work for called Division. Suffice it to say that this isn't the most original plot; nor is the master-of-all-trades rogue agent herself very realistically portrayed; and don't get me started on the technology or the copious amounts of fake deaths. Fortunately, they're all part of the same thrilling backdrop for a cast of multi-faceted characters, who together display a spectrum of unwavering ambition. Indeed, every good guy and bad guy has a goal, an aim, something to live for. And while they aren't all equally convincing, they transcend the history of Division itself: a metaphor for distinction and identity. If nothing else, Nikita has depth.

Division consists of two separate parties embodied in its bleak colour scheme: black and white - those giving orders, and those carrying them out. Not knowing any better, Nikita was once one of those being ordered around. Then, one day, her eyes opened and she realised she had to get out. You guessed it: she faked her death, sacrificing her identity; and over the next three years she trained her partner in crime, Alex, who, from the start of Season One, is granting her intel as a mole in the heart of Division. You see, there's a third party whom she and Nikita represent. For a while, they're the only ones; and to everyone else, their identities - their motives and ambitions - don't exist. They're grey: a colour not explicitly present in Division, yet a mixture of black and white, which our heroes have taken onboard, fuelling their vengeful drive to take down Division and its corrupt leader, Percival "Percy" Rose.

Vengeance - the one motivation that is its own weakness. Like all Division-trained operatives, Nikita and Alex were criminals in prison or on death row. As such, they each have a dark past filled with sacrifice, compromise and regret, shaping their decisions, feelings and fears in the present. Nikita's most substantial remorse comes as a major twist towards the end of Season One, breaking Alex's trust in Nikita and directing it instead to Amanda, Percy's partner in world domination. Grey: such an unhappy mix of light and dark that cannot be undone.

But there are enemies among enemies as well. It soon becomes clear that Percy, the invincible mastermind and Amanda, the conniving black widow stricken with insatiable loneliness, are each playing their own little game; and together they heartlessly destroy whatever fragments of trust they ever shared. Even Birkhoff, the comic relief tech guy, gets his portion of drama; but he's mainly there for comedy and smarts; and I must say, he has some pretty good lines. "Look, Nikki, you're allowed to miss him. But he's coming back. You guys are... you're meant to be. You're like Bonnie and Clyde, except without the last scene."

Nikita: Season One Trailer (2010)

While the plot itself isn't exactly innovative, its execution is often unpredictable, and its progression incredibly fluid. When Nikita and Alex aren't enough to stop Division, Michael - Percy's right-hand man and Nikita's foreseeable boyfriend - joins the good side. Amanda takes over and Percy is imprisoned; Nikita gradually adds to her team, forming a generic but very likeable force. As Birkhoff puts it, "Nikita incorporated, baby. Live and work in the same space. Just like the Enterprise." Amanda gets thrown out but confides in another powerful villain; and Percy, whose endgame involves making the US president his puppet, finally gets outplayed. Plot and character development go hand in hand. We see more vulnerability from Nikita as Percy's shadow of doom appears unstoppable. But it's through her humanness that she realises her need for friends; and through them her mission becomes possible once again.

The finale, one in which the creators had to both satisfy viewers with a resolution and keep the plot open in case the series was renewed again, was aptly done. Nikita infiltrates Division one final time, reluctantly willing to be taken down along with it. Yet, in a reversal of roles, Percy and Division become outnumbered, and Percy himself, if only for a second, gets outsmarted by Nikita. A second is all it takes; and a very distressed Percy looking pitifully up into Nikita's face saying, "No..." is the last we see of him. He meets a timely yet unpredictable end, after which Nikita and co. take Division by the reins; and with the passing line, "There are still monsters out there," we get a shot of Amanda standing over a terminal, which reads, 'Game change.' In one of the closing scenes, Alex says, "Here we go?" to which Nikita replies, "Here we go again." Thus, the snippet of Amanda could easily be interpreted as a symbol for the endless spawn of enemies who seek to undo justice, against whom Nikita must perpetually wage war. But the series has indeed been renewed for another season; so it's instead a clear indication that we'll be seeing more of the infamous black widow next year. Overall, a brilliant episode, both satisfying viewers and leaving them with several unanswered questions.

No show is perfect, though. Nikita occasionally suffers from writer's block: running out of ways for the good guys to win, so recycling earlier solutions, making the series feel just a tad ripe. However, these instances are few and far between. In all other cases the entertainment is top notch, sacrificing fundamental originality and overt realism (neither of which the show aims to achieve anyway) for a cast of highly developed characters and a steady plot inside an action-packed thrill ride. I have no doubt that season three will deliver in the same light. The concept of Division is ironic. It's designed to give people a second chance, to whitewash their black slates. Yet each and every character is a testament to the reality that no one is black nor white. Nikita and Alex don't forget their pasts; they learn to accept them, and each other.

4 Stars out of 5

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Thank the Maker for Videogames

P1. Media is educational

P2. Videogames are a form of media

C. Videogames are educational

Yeah, okay, that argument's pretty bad. But the conclusion's true. Addictive or not, videogames teach people a lot of stuff! I present to you some of the most notable things that videogames alone have imparted onto me:

1. The difference between 'effect' and 'affect'

There came a point in high school - it was an exam, no doubt - when the sentence I was penning was to adopt one of the two most commonly confused words in the English language. Being more pedantic about grammar than content (as you are by now well aware), I was determined to get the word right if it took me the remainder of the exam to do so. It didn't, of course. It probably took about ten seconds. Know why? Because at the onset of that ten seconds, a magical word jumped onto the subjective surface of my desk. Pokemon. And with it, the following, forever-ingrained lines of Nintendo-quality translation:

"It's super effective."

"It's not very effective."

"It doesn't affect enemy Pidgeotto."

Why Pidgeotto? you ask. Because it's Flying/Normal, giving it an astounding two Pokemon types to which it is immune (Ground and Ghost), and because it's also very common. Thus, Pidgeotto is one of the most notable Pokemon to which the phrase "It doesn't affect enemy-" is applied. Duh.

From there it was easy. I realised (and said seven times in my head lest I forget and have to repeat this time-consuming yet marvellous process) that 'affect' is a verb and 'effect' is a noun. Needless to say, I walked out of that exam more refreshed and enlightened than I did, say, the gym after earning my eighth badge! Heh heh, not quite.

2. Potion; flask; vial; phial; poultice; health globe?

Such a vast array of words, all of which tend to be used in very similar contexts. I was introduced to the potion when I was four, watching my brother play the critically acclaimed (and best game ever) Legend of Zelda: A Link to the Past. I tended to only watch videogames rather than play them at that stage (and experience a covetous abundance of fun and joy and excitement) because videogames, even innocent ones like Mario, were too scary for me to actually play. But back to Zelda. In the northeast part of Hyrule, there was a potion shop, which sold red potions to refill your life bar, green potions to restore magic, and blue potions, which did both! This last one was quite pricey, mind you. Being the challenging game that it was, a wise player had to have equipped at least one bottle of juicy red potion at all times. There were fairies, too, which would automatically aid to you upon death; but they'd only restore seven hearts. Quite pathetic when a hit from the enemy took off three. Trainer tip: fairies are free of charge, so stock up on them early game.

3. Playing a survival-horror game is scarier than watching a survival-horror film. Immersion!

Furthermore, Regenerators are the most horrific, awful, grotesque, you-can't-help-but-pee-your-pants-at-the-sight-of-them creatures in virtual existence!

Sorry for the long video, but this one's the best! Watch from 10:00-12:00 and see this guy get owned! Kudos to him for his courage, though.

Resident Evil 4 is scary, man. When my brother bought it back in 2008 (by then it was four years old, hence the dated graphics), it took all of me and more to get through it. Even today, I can't play it at night with the lights off lest, when venturing to brush my teeth, I fear for my life that a Regenerator is lying in wait around an unlit corridor. (By corridor I mean simple hallway or room). Conversely, watching that video makes me want to play the game again!

There are scarier games; but there's no freakier enemy. I'm tellin ya.

Videogames have taught me a great deal more; but for today, those three are all we have time for. Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not trying to argue that immersing yourselves in hours of videogames is productive, nor am I pretending they're a waste of life and need justifying. I'm just stating the facts, and, uh, perhaps wanted an excuse to talk about games. Ciao!

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Korra: A Gem in an Endless Sea of Blah

When animated films are good, they're really good. Perhaps it's because they're almost always aimed at kids and we adults have low standards for kids' media. In other words, it's okay if we don't like a cartoon because, quite frankly, we're not meant to. So it's no surprise that the good ones stand out. By 'good', I'm talking about those rare gems we'd exuberantly show off to anyone we know, anywhere. A classic example is The Lion King; and recent illustrations include How to Train Your Dragon and Despicable Me. Films that both kids and grown ups can enjoy. They appeal to the imaginative minds of children; they bring out the inner child within adults; and they incorporate a moderate level of sophistication rarely seen in children's media - the elements of which kids would find hard to identify. We're lucky if we get one of these a year. It's a shame, really.

Just imagine if there was a series - not a film, a series - that presented a beautifully crafted tale every week reminiscent of how The Lion King once did. It'd depict an intricate plot with real-world parallels, three-dimensional characters and mature themes; it'd sustain a fine balance of humour and heart-stopping drama; it'd cast protagonists with questionable motives and antagonists with justifiable values; it'd display adrenaline-pumping action sequences, each one individually drawn; and it'd incorporate elements of symbolism with regards to lighting, music and more. This last one you might find surprising, even if it is just your imagination. Well imagine no more, my friends (or perhaps enemies now that I've compared an obviously not-merely-hypothetical animated series to The Lion King. You'll get over it). This series is very real.

Now, I rarely ever watch cartoons. They're either too silly, or too silly and incredibly drawn-out with bad voice acting and dubbing. Which is fine if you're ten. But you're not; and it's about time you were granted an exception.

The Legend of Korra.

A show that combines all of the good elements - everything you could ever want - into a seamless, plot-and-action intensive series of grandeur. Heck, we're only up to episode seven!

Pure awesome.

The story is a continuation of Avatar: The Last Airbender, and picks up the tale seventy years later when most of the original characters are dead. Yet, unlike so many series today which repeat their plots with new characters, this is an entirely new story with new themes and a new setting, all in the same Avatar universe. The plot is very simple: a creepy masked man, Aman, wants to rid Republic City of benders (magic people), because many benders see fit to oppress those who can't bend (normal people). Aman wants everyone to be equals; and even creepier than his creepy mask: he has the means to make it happen. This foundation gives rise to a lot of political themes; and the fact that the cast includes several descendants of Aang and company allows for a complex, intertwining history between this series' characters, and thus the motives and hidden relationships behind them all. Of course, the only character blatantly hiding is Aman, whose real motives are yet to be unveiled, symbolised in his mask. Heck, we don't even know what his face looked like (-ed because he claims to have lost it to a bunch of benders long ago). But we viewers know better than to believe his evidently virtuous scheme. He's obviously power-hungry for some unknown but will-later-be-revealed reason. Then again, he has a point. Oppression isn't fun.

This chick gets in the way of Korra and her love interest. But whose side is she really on? 

Speaking of symbolism.

In the same episode where we discover Aman's plans (episode three), there is the inevitable closing action sequence as Korra (the Avatar), Mako and Bolin make their escape. The latter two get separated from Korra, and to their dismay they're being pursued by one of Aman's Chi-blockers, who proves to be more skilled in combat than both of them combined. Moments later our two heroes are on the ground, unable to recover; and, in the middle of the dusty, dark alley in which they fought, the no-name villain, towering over his beaten-down victims, speaks up. "You benders need to understand. There's no place in the world for you anymore." Quite a demoralising line to hear, yet viewers are encouraged to agree. Two skilled benders just got pummelled by someone with no powers at all. The musty, forlorn alley only adds to the harsh reality.

Just as he finishes, however, a spike of earth protrudes from the ground beneath him, flinging him into a wall. As he struggles to get up, a promising tune begins to play. It starts off quiet as the camera switches to Korra, who's standing around the corner. Her face is darkened by the presence of key lighting blasting in from behind her. The henchman doesn't yet realise that she's the one he needs to fear. Just as well, he can't identify her. She confidently replies, "I wouldn't count us out just yet." As she whistles for her polar bear dog, Naga, the music intensifies. The four of them make their escape as more henchmen arrive. However, Aman, standing composed and authoritative on a balcony, stops them. "Let her go," he says. His men and the music obey. "She's the perfect messenger to tell the city of my power."

Commanding his men and, in a way, the music to stop is a testament to his influential power, the power of words - another political reference. And in having the final say, viewers understand that he's won that round against the Avatar. Evidently the information Korra discovered about him aligns perfectly with his plan. At the same time, the lighting around Korra combined with the music emphasises her essential role as a source of hope to a city on the brink of civil war. Overall, the scene itself wasn't put there just because fans like action. It was vital for establishing fundamental character roles. While Korra and Mako were on Naga's back, Bolin was being carried in its mouth. That's him in a nutshell; but we already knew that.

Pure awesome 2.

Sure, even after an analysis, the scene isn't hell-deep. But the elements are there; and they work. Remember, it's a kids' show. The fact that the creators chose to include these subtleties at all is breathtaking. Even if you're not mesmerised by such details, their inclusion, when done right, makes a show satisfying. It's art, I tell you. And if you're still not convinced, well... The Legend of Korra has better drama than Days of Our Lives, deeper romance than Twilight; and it's really, really pretty.

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Why tax forms are among my worst nightmares

I've always struggled with maths, much to the superficial irony of my high school mates who used to remark, "But your dad's a maths tutor," to which I'd reply, "And your dad's in prison. Shouldn't you be robbing a bank?"

Sure, I could grasp the concepts and reasoning behind all those formulas, but I found it difficult to apply them to questions where the working hadn't already been done for me, regardless of practice. Even worse, I had a knack for making stupid mistakes: typing the wrong number into my calculator or pressing multiply instead of divide, and then failing to realise that the resulting answer was so horribly inaccurate.

Yet, when the test or what have you came back marked, I'd see where I'd gone wrong and immediately realise how stupid I was. In short, I knew how to get it right, but couldn't. I had good days, of course, where I'd get lucky and make next to no mistakes. But these moments were few and far between.

It was a horrid past, I agree; but it was not I who uncovered it. No, it was the tyrannous, ever-conspiring government! Evidently they like to laugh at the mathematically challenged by over-complicating tax return forms. I'm self-employed, so I had to declare my own tax. There was no opting out.

Older and wiser, I naturally assumed the process would be easy. My thoughts went something like, "It's designed for everyone to handle; and I'm not entirely stupid, so this'll be a breeze!" I was mainly replaying that thought to suppress the fact that tax-return-filling-out had to be the most boring thing anyone could ever do ever (this fact alone led to hundreds of 'I'll do it tomorrow' days, until I received a warm letter in the mail saying it was overdue).

Preferring not to pay a fine, I retrieved the forms and slumped them onto my desk. And boy did they slump. There had to be at least four double-spaced pages in there. Four! And the front page was devious, too. It made the process look easy with its 'Enter name here' and 'Enter IRD number here' instructions. Don't get me wrong; I do know my name. But it was what followed that reminded me exactly why I failed Year 11 Accounting.

From page two I was stricken with the inevitable headache of frustration and confusion. Frustration because I had to make multiple calls to IRD since, as it so happens, I had three jobs during that tax year; and confusion because I had no idea what 'residual income' meant, or why I had to keep copying box 2 to box 12 to box 17 to box 24. You see, writing the same sum a million times (when really it should've only been once) made the process feel, in contrast, too simple. Surely I was doing something wrong, right?

And then it asked me to add box 5 and 10 and 12; and I ended up with so many added-together numbers that I forgot which came from where, and thus what meant what. It didn't help that most of the tax jargon didn't make any sense to me.

Three hours, I tell you, and a handful of Panadol. That's what it took to get it done. Even with the aid of my dad, I still got confused.

In the end, like any good achievement, I made a copy of it for future reference. I don't want to have to go through that process ever again.

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Road Rage

We're given the basics early in life. An arsenal of tools to get us by, you might say. We learn to talk, walk, write, think, count, pee, and get what we want. And the rest of our lives is spent focusing on and mastering one or two of those arts. (Though don't ask me how the masters of peeing fare in our dwindling economy).

Of course, at some stage or another, we may opt to equip ourselves with entirely new pieces of armour. In fact, one of them increases movement speed by an average of 1200%! Yes, you guessed it. The Emerald Cloak of Coordinated Driving.

Naturally, when traversing the suburban terrains on our petrol-powered, five-to-seven-seater steeds, we automatically apply some of the more fundamental tools as they become necessary. Of these, reading is a must. We read everything from traffic lights to indicator lights to police-car-in-my-rear-view-mirror-lights... You get the idea. It's all thanks to our heavily armoured brains, which lug around the elementary skill of reading.

Which is why it pains me to say that there are trolls in our midst. These trolls have three unique abilities, which render us powerless to stop them and make us perpetually susceptible to their misdeeds.

RACIAL ABILITY LOWDOWN

CHARACTER CLASS: TROLL

1. Can assume invisibility while on the job

2. Looks a lot like a human

3. Can warp road signs at will

'1' wouldn't matter if  '3' wasn't their sole purpose in life.

From the moment we English-speaking people could read, we did so from left-to-right, top-to-bottom. Now our brains don't like it any other way. And when we're hard-pressed for time, zooming across the aforementioned suburban terrains, there isn't time for skill retraining. Our long-learnt methods are all we have to process visual information. Needless to say, five years after taming poor old Carrie, I still get confused when I see this:

AHEAD

X-ING

PED

What the heck?

No wonder most of them have been replaced with diamonds.

Yet there are other, non-crossing-pedestrian-related road markings like these, and they get me every time! In my very first encounter, I had to scan it, scan it again, and then scan it again as it approached, focusing on nothing else, and almost running over an old lady in the process* (to appease my guilt I convinced myself that she was a troll). Then, still confused, I thought, "Well, that doesn't make sense. Try reading it upside-down." I've no idea why anyone in the world would think this; but it worked, and the apparitions of confusion were slain, finally.

Okay, I get it. I'm supposed to read the words as they come, because apparently the 'Ahead' is too small to read before I'm close enough to read 'Ped'. Not so! And even if so, I still see three words no matter how I look at it; and my brain directs me to the top of them. As Carrie draws closer to the sign, I'm patiently waiting to read the top-most word first because, again, I think, "There's no point reading a sentence backwards." Evidently, common sense has an exception.

Now, five years later, I take considerably less time to reverse the white painted text. I only read it the correct way once, and I'm watchful for oldies.

_________________________________________________________________________________

*There was no old lady. There was, however, a troll.

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One (extra)ordinary saturday

1

Magic likes to set itself up.

Like an oasis after a day of scorching heat.

Saturday.

I got four hours of sleep, waking to the news that my plans to catch up with Brooke, followed by purchasing a Mother's Day present (for mother), were smitten by the ill-timed hand of sickness. I took Brooke to the clinic instead, where I sat in the waiting room catching up on games like Draw Something and Scramble with Friends. That is until Phoney froze.

A FEW THINGS ABOUT PHONEY

1. It freezes around once a week.

2. It's six months old.

3. When it freezes, I have to pull the battery out while it's running.

4. Is this hazardous?

By the time we left, my hollow stomach and lack of immediate food were inducing moderate to severe levels of hangriness (hangriness: the impatient and grumpy attitude exhibited when one is both famished and not eating. Hungry and angry.) Brooke's stomach was also a-grumble; and in our sprawl to find somewhere both near and nectarous, we forgot that Burger Fuel had been relocated! What were we to do?

"Hmm," I said through the fine cracks of aforementioned hangriness, "we shall go to The Station," which was five minutes away. Or an hour in starving time.

Fate beat us there. That, or Brooke jinxed it when she said, "I'd laugh if they're closed!"

I wasn't laughing.

Would you laugh if the world was against you?

Back in the car again. The petrol gauge was dwindling in sync with my energy reserves. "I feel your pain, Carrie."

A FEW THINGS ABOUT CARRIE

1. She's old.

2. Her central locking lobes are damaged.

3. About half of the time, she makes deafening screeching sounds upon ignition.

4. Is this hazardous?

She took us to another Burger Fuel thanks to my unsteady steering (hangry and dizzy now). This one wasn't shut, thank God. But by the time we'd finished eating, it was time to go. Brooke had a date and I had work.

5:30pm - work complete, and still no Mother's Day gift. I was also tired.

A FACT ABOUT CAFFEINE

Its effects are temporary.

It might be worth noting that this whole time I've been greatly exaggerating my negative attitude towards these oh-so-miniscule inconveniences which seemed to be chasing me around like a swarm of angry wasps.

Having said that, at this point in my day, now driving to Te Awa in desperate search of a gift, I'd instinctively retreated to a sense of indifference. I was neither joyful nor sad, excited nor frustrated. Naturally, I expected to find nothing.

2

You don't find magic. Magic finds you.

Make sure to keep your eyes open.

Normally I'd walk up an escalator to make the trip in half time; but something was stopping me. Good thing it did, for as the moving stair gradually elevated me from car park to mall, a sign emerged from behind the barrier. The dreariness of ascent transformed into beauty, like sunlight streaming through an opening in the clouds. Except this sun was a sign with fancy white print.

THE SWEETEST LITTLE

Chocolate Shop
(The people were sweet, too).

Five minutes and one free chocolate later, I was out, finished, descending the escalator with tangible love in hand. Ironically, my neutrality was a distant valley, a stepping stone invisible from the peak of victory upon which I stood. Life was good.

And then it got better.

3

Magic can surprise you even after you've shaken its hand.

Water isn't the only thing you'll find at an oasis.

I unlocked Carrie: a worn, dirty, dusty, petrol- and warrant-depleting, often screeching, the air-con still works though, car. Of course, none of these things was on my mind. Neither was the Coke perched comfortably in the drink holder. What's this? One-hundred and sixty-five mils of bliss! How did I ever forget about you? I vocalised. It was only half empty. Scratch that. It was half full. I chugged it like its contents were Time and I was Will Salas. 

Unlike him, though, I wasn't struggling to avoid death. I was appreciating life.

That magic in a bottle. It was perfect.

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The 'Other' Things in Film: Part Two

Perhaps I complain too much. Even film, the most extravagant combination of art and entertainment I can think of, cannot help but stir some of the inherent juices of protest and criticism which lay dormant inside me. But I'm not a negative person, really.

I'm not even angry.

I just have opinions, which now and then need a dose of fresh air. And they aren't all bad. In fact, my first for today is entirely positive.

4. A cast of good grammar

TV is the go-to place for truckloads of pristine punctuation gushing like magical waterfalls from the mouths of eight year olds. And since kids like to role-play, I intend to enforce five hours, seven days a week of couch potatoing in my future family household. Six hours and the kids get dessert.

Glee is a prime example that proves my point. It's certainly not for the eight year-old audience; they'd get bored. But it consists of a bunch of post-grads cast as freshman and retains their post-grad-like language (why are they at school, again?) to accompany the autotuner. Music to my ears, you might say.

Back to the negatives

5. Incoming Transmission

As in Nikita, so often I see characters browse the web, open a document from their whale-shaped flash drive (it's inconspicuous because it looks like a whale), or play nonexistent 8-bit videogames that make you question the show's 'present day' claims; and when they click 'search' on Google, for instance (which even trained assassin Alex does instead of hitting enter; you'd think her cover was a university lecturer), there's this awfully primitive computer sound which emanates from the off-camera speakers. She proceeds to click one of the search results, and said primitive sound makes a very unwelcomed return! Why would anyone design an operating system that insists on granting users clicking confirmation via some bizarre "blueohgigeep", tinny, Red Alert-esque, yet slightly-cool-in-the-context-of-video-games sound effect?

Answer: they wouldn't.

6. Shopping for shopping bags

We as viewers are very often hinted at instead of having things spelled out to us. We're passively graced with snippets of plot-polishing information. It's a good thing, no doubt: showing rather than telling and whatnot. But sometimes they become a tad ridiculous.

In ninety-eight percent of cases, you can tell the household mother has gone grocery shopping if she's carrying a paper bag which houses a head of lettuce, and out of which protrudes a baguette. Similarly, if someone's just returned from clothes shopping, their arms have become rails for copious amounts of biodegradable plastic. Useful? Sure. Clichéd? Absolutely.

Retarded? You can bet your life on it.

I know what you're thinking. The formula works. Viewers get the message. 

But those outlet bags are freaking empty, and it's obvious! 

In my mind I'm thinking, "Thief! You didn't buy anything. You just wanted free bags!" which, of course, has nothing to do with the film. Alas, in my moment of mid-movie complaint I end up missing several lines of juicy plot! Is this what you want, mister director? Is it? Honestly...

I hope there are others out there who see these things in the same light. If not, perhaps you will now. Starting today, let's make a change.

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