Welcome back to Rewatching Smallville, my weekly dive into the iconic series that explores Clark Kent’s journey before becoming Superman. Whether you’re a long-time fan or new to the show, you’re invited to join in each Tuesday as I revisit episodes and share my thoughts and observations. Be sure to share your own memories and theories in the comments below!

After last week’s globe-trotting, temple-raiding, witch-possessing spectacular that was “Sacred,” Smallville mercifully returns to Earth—specifically, to the Kent Farm and the Talon, where the drama is decidedly more grounded even if it involves European loan sharks and staged kidnappings. “Lucy” introduces us to Lois Lane’s younger sister, and in doing so, gives us something Season 4 has been desperately lacking: an episode that remembers what this show does best—character-driven storytelling that uses its fantastic elements to explore recognizable human emotions.

Written by Neil Sadhu and Daniel Sulzberg and directed by David Barrett, “Lucy” is the kind of episode that makes you appreciate Smallville‘s ability to pivot. One week we’re watching Isobel fight Clark with magically-charged swords in an ancient Chinese temple, the next we’re watching two sisters work through their complicated relationship while Clark plays mediator and accidentally bonds with Lois over telescope usage. It’s tonal whiplash, sure, but after the mythological overcomplications of recent episodes, watching people have actual conversations about actual feelings feels like coming up for air after being underwater too long.

The Lane Sisters Dynamic

The introduction of Lucy Lane could have been a disaster. Here’s yet another new character in a season that’s already struggling to balance its expanded cast, and she’s the sister of Lois, who herself is still a relatively recent addition. But what makes this episode work is that it uses Lucy not as another piece on the overcrowded Smallville chessboard, but as a mirror to reflect and deepen our understanding of characters we already care about.

Peyton List’s performance as Lucy is… fine. She’s charming enough in her early scenes, selling the little sister who’s trying too hard to seem sophisticated and worldly. The flirtation with Clark feels appropriately awkward—she’s throwing herself at him with the subtlety of a teenager who’s learned about seduction from movies but hasn’t quite figured out the execution. But List is ultimately hamstrung by the fact that Lucy is less a character than a catalyst. She exists to reveal things about Lois, to create situations that force our regular characters to examine their own relationships and assumptions. It’s not List’s fault that Lucy never quite coheres into a fully-realized person; the script is more interested in what Lucy represents than who Lucy is.

What Lucy represents, of course, is the road not taken—or perhaps the road Lois was never allowed to take. The episode’s emotional core comes from Lois’s revelation about her relationship with her sister: after their mother died, Lois became Lucy’s surrogate parent, sacrificing her own childhood to raise her little sister. It’s a dynamic that suddenly contextualizes so much about Lois’s character—her fierce independence, her reluctance to show vulnerability, her protective instincts that manifest as sarcasm and tough love.

Erica Durance absolutely nails these moments. When she tells Clark about never getting to have a real childhood, there’s a weariness in her voice that speaks to years of responsibility she never asked for. When she confronts Lucy in the back of that truck about throwing away her future, we’re not just watching an angry older sister—we’re watching someone who gave up everything to provide opportunities for someone who seems determined to squander them. Durance plays these scenes with a perfect balance of frustration and heartbreak, anger and love.

I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating: Erica Durance was a revelation from the moment she appeared in that season premiere, immediately establishing herself as my favorite Lois Lane portrayal (and this is coming from someone who had a not-small crush on Teri Hatcher in the ’90s). Episodes like “Lucy” demonstrate why—she brings depth and complexity to what could have been a one-note “tough girl” character, finding the vulnerability beneath the armor without sacrificing the strength that makes Lois Lane iconic.

Siblings, Real and Chosen

The episode’s smartest decision is using the Lane sisters’ relationship to explore the nature of siblings throughout the cast. Clark, the only child who desperately wanted siblings growing up, finds himself caught between two sisters whose relationship is fracturing before his eyes. His eagerness to help repair their bond comes from a place of genuine longing—he’s projecting his own desire for that kind of connection onto them, unable to understand why they would throw it away.

Tom Welling plays Clark’s confusion and concern perfectly. When he catches Lucy stealing from the Talon register, his first instinct isn’t judgment but empathy. He sees a younger sibling in trouble and immediately wants to fix it, to be the supportive big brother he never got to be. It’s such a Clark Kent response—throw himself into other people’s family drama because he wishes he had family drama of his own to navigate.

The conversation between Clark and Lex about siblings is where this theme really crystallizes. “I always wished I had a brother,” Lex tells Clark, seemingly forgetting about Lucas (though he does acknowledge Clark is closer than any “blood-brother” could be). Michael Rosenbaum delivers this with just the right amount of wistfulness—Lex isn’t just talking about wanting a sibling, he’s talking about wanting someone who would have understood him, who might have made him feel less alone in the Luthor mansion growing up.

When Lex says he sees Clark as a brother, it should be touching. And in some ways, it is—these two have been through enough together that the bond feels earned. But knowing where this relationship is headed, knowing that this “brotherhood” will transform into the most bitter enmity, makes the moment bittersweet at best. Clark wants to believe in this version of their friendship, wants to believe that chosen family can be as strong as blood. But we know better. We know that Lex’s definition of brotherhood includes manipulation, control, and ultimately betrayal.

The fact that Lex immediately involves himself in Lucy’s problem, ostensibly to help but really because Marcus Becker is an old business rival, shows us exactly what kind of “brother” Lex is becoming. He can’t just help for the sake of helping—there has to be an angle, a benefit, a way to gain leverage over an enemy. Even his acts of kindness are strategic moves in a larger game.

Con Artists and Convenient Plotting

Let’s talk about the actual plot of “Lucy,” because while the emotional beats land, the mechanics are pure Smallville convenience. Lucy owes $50,000 to a European loan shark who just happens to be one of Lex’s old business adversaries. This loan shark just happens to track Lucy all the way to Smallville, Kansas (population: seemingly infinite despite being a small town). And when everything goes wrong, Clark just happens to have super-hearing at exactly the right moment to overhear the street name where the kidnapped Lane sisters are being held.

The reveal that Lucy orchestrated the entire thing with Marcus Becker—that she was running a con on Lex from the beginning—should be shocking. Instead, it feels inevitable. Of course Lucy isn’t just in trouble; of course there’s a twist; of course the little sister who seemed too good to be true was actually too good to be true. Smallville loves these kinds of reversals, but they’ve become so common that the real surprise would have been if Lucy had been exactly what she appeared to be.

The logistics of the con don’t quite hold up to scrutiny. Lucy’s plan apparently involved: coming to Smallville, getting caught stealing by Clark (how could she have planned that?), having Clark involve Lex (again, how could she guarantee this?), and then executing an elaborate fake kidnapping that required split-second timing and her sister’s cooperation as an unwitting accomplice. It’s the kind of plan that would make Ocean’s Eleven blush with its dependence on coincidence and character behavior Lucy couldn’t possibly predict. Unless she’s been watching the last three seasons of the show.

But you know what? I almost don’t care. Because the plot machinations are really just an excuse to get Lois and Lucy in the back of that truck, forced to confront years of resentment and misunderstanding. Their argument—with Lois accusing Lucy of throwing her future away and Lucy firing back that Lois got all of their father’s attention—feels real even if the circumstances that created it are ridiculous.

The Stone That Wasn’t Stolen (Except It Was)

Can we talk about the B-plot for a moment? Because after spending an entire episode globe-trotting to find the Crystal of Air, having it stolen off-screen between episodes feels almost insulting. Lana and Jason return from a jog (sure, that’s what they were doing) to find her apartment ransacked and the stone gone. Jason immediately suspects Lionel, leading to a confrontation that involves Jason roughhousing the elder Luthor until Lana walks in.

The reveal at episode’s end that Lana herself “stole” the stone—hiding it from both Jason and the Luthors—is interesting in theory. It shows Lana taking agency, making strategic decisions rather than being a passive victim of everyone else’s manipulations. But it also highlights one of this season’s fundamental problems: the stones storyline has become so convoluted that characters are literally stealing from themselves just to keep the plot moving.

The fact that Lana tells Jason she’s “tired of their relationship revolving around the Stones” might be the most meta moment of the episode. Yes, Lana, we’re all tired of it. We’re tired of these MacGuffins driving every plot, of every character’s motivation being tied to ancient artifacts that still haven’t been clearly defined in terms of what they actually do or why everyone wants them so badly.

Lionel’s involvement continues to be frustratingly opaque. Is he reformed? Is he still manipulating everyone? Is he trying to protect Clark or gain power for himself? The show wants to have it all ways, and John Glover does his best to play multiple contradictory motivations simultaneously, but at some point, the character needs to pick a lane. And I don’t mean Lois or Lucy.

The Telescope Scene and Earned Friendship

The episode’s final scene between Clark and Lois in the barn is everything that makes Smallville work when it’s firing on all cylinders. Lois is using Clark’s telescope—the same telescope she previously mocked as being for “geeks and stalkers”—to look at the stars. It’s a small detail, but it shows how comfortable she’s become in Clark’s space, how their antagonistic banter has evolved into genuine friendship.

When Lois opens up about calling her father and being blamed for Lucy’s behavior, Durance plays it with perfect restraint. Lois doesn’t break down crying; she doesn’t have a dramatic emotional moment. She just sounds tired and defeated, like someone who’s used to being disappointed but never quite builds up enough calluses to stop it from hurting.

Clark’s response—assuring her that she’s a good big sister, that maybe Lucy isn’t all bad—is pure Clark Kent. He believes in people’s better angels even when all evidence points to their worse demons. Tom Welling delivers these lines with such sincerity that you understand why people trust Clark, why they open up to him. He has this gift for making people feel seen and valued, even when they’re at their lowest.

The admission that they’re friends now, complete with Lois’s playful punch and Clark’s bemused acceptance, feels earned in a way that a lot of Smallville relationships don’t. These two have been in each other’s orbit for half a season now, trading barbs and reluctantly helping each other, slowly building a rapport that’s based on genuine understanding rather than romantic tension or shared secrets. It’s refreshing to see a male-female friendship develop without the immediate pressure of “will they or won’t they”—even though we all know where Clark and Lois eventually end up.

The final image—Clark using his telescopic vision to watch stars collide, seeing details Lois could never perceive—is a perfect metaphor for their relationship at this point. They’re looking at the same sky, sharing the same space, but experiencing it in fundamentally different ways. Clark will always see more, see further, than the humans around him. But in this moment, standing next to Lois in the barn, what matters isn’t what he can see that she can’t—it’s that they’re both looking up, both searching for something bigger than themselves.

Writing Your Own Destiny (Or Running Your Own Con)

“Lucy” works because it remembers what Smallville does best: using extraordinary circumstances to explore ordinary emotions. Yes, there are super-powers and loan sharks and elaborate cons, but at its heart, this is a story about sisters who love each other but don’t know how to bridge the gap that grief and responsibility have created between them. It’s about Clark learning that having siblings isn’t the uncomplicated blessing he imagined. It’s about Lex confusing manipulation with brotherhood. It’s about Lois learning to let her guard down enough to make a real friend.

After the mythological muddle of recent episodes, with their witches and crystals and ancient prophecies, watching characters have recognizable human emotions feels revolutionary. No one gets possessed, no one speaks in cryptic prophecies, and the biggest special effect is Clark jumping onto a moving truck—classic Smallville action that feels grounded even in its impossibility.

The episode isn’t perfect. Lucy’s con is overly complicated, the stone subplot continues to spin its wheels, and Lionel’s motivations remain frustratingly unclear. But “Lucy” proves that even in a season that’s lost its way, Smallville can still find its center when it focuses on character over mythology, emotion over plot mechanics, and the complex relationships that define us—biological or chosen, functional or fractured.

As we head toward the final stretch of Season 4, “Lucy” feels like a reminder of what the show could be if it stopped trying so hard to be epic and remembered that the most compelling dramas happen not in ancient temples or mystical ceremonies, but in the back of trucks and barn lofts, between people trying to understand each other across the gaps that loss and time and secrets create.

What are your thoughts on “Lucy”? Did the Lane sisters’ dynamic work for you, or did Lucy’s betrayal feel too predictable? How do you feel about the developing friendship between Clark and Lois at this point—earned or forced? And are you, like Lana, tired of everything revolving around those mysterious stones? Share your memories and opinions below!