Category: Television

Boardwalk Empire is exceedingly good at doing finale episodes, and its track record with penultimate episodes is equally great. Season two’s one-two punch of “Under God’s Power She Flourishes” and “To the Lost” is looking primed to go down as the best pair of episodes in the series’ history, and in fact, with its focus on Gillian as its emotional center, this week’s episode is most reminiscent of the former.

As with all of Boardwalk’s season ending installments, “Friendless Child” continues and accelerates the season’s story, giving context to earlier events. Here, that means imbuing the flashbacks with narrative urgency and emotional relevance. Last week’s introduction of a young Gillian Darmody, the titular friendless child of this episode, suggested a major role for the character in the show’s endgame, which this week’s episode certainly confirms.

The script, from Riccardo DiLoreto, Cristine Chambers, Howard Korder (the last of whom has been putting a lion’s share of work in the writer’s room this season), cleverly plays with our knowledge of how young Gillian will eventually end up, and what events will bring her there. That makes the revelation that Nucky had initially strived to help Gillian, at the behest of his wife Mabel, all the more of a gut punch. The direction, as well, by Allen Coulter, makes the most of this dramatic irony. The way that Nucky is shot head on during his conversation with Gillian makes us complicit in what he’s doing, even if he doesn’t yet realize how bad it’s going to get.

The same is true of the episode’s gorgeous, stunning closing sequence. After a particularly difficult evening (more on that in a moment), Nucky sits down to read the letter that Gillian sent him, as Gretchen Mol reads it in voiceover, while a harrowing, haunting montage of her time in the mental institution plays out in Nucky’s mind. Gillian’s words repeat and loop back on themselves, over and over, until they are basically unintelligible, a helpless cacophony ringing between Nucky’s ears.

After all, Nucky and Gillian are more similar than we might have first suspected. Nucky, too, was that friendless child, and in fact still is to this day. (“Tell me a guy you ain’t screwed over,” Luciano taunts Nucky.) They were both helpless street urchins, though Nucky by choice, and both crossed paths with the Commodore and lost their souls in the process. Tonight’s episode clearly demonstrates a vicious cycle, one that’s gone on for longer than anyone would care to admit: from Leander to the Commodore, from Lindsay to Nucky, from Nucky to Gillian, Gillian to Jimmy, on and on. Boardwalk Empire reveals here, at the last, a concern for lost children, and the ways in which parental figures and authority figures can destroy them.

As such, Nucky’s sudden concern for Joe Harper, whom he refuses to allow at the meet with Luciano, and whom afterward he gives a thousand dollars, to go do anything else, is simultaneously a recognition of his own need for absolution, and almost comical in how it is too little, and too late. It’s not so long ago he put a bullet in Jimmy Darmody’s head, and not long before that he sold a defenseless girl into sex slavery. Nucky has failed so many people, and himself, too.

This week, Will Thompson almost becomes another of Nucky’s failures, and, fittingly, Nucky must surrender all he has in order to save his nephew. Will Thompson began (in this current incarnation, anyway) as a grating character, but both he and actor Ben Rosenfield have grown on me, and Will is well deployed here at the eleventh hour. With him as Luciano’s hostage, Nucky and Eli are once again brought together by circumstances, both friendless, with only the other, his hated brother, in his corner. When the intended hostage exchange goes belly-up, the “embrace” between the two, as Nucky insists “I’ll fix it,” is brilliant writing and directing. The entire exchange, a scene the likes of which we’ve seen so often on this show, feels fresh and original still, and the sudden burst into chaos is frenetic, expertly shot and blocked.

By the end of it, Nucky is on his knees, and has given his entire empire over to Luciano without so much as a fight. Micky Doyle and Archie are dead, and Will is still a hostage, pending the assassination of Maranzano. Nucky is a lapdog once more, this time for his junior, and a man that he once had a hand in building up to what he is today. The cycle continues.

“Friendless Child” is great television. It appropriately raises the narrative stakes, as well as the emotional stakes, and sets up a finale that will be concerned less with resolving any questions of plot than it is with resolving questions of character. In the show’s middle seasons, the idea that this is Nucky’s story wavered slightly, as other members of the ensemble took precedence. Here at the end, there can be no question that everything will come down to Nucky Thompson. So much business is settled this week that I’m genuinely curious as to where this journey is taking us, and given the show’s dependence on historical reality, that’s a tremendous feat. That everything boils down to Nucky and Gillian is a somewhat unexpected, yet perfect, flourish—it’s all too appropriate that the show plays with that sense of history now, and it does so to great, great effect.

 

Stray Observations:

– There are a few other things addressed in this episode, but they all feel like distractions, which is why I’m addressing them down here. The opening sequence, for instance, is super cheesy. We’ve been watching the show for four years. We don’t need to be sold on the severity of mob violence. Especially not when the scene where Benny Siegel gets kidnapped by Nucky so effectively makes the same point—he goes from signing autographs to staring down the business end of a gun barrel in seconds flat. That’s the entire relationship of gangsters to popular culture in one scene, no dumb newsreel voiceover necessary.

– Hat tip to Alan Sepinwall at HitFix: apparently, Benny Siegel’s rousing number “My Girl’s Pussy” is an actual hit of the period. Go figure.

– Capone is almost definitely going down next week, or else why include the brief scene with the feds getting their warrant? That scene exists only to serve as connective tissue between last week’s episode and next week’s, and therefore can’t help but feel extraneous, even as it’s paired in montage with Maranzano’s assassination. Margaret’s sudden intrusion into the episode feels much the same—she has not been (re)integrated into the season as well as Gillian has.

– RIP Mickey Doyle, who, appropriately enough, is shot in the throat.

– Lots of great, thematically summative quotes this week: “Everyone has a reason. Murderers have reasons.”

– “You said you wanted to help. Here is opportunity. I’m done.”

– “All the booze, out.” I especially loved this one.

With “Inside the Bubble,” Scandal is just about back to the breakneck pace that we know and love. What’s less certain is whether all of the very many things transpiring here are as interesting as the show believes them to be. I’m thinking specifically of the revelation that Rowan arranged for the murder of Fitz’s son, and further, had Harrison and Adnan killed when it turned out they knew about it. Not only does this put us waist-deep back into a B-613 conspiracy, it puts us waist-deep into last year’s B-613 conspiracy, one that had appeared happily put to rest for a glorious moment there. Worse, it’s one that is pretty obviously and shamelessly designed to get Olivia back into Fitz’s arms. A long, drawn out, boring conspiracy storyline is one thing; it’s another thing when it’s engineered to revolve around the female lead’s love life.

The problem with this episode is that, even when performances are good, when speeches are good, when storylines themselves are good, many of them feel perfunctory, as though this is a season of Scandal: Color by Numbers. For instance, anyone get through any scene of David Rosen smirking and scheming with a straight face? It’s so obvious that his actions will lead to something terrible that when he gets the news that Judge Sparks has killed himself, the reaction is to roll your eyes. The entire plot is a massive cliché, and it’s incredibly on the nose to boot.

Or let’s consider the case of Jake, who in this episode kidnaps Quinn and locks her in room with Charlie, for him to do god knows what with or to her, so that he can get intelligence on Rowan. First, if I never saw Charlie on this show again I’d be thrilled—he’s an unctuous character who has by this point overstayed his welcome. But more than that, how are we supposed to keep rooting for Jake in this instance? Because he’s less of monster than Rowan? Now yes, all of these people are monsters, but that’s hardly the point—the show wants us to see Jake and Fitz both as white knights competing for Olivia’s heart.

Jake himself is such a milquetoast character, though, that it’s hard to get worked up about any particular action of his. He whines to Olivia about their relationship, in typical Shondaland-fashion, whenever it doesn’t proceed strictly on his terms, and lately, whining is all he seems to do. It doesn’t help that Joe Morton and Kerry Washington, his most frequent scene partners this episode, have such a clear command of their characters, while Scott Foley never seems to have gotten a foothold in his. What drives Jake beyond B-613 and Olivia Pope? If there’s anything else to him, the script doesn’t suggest it, and neither does the acting.

What works considerably better in this episode is everything going on the White House. Cyrus is still seeing his escort, Michael, unaware that Michael has been paid off by Liz. In some ways, waiting for the fallout here is as clunky and obvious as the Rosen storyline, but there’s still something sweet about Jeff Perry’s performance, the way he imbues Cyrus with a sense of longing, and that gives the story the extra kick of tragedy that it needs to work.

The best thing about “Inside the Bubble,” though, is the Grants, both of whom are absolutely killing it this season. Fitz’s explosion at David Rosen about gun control is mesmerizing and revelatory. “If I can’t go be a soccer dad in Vermont, then all of this has to mean something.” There’s the slightest hint in his outburst that he blames and/or resents Olivia for so much of what has happened—that if she had just run away with him, and not with Jake, his son would be alive and they would all be happy, even Mellie. That’s an emotional thread that adds some much needed depth to the character and his romance with Olivia, and it’s one I’d love to see the show pull out further.

And meanwhile, Mellie Grant plays dress-up as Olivia Pope. She becomes obsessed with the “killer cliff bride” story, collating data, running reports, and holding meetings to prove the bride’s innocence. This works on the obvious level—that Mellie blames herself for the difficulties Fitz is having in his second term, and wants to absolve herself from that blame. But that’s boring. She’s pretending to be Olivia Pope, and that’s what makes her scenes tonight so crazy compelling. She even talks to Abby and the assembled cabinet in that same clipped rhythm that Olivia uses during her various cases of the week. When the rug gets pulled out from her and her work goes to waste, her face falls and she locks eyes with Fitz, not because she can’t escape blame (the wife is innocent after all), but because she couldn’t be Olivia for him, not today, and not ever. That’s powerful stuff, and Bellamy Young and Tony Goldwyn both play that silent look with all the pent-up, repressed regret it requires.

All of which brings us to Olivia Pope, who is still wandering about Washington, looking for a purpose, when her minions have mostly scattered and filled her old roles. As the season settles into its groove, it addresses two main concerns. The first is plotty, the conspiracy around Jerry Grant’s death. But the second, and the much more exciting one for me, is the continued poking at and disintegration of Olivia’s gladiator armor. Scandal is explicitly questioning just how much of a hero Olivia is. Of course David Rosen’s plot is meant to examine her means and ways, but so is her rivalry with Abby, who accuses her of the ego-centrism that we’ve seen on display for three years and called “wearing a white hat.” The rift between these friends is a goldmine of interpersonal drama (“Ethically? You, the rigger of elections?”), but it will also be a useful tool going forward for examining Olivia herself. That’s where the real interest of this episode, and this season, lies.

 

Stray Observations:

– Abby’s face throughout Mellie’s “cabinet meeting” is a thing of cringe-y beauty, especially after Fitz arrives. Her scene with him afterward is lovely as well.

– The level of dirty talk and innuendo in Michael’s conversation with Cyrus at the bar is astounding.

– Case of the week: Penny from Lost plays Olivia’s friend from law school, who slept with her daughter’s boyfriend and lied about, and is now under arrest for the daughter’s subsequent murder. It looks as though this will carry into next week, since there’s no resolution here, but I didn’t catch the previews, so I could be hugely mistaken.

– Let’s talk about Quinn for a moment, because as gross as I found Charlie and Jake this episode, I can’t help but find Quinn a little gross, too. She plays these weird, psychosexual games, allowing herself to be seen as basically a rape-object and using that to manipulate men. I suppose that’s one kind of strength, but it feels icky to me (for lack of a better word).

When I was writing about Parenthood last season, I came rather quickly to the realization that it’s a very difficult show to write about weekly. Owing to its realistic, slice-of-life approach to family drama, there are often episodes where very little happens, at least externally. Many of the stories contain such subtle moments, and are spread across so many episodes, that it’s not always so simple to find new or interesting things to say about each character, every episode. The writers must face this conundrum as well, as they rotate cast members in and out of episodes, and, occasionally, do a story that is so forced and goofy, you can just picture Jason Katims staring at an empty square on the season grid and scratching his head.

“A Potpourri of Freaks” is symptomatic of all these Parenthood quirks. Kristina returns after taking a week off, but Amber is now missing (rather conspicuously, given her big episode last week). The problem of Sydney’s bullying continues into this episode, and Joel and Julia continue to vacillate between “definitely over” and “tentatively over,” to the consternation of said bully. Oh, and Crosby joins Oliver Rome at some odd spiritual retreat, of which the less said, the better. It’s a scattershot episode, in other words. The stories range from fantastic, to occasionally great, to mildly interesting, to horrifyingly grating.

This week’s episode focuses heavily on Zeek as he recovers at home from his surgery. “Recovers” is perhaps too generous a term; really, he sulks on the couch watching John Wayne movies, while Camille looks on helplessly. Craig T. Nelson and Bonnie Bedelia have always had a lived-in quality to their chemistry, and that continues to be evident here. It’s extremely difficult to watch Zeek like this, but Nelson gamely walks the line between keeping him sympathetic, while still allowing him to be a bit of a dick to Camille. It’s always totally understandable why he acts the way he does, and both the script and the acting avoid making him seem petulant or mean. He’s just frustrated, and sometimes we take frustration out on our family members in ways we might not mean to.

We also spend a considerable amount of time with Hank and his family. Betsy Brandt is back as Sandy, and both she and Ray Romano are their usually excellent selves. Romano will never cease to amaze me with his ability as a dramatic actor, and this episode he portrays such an internalized conflict with care and precision that is unrivaled by any other actor on the show. His meeting with Sandy at the diner is shot beautifully, and makes a small victory—after all, all Hank really does is let Sandy know exactly what Sarah means to him—feel momentous.

Hank’s story continues to parallel Max’s, which always yields interesting results. This week, it turns out Max is smitten with new student Dylan, a girl with ADHD and a bit of an attitude on her. She calls him “Asperger’s” and vexes Kristina to no end; their smug-off in Kristina’s office is a great bit of comedy. But when Adam goes to ensure that Dylan is not bullying Max or making him feel uncomfortable, he instead is floored when Max asks for advice on girls. Again, it’s a small victory—perhaps Adam’s first typical teenage interaction with his son—but it plays as tremendous.

Interestingly enough, Hank’s story also parallels Julia’s, as the show provides two perspectives of divorce, and how they affect both the former couple and their children. Sydney is acting out against the uncertainty of her parents’ situation, and it’s only causing a further wedge between Joel and Julia. I could do without the slow pan up to Sydney watching her parents through her bedroom window, though, which is like something from some awful, mawkish after school special. I’m still not convinced (and probably never will be) that the show has ever given us enough of Joel’s perspective on anything, let alone this divorce, and for him to suddenly be the one pining for Julia is always going to seem just a little off. When Julia notes that he was the one who moved out, he was the one who called things off, it’s entirely too easy to side with her, when the script clearly wants us to be conflicted between the two of them. That said, Erika Christensen continues to shine, and Julia’s scene with Zeek this week is another in a line of scenes examining the various kids’ relationships to their father. It’s heartwarming to see him validate her parenting, and her ability as a mother, and, perhaps implicitly, her decision to move on from Joel.

At the end of the episode, though, it’s Kristina of all people who finally gets Zeek off the couch and outside. That rings true to me in a lot of ways. Kristina can often feel like the outsider in the Braverman clan (which could be said about Jasmine, too, but Jasmine is barely a character on this show anymore), and so it’s fitting that it’s she who can reach Zeek at this time, when he also is feeling unlike himself, feeling on the outside of his own life. It’s a difficult time for many of the Bravermans, and only about to get harder, but it’s moments like these, moments when the simple fact of being Bravermans bonds them together, that form the glue of the show. It’s hard to fault any episode for that—Oliver Rome notwithstanding.

 

Stray Observations:

– About Oliver Rome: I don’t want to drag down a review of an episode I mostly like with discussion of this asinine plot, so I’m relegating it to the stray observations down here. How stupid is Crosby’s story this week? It commits multiple cardinal Parenthood sins, by 1) playing up over-the-top, sitcom-esque “jokes”; 2) drawing Crosby away from the rest of the family to engage in said sitcom bullshit; and 3) heavily featuring a supporting character in a storyline that is extremely unbelievable once you give it even the remotest examination. It’s dumb, plain and simple, and it really makes this episode a chore to get through.

– With appearances by both Chambers Academy and the Luncheonette, this really is the week of improbable Braverman business ventures.

– After taking the week off, both Kristina and Chambers Academy are back. Dylan vexes Kristina.

– And a Luncheonette story too! It’s a week of improbable Braverman business ventures.

– I know Sydney is being really cruel, but man, Melody’s mom could be less of a bitch to Julia, right?

– “The last grandkid gift was a Pontiac, so I hope you have something good up your sleeve for this one.” Jasmine might barely exist on this show anymore, but she at least gets a good moment in every so often.

Scandal’s fourth season may have gotten off to a bumpy start, but this week’s episode is proof positive that delaying certain story developments can have rewards down the line. Fitz and Olivia’s almost-reunion is by far the strongest scene of the episode, and of the season to date, owing almost entirely to the amount of distance they’ve kept from each other. The encounter has real weight to it, especially Olivia’s confession that she did not go away alone. While Fitz mourned his son, he mourned Olivia as well and nearly killed himself. Olivia went and gallivanted on an island with her boy toy. That’s a decision with crushing implications, and now that the cards are all on the table, we get the chance to fully explore the fallout from Jerry’s death, rather than simply show the aftermath and tiptoe around the emotional damage.

“Like Father Like Daughter” takes a fairly traditional story—child of a broken marriage has issues, stepmom intervenes, mom gets angry—and puts a Scandal-style twist on it. The broken marriage is between the President and the First Lady, and the stepmom is the mistress instead. Oh, and the “issue” is a drunken sex tape starring the President’s daughter. Karen Grant’s decision to slip her Secret Service detail, get wasted at a party, and have a threesome on tape has repercussions that ripple throughout the episode. The least of these is the first, which is that it ruins Jake and Olivia’s date night. But it affects the story in two very significant ways: Karen calls Olivia for help, and that brings Olivia directly back into the White House, where Mellie catches a glimpse of her; and the night’s events cause Fitz to order an internal investigation of the Secret Service, which unearths some peculiarities with agent Tom’s schedule.

In other words, Karen’s wild romp has a direct impact on both character and plot. In “Like Father Like Daughter,” it’s the character scenes that hold the most interest. Mellie is still a wreck when we first see her, but as soon as she sees Olivia, some of her old fire returns, and she basically tackles her in a White House hallway to figure out why she’s there. When Olivia won’t say, Mellie crashes into the Oval Office hurling accusations. Of course she immediately assumes that Fitz is having an affair. Fitz takes the opportunity to dress down Mellie (whom he labels “Smelly Mellie” in the episode’s best line of dialogue by a huge margin), and it’s a cathartic scene for him and for the audience. Mellie has been so subsumed by grief that it has excluded every other aspect of her life, including Fitz. But Mellie’s hatred of Olivia is so powerful, though, that it manages to overtake her grief; her response to the news of the sex tape is to comment that Karen takes after her father, and to leave without a further comment.

It’s only natural, then, that Fitz turns to Olivia in this moment, only to learn that Olivia is perhaps not as committed to him as he is to her. Both Tony Goldwyn and Kerry Washington do amazing work this week; I didn’t realize how much I’d missed them together on screen, especially given how infuriating this pairing can be. That’s even more amazing considering that “The Bleep” focuses on the love triangle between these two and Jake, but at least the love triangle is focused more on Olivia’s decision, and less on Jake and Fitz wagging their dicks at each other. There’s no denying the chemistry the actors have, and their big scene this week is more than worth the price of admission.

The plottier aspects of Karen’s shenanigans are slightly less satisfying. I’m not saying that a teen girl having sex needs to be all seriousness, all the time, but I also wonder how tasteful a perky montage to “I’m Coming Out” is, given the context of this teenage girl getting wasted and having a threesome with two strangers who are also not of age. Eiffel Tower jokes seem somehow out of place. This weird tonal problem persists throughout the episode—Quinn shakes down a teenager outside the Gettysburger in a scene that might as well be ripped from a cartoon. The same is true of the boy’s parents, who are so cartoonishly evil that they decide they’d like to extort money from the president in order to keep the video recording of aforementioned Eiffel Tower-ing a secret. The parents exist as an excuse for Olivia to blow up in her own fit of rage, as a mirror to Fitz’s eventual rage with Jake, and her tirade against them is so satisfying that one wonders why the script feels the need to oversell the parents so much.

The other big movement of the week concerns the death of Jerry Grant, as internal investigation of the Secret Service casts suspicion upon agent Tom. That means we spend some more quality time with B-613, and, you guys, I just can’t anymore with B-613. I don’t care. I don’t care about Jake and Rowan’s feud, I don’t care about Tom the hapless Secret Service agent, I do not care about David Rosen’s guilt trip, and I certainly do not care about these preposterous B-613 “files” that will somehow dismantle an entire government. The story twists and turns some more this episode, until finally, Rowan coerces Tom into framing Jake for Jerry’s death. It’s so convoluted that, even after watching again, I have no idea how it actually works—somehow, Fitz contacts Rowan for his assistance—or how on earth Rowan plans to get away with it. But man, the final moments of this episode are incredibly tense and satisfying anyway, and for just a moment, we’re permitted to forget how interminably dumb B-613 is. There’s something to be said for powerful acting and a pulsating score.

“Like Father Like Daughter” is more notable for what it sets up than for what actually happens within it. We finally have a clear focus for at least the next several episodes, as the various plot threads dangling from last season finally converge and give the season some forward momentum. Between the killer ending, the return of the Mellie we know and love, and the surprisingly welcome return of Fitz and Olivia’s on-again, off-again flirtations, we’re slowly getting back into the groove.

 

Stray Observations:

-Cyrus goes on a rant at Abby about how secretly she’s just jealous of Olivia, and it must be hard being Olivia anyway, so give her a break, why don’t you? It’s really gross, and isn’t followed up on again. I am 100% Team Abby here—Olivia is great at her job and whatever, but she’s also a masochistic narcissist, like, a lot of the time.

-Speaking of, Cyrus is still sleeping with Michael the sex worker, but there’s no further trajectory on that plot—all decks are cleared for Karen’s crisis.

-I just want to praise SMELLY MELLIE again, especially the off-the-cuff way that Tony Goldwyn delivers the insult mid-rant, as though Fitz thinks it up on the spot. Just a fantastic bit of character-based comedy.

-This episode was definitely called “The Bleep” when I watched it on Thursday night, but apparently it is actually called “Like Father Like Daughter,” which admittedly is a much better title.

 

After five episodes of slow, careful build-up, Boardwalk Empire explodes into a violent burst of chaos. By the end of “Devil You Know,” we are careening full throttle into an all-out gang war, and all bets are off.

This is one of those episodes that will be judged primarily for one or two significant sequences, rather than as a whole episode. And given the events of two very important sequences this week, that judgment shouldn’t come as any shock.

We’ll get to those sequences momentarily, but first, let’s talk about Nucky. He drowns his grief in booze at a local dive bar, beats up an old drunk, gets blackout drunk himself, and is knocked unconscious by one of the women he tries to sleep with. Throughout the whole ordeal, he’s just slightly out of character—loud, boisterous, and quick to violence, he even acquits himself better in the barroom brawl than I ever would have thought possible. That’s all intentional, of course. Nucky is very lost following Sally’s death, and this episode lets him wallow in that. What “Devil You Know” also does, of course, is let Sally’s death stand in for the many, many other times that Nucky has cause the death of a partner or a loved one.

Specifically, this episode draws a direct parallel between Nucky’s guilt over Sally and his guilt over Gillian Darmody. It’s not the first time the season has applied its flashback structure in this way, but it’s certainly the most effective. As the episode cuts back and forth between Nucky’s stay at the bar and his time as deputy sheriff, seeking out a pickpocket along the boardwalk, the connection slowly reveals itself. By the time Joe Harper happens upon Nucky as he returns to consciousness, Nucky is reminiscing about Gillian himself, and he’s shouting at, but not to, Joe, “why would you trust me?” There’s more yet to go with regard to Gillian’s youth, but we already know the broad strokes, and it’s clearer now than ever that something awful looms.

Not that it takes any great leap of analysis to determine that, given what else goes down this week. I’ve talked circles around it enough, but suffice to say that if you haven’t watched yet, you won’t want to read on.

We good?

Because this week features the sudden deaths of two regular cast members, as the season arc kicks into high gear all at once, finally launching us into Luciano’s war with Nucky and setting up Capone’s downfall. When it’s not waxing philosophical over Nucky’s soul, “Devil You Know” presents the viewer with two sustained sequences, each featuring an interloper, caught entering a room he shouldn’t be in. Each sequence is beautifully shot and paced, maximizing the tension, simultaneously building to inevitable tragic climax, while also maintaining reasonable doubt—maybe, just maybe, the terrible thing that must happen won’t happen. There are two episodes left, after all.

The first of these sequences features Eli and Van Alden, and begins much like their previous outings this season, rooted firmly in buddy cop comedy territory. The plan they’ve cooked up with the feds in Capone’s crew is laughably bad, and mostly involved passing off a bag full of newspaper clippings as a drop-off, hoping no one notices, and then making off with Capone’s ledgers to boot. It is monumentally stupid, and it instantly fails. They nearly lie their way out of the situation, but just as the embedded fed is escorting them away, ostensibly to “take care of” them, but really to scrap the operation and cut them loose to safety, Capone himself arrives, and things go from bad to worse.

Capone’s interrogation of the two lasts minutes, and their feeble lie (they wanted to steal from Capone to help Van Alden’s wife at home) doesn’t have a hope of swaying Capone, who instead puts a gun to Van Alden’s head and accuses him once more of being a badge. And then, in a glorious burst of anger, Van Alden completely loses his shit, swats the gun away, and tackles Capone onto his desk, wrapping his hands around his neck. Michael Shannon lets completely loose in what turn out to be his final moments on the show, as Van Alden announces himself. I’m just going to leave the entire speech here, because it is awe-inspiring, a fearsome callback to the character’s earliest days on the show:

I am Nelson Kaspar Van Alden! I am a sworn agent of the United States Treasury, and I swear by Jesus, our lord, that JUSTICE will rain down upon you if it is the last—

It ends there, interrupted by a gunshot to the back of the head that takes a chunk of Van Alden’s face with it. Of the episode’s two deaths, this is the big shocker, even if was an historical impossibility for Van Alden to make it out of that room alive. After years of pretending to be George Mueller, the mewling, milquetoast iron salesman turned low-level gangster, Van Alden finally re-asserts himself and his purpose in life, even if it is, indeed, the last thing he does. It’s a fitting send-off for the character, even more so considering that his outburst lands the ledgers in Mike D’Angelo’s hands after all, turning the mission into an unlikely success.

The episode’s other death is, sadly, no surprise at all. Chalky White arrived at Narcisse’s last week fully expecting and intending to die, What he did not expect was to encounter Daughter Maitland, there with her daughter, Althea—and his, as well. They talk for a while, never directly to each other, but more at each other, each speaking about the other, in that elliptical way that defines their brief relationship. Narcisse joins them, and rather than have Chalky shot immediately, suggests that perhaps they all have some things to discuss. Jeffrey Wright and Michael Kenneth Williams both give quiet, subdued performances in these roles, and never more than in this scene have their similarities been quite so on display. There is rage simmering within both men, who, in another situation, may have been allies. But now they are too far gone, and each is well aware of it.

Ultimately, Narcisse cuts a deal with Chalky: Daughter’s freedom, in exchange for Chalky’s service. Chalky takes it, even though Daughter insists he cannot trust Narcisse. Chalky knows that, of course, but he sends her away anyway, and he steps outside with Narcisse, who is now in league with Luciano. As Narcisse leaves, Chalky calls after him, “Ain’t nobody ever been free.” For once, Narcisse has nothing to say; he leaves, replaced by five bodyguards who open fire on Chalky White in the alleyway, as Daughter’s voice sounds once more in his head, before the record scratches as the shots are heard. Another fitting send-off, a sad, heroic, inevitable conclusion to Chalky’s story. Whether Narcisse keeps his word or not, Chalky dies choosing to believe that he will, and that he has, at least in some small way, kept another daughter from the fate of his eldest. One can only hope that he’s right.

When Joel Harper brings Nucky back to the club, Mickey Doyle is gathering the troops, and he asks Nucky if they’re gearing up for a confrontation. Nucky looks down upon his army like he’s Henry V, and says, simply: “We are.” Of course they are. The wheels have been in motion for too long now, and with the deaths this week, war is the only option left. In many ways, the whole of Boardwalk has been an exercise of narrative inevitability, and that is on full display here, in the best way possible.

Boardwalk has an exceptionally strong history of final episodes, and this, as the beginning of the end, is no exception. It does double duty of tying up tertiary arcs, while also setting the final confrontation into motion. That it manages to combine those plot necessities, while also maintaining suspense even in the face of historical certainty, is a feat not to be underestimated. This is easily a season-best, even series-best episode, making sense not just of this season’s arc to date, but of several season-long arcs as well. Stunning television this week from Howard Korder and team, and the clearest sign yet that their endgame is one worth sticking around for.

 

Stray Observations:
– I rejected the Tommy Darmody theory last week, and I continue to think that the show is throwing red herrings at us with regard to this. That said: Joel’s weird reaction to Micky’s “your mother” joke, and the way he reacts when Nucky is babbling to Gillian in his mind, are certainly evidence for it. If that eleventh hour reveal is on the way, it will at least have been foreshadowed—but I still don’t think it’s going to happen. Thematically, he might as well be Tommy, but it’s not generally the sort of thing the show will make literal.

– What happens with Eli now? I doubt we have seen the last of him, but he also doesn’t have a very solid reason for heading back to Atlantic City.

– Young Nucky hates the nickname, bestowed upon him by the Commodore and co. And yet it stuck with him his entire life.

– Margaret is absent from this episode, which has me wondering what her role in the final two episodes will be. Of course, now there’s much more room for the other characters.

– The casting for the flashbacks continues to be impeccable: Ryan Dinning is a dead ringer for Shea Whigham.

This week’s Parenthood gets off to a pretty sluggish start. Everything before the title sequence feels like an unnecessary recap of last week’s episode. That redundancy is especially egregious in the scene where Amber shows Zeek her ultrasound, which is the exact same emotional beat as their conversation at Zeek’s party.

Fortunately, the episode quickly shifts gears, turning its focus to Zeek’s surgery, and more importantly, on the Bravermans’ day-long waiting room vigil. For a few scenes, at least, “The Waiting Room” treats us to a mini-bottle episode, letting the various Bravermans’ personalities bump up against each other. Unfortunately, the show doesn’t really take advantage of this opportunity, instead choosing to highlight once again the conflict between Adam and Crosby, in a story that largely repeats the beats of the previous episodes. Even the bits with Sarah, Hank, and Ruby reestablish existing conflicts rather than forging ahead. Much of the episode feels like it’s in a holding pattern—a waiting room, if you will. (Sorry.) The next phase of Zeek’s story is his recovery from surgery, and his continued struggle with his own mortality. Parenthood is not the sort of show where Zeek will die on the operating table, and so there is no suspense as the family waits in the hospital. That’s just not the dramatic mode it operates in. Jason Katims is interested in much smaller moments of drama than that, and while there are a few great moments in this episode, there’s no avoiding the fact that narratively, for the bulk of this episode, we’ve been there, done that.

That’s not to say that the episode is devoid of merit. While some moments feel obvious, like Amber’s talk with Zeek, or Crosby’s interminable motorcycle jaunt, others are intimate and well observed. Bonnie Bedelia, particularly, kills it this week. The shot of Camille steeling herself before returning to her kids in the waiting room is captivating, and director Patrick Norris smartly holds it for a long, long moment. And Amber’s impromptu road trip with Drew may be poorly timed (seriously, the same day as Zeek’s surgery?), but their scene in the Pontiac is great, especially considering it’s the first major pairing of these two this season.

Julia’s story is also pretty interesting to me this episode. Chris is viable contender for Julia’s heart, and while on the one hand it’s a little unbelievable that Julia would manage to land the perfect guy twice, on the other, it makes for a conflict not often portrayed. By not outright villainzing either Chris or Joel, Parenthood presents a legitimate and difficult decision for Julia. There are very good reasons for reasons for her to pursue either one, and that means the story becomes about her and her agency, and not the particular actions of one or the other guy. It helps that Chris’s “Waiting Room Survival Kit” is such a sweet surprise, one that manages to avoid seeming too saccharine or too sentimental.

The other major plot of the episode concerns Amber’s attempt to tell Ryan about the baby. It’s not clear if this will be the last we see of Ryan or not, but it’s heartbreaking to watch Amber come so close to repeating Sarah’s mistake. This is a meaty story for Mae Whitman, and she does a lot of great work with the material. It’s also great to see her and Drew bond, and to see the way that Drew has her best interest at heart. His real talk to her outside Ryan’s house is inspired, and show just how much his freshman year has matured Drew.

It’s a fine episode, but it takes too long to cut to the chase, and too many of its stories run in circles for the week. It’s what Alex Epstein calls “shoe leather”—just the necessary setup to get us to the last scene of Zeek in the hospital bed. There are some nice moments in it, and some of the episode’s supporting plots are more interesting. But shoe leather is rarely the most exciting part of any story, and that’s true here, as well. Hopefully the lull is brief.

 

Stray Observations:

– Of course Adam sent out an email of bypass worst-case scenarios. OF COURSE.

– Julia tells the surgeon “good work,” which also feels very character-specific.

– So does Drew’s new room mean there’s no more Berto? That would be pretty disappointing.

– This is a Kristina-free episode, and Adam appears only briefly. Adam is insufferable enough this week for the two of them, though—he follows up his email by sitting in the waiting room and reminding his family of all the ways their father could die. Growing up with Adam must have been terrible.

– Sarah tries to bond with Ruby, but Ruby ends up shoplifting, and Hank has to tell his ex about it. It’s all very familiar, and Jessica Goldberg’s script doesn’t really offer any twist on this standard, “troubled child of divorce” setup.

– Has Drew Holt Gotten a Haircut Yet? Maybe? It looks like it may be shorter in the back now. But it is still a literal mop, so we’ll be reviving this feature and keeping it around.

There isn’t much to say about “Smoke ‘Em If You Got ‘Em” that hasn’t already been said about the past several episodes this season. No appreciable progress is made in any of the season’s arcs, save that of Juice. The episode concludes on a series of manufactured climaxes, which serve only to delay a conclusion the show is not ready to carry out. Everything leading up to those false climaxes, then, is just a repetitive series of complications, designed solely to artificially fill time. We’re officially in a holding pattern, that too-long patch of mid-season episodes that plagues many shows, but seems to plague Sons most of all.

Not only is it redundant, but the depiction of the Sons’ collective moral bankruptcy has become gratuitous once more. Whether it’s his cocksure fight with the meth heads, or his gleeful ambush of the dealers alongside the Grim Bastards, Jax’s scenes this week are unnecessary restatements of his over-the-top villainy. It’s not enough to pair them with cloying scenes meant to humanize Jack, like Bobby’s conversation with Wendy. Either get to the tragedy, or else dramatize his efforts at redemption. Abstract conversations about how he’s really a good person on the inside don’t outweigh what we actually see on the screen. Worse, they’re boring, as are the narrative gymnastics involved as Jax sets up yet another double cross.

Most egregious is Jax’s answer to Nero, when he asks what they all should do with Diosa now. “Clean it up. Find more girls,” is Jax’s response, and just, wow, right? Or how about Chibs suggesting maybe they “take care” of Office Engler, who’s recovering from her wounds last week? Do you see how far Jax has fallen now?

As exhausting and tension-free the episode is, at least the week isn’t a total wash. Jimmy Smits is the MVP of the week, as Nero turns in great scenes with Jax, Juice, and Gemma. He’s approaching a breaking point, and Smits portrays the conflict within him in an understated, complex way. Nero has been landed in the middle of a lot of shit, and this week the Mayans get in on the fun as well. At first it’s just another tangle in Jax’s plan, but soon, Juice arrives to speak with Alvarez as well. Even though that’s a moment that was spoiled in the sneak preview, it still manages to kick the episode into a higher gear. Similarly, his scene with Nero is meant to tease us–maybe Juice will tell Nero what really happened to Tara (he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t). But the scene itself is nice, as Nero appears to reconsider his hatred of Juice in light of Jax’s recent actions. If nothing else, it’s a surprise that Juice ends up back in SAMCRO’s clutches this soon, but the episode ends with them ushering him out of the Mayans’ garage, as though there is some sort of tension as to what will happen next.

We know better than that, though. We all know how Sons handles cliffhangers in the midseason doldrums—by completely ignoring them. As expected, this week opens with Gemma, alive and well, living yet another day. We don’t even get to see the circumstances under which Juice lets her go, so unbelievable is the notion. Gemma’s story this week is nice, self-contained, and a good acting showcase for both Katey Sagal and guest star Lea Michele. Michele is really good as Gertie the waitress, and it’s impressive just how far from Rachel Berry the performance is. As an actress, Michele can occasionally be grating, but here she vanishes completely into the role. Meanwhile, Gemma is still talking to Tara’s ghost, and she’s doing it in the middle of a diner, to boot. It takes a skillful actress to ground this material, and Sagal manages it. If we’re going to stall, at least this is an interesting way to do it.

The rest is more of the same, though. By the time this episode ends, Gemma just nearly tells Nero the truth about Tara. Engler is just about to tell Unser that the Sons were at the scene of the shooting. Jax is just about to murder Juice. Unser is this close to uncovering the truth about Tara’s death. We get it. We know all of this already, and it’s absurd to try to generate tension by revealing situations the audience is already well aware of. It’s endless shuffling of the deck, without ever dealing any of the cards. What more can you say? It’s time for Sons of Anarchy to deal, already.
Stray Observations:

– So many people on this show brush off legitimately important questions with, “It doesn’t matter,” and the people they are speaking with just sit there and accept that like it’s no big deal.

– “It’s my job to maintain the brand” is a great bit of dark comedy from Marilyn Manson.

“Monsters Among Us” begins with Dot’s arrival at Elsa’s camp, the American Horror Story signature Dutch tilt cleverly hiding Bette’s head from the viewer. We then double back almost immediately, to first the birth of the twins, and then to the hospital where they’re held following Dot’s murder of their caretaker, and Bette’s stabbing of Dot. (It’s admittedly hard to know which twin is responsible for which here, and Elsa adds salt to the wound, accusing Bette of allowing the murder to happen.) I’m not sure the doubling back is necessary, as the episode doesn’t truly pick up steam until we arrive at the camp once more, and the crucial reveal happens after that point anyway. But if American Horror Story would like to practice the virtue of patience this season, for once, I’m certainly not going to complain.

The episode may move slowly, but it also sets a tone for the entire season, something that last year’s “Bitchcraft” failed to do. There’s a very clear sense of place and purpose here already, and that can only be a good thing. Now, that doesn’t mean a flying space kangaroo won’t arrive in episode seven and turn the whole thing lopsided, but for now, it’s nice to see the story have some confidence, as well as competence, in its mission.

Just because the episode moves slowly doesn’t mean there isn’t a lot going on, of course. Even though we meet only a handful of the characters that have been teased over the past several months, there are still plenty of introductions to be made. Evan Peters plays Jimmy Darling, whose condition, ectrodactyly, gives him lobster claw-like hands. These apparently also make him extremely talented with the ladies, if you get my meaning. (My meaning is we meet him fingering some society girls at a Tupperware party.) Ryan Murphy has always been interested in sexual horror in addition to body horror and psychological horror, and we look to be in store for a healthy dose of all three this season. Granted, Coven teased a lot of these same themes, and that got us nowhere. But Freak Show takes a more simplified approach, at least to start, and that’s a good sign for the future of the show.

There is the typical undercurrent of “freaks as metaphor,” whether that metaphor is feminist, economic, racial—any minority or disadvantaged person might feel like a freak at one time or another. If everyone on Glee had a horrifying mutation, you’d have Freak Show, more or less, right on down to the requisite musical number. Jessica Lange’s performance of “Life on Mars” is not meant to be a showstopper; in fact, as Frances Conroy’s Gloria Mott points out, it’s the last, desperate wails of an old woman with a doomed act. But man, if the number doesn’t stop the episode in its tracks anyway. Like in Glee’s very best episodes, the song and the performance serve as a narrative shorthand that, maybe paradoxically, present the character much more openly and fully than any scripted conversation or contemplative silent shot could do. There is room in Freak Show for all manner of weird, unconventional storytelling (even if “TV musical number” is a dime a dozen lately), and there’s no reason not to embrace something if it works.

We also have a serial killer clown on the loose, by the way. Twisty the Clown might be the most disturbing thing this show has come up with yet, from a visual standpoint. It’s standard killer clown fare, but that doesn’t make Twisty’s first scene any less unnerving, as he slowly approaches the camera from a distance, doing the typical clown business, before letting loose and murdering the teenagers he’s come upon. His murder spree quickly incorporates kidnapping as well, and while there’s no sense just yet of what he wants to do with (or to) his captives, I’m unsettled enough to be sufficiently curious to find out.

I was admittedly skeptical following Coven, and so I’m happy to say that, so far, Freak Show is a vast improvement. Already the characters feel more real, with more potential to grow into the complex characters that Asylum featured. This season is also beautifully shot; the cinematography contributes essentially to the development of place, making Jupiter, FL feel like a lived-in, real place, with something sinister lurking just beneath the surface. The split-screen work has been done before on this show, but I still find it fairly imaginative to use it to highlight the differences in Bette and Dot’s literal perspectives, as well as their emotional ones (look at how Dot eyes up Jimmy, for instance). It is very, very like Ryan Murphy to rope everyone in with a tantalizing appetizer, before revealing that he forgot to put the main course in the oven.

It remains to be seen what will happen with the rest of Freak Show, but at least “Monsters Among Us” is reasonably paced and strongly atmospheric. Certainly, horror fans should be more satisfied this time around than they were with the increasingly campy Coven. But fans and connoisseurs of television drama will find something to appreciate here, too. For now.

 

Stray Observations

– Pepper returns, in a nod to Asylum. It makes enough sense to do as a sort of (very obvious) Easter egg, but the torrent of theories about a unified AHS universe really has to stop. I mean, seriously, does anyone really want to revisit Coven.

– The other “freak” we meet this week is Kathy Bates’ Ethel Darling, Jimmy’s mother and the show’s resident bearded lady. She doesn’t do much this week beyond act as a foil for the twins, but already Ethel emerges as a more fully-formed character than Delphine LaLaurie ever did. Ethel is a sort of den mother to everyone at Elsa Mars’ Cabinet of Curiosities, while Elsa is more their boss.

– Elsa is pretty similar to Judy Martin, with the whole, “washed up entertainment act” thing going on. I’ll be curious to see how Murphy and Lange work together to keep her from seeming too similar.

– Jimmy murders the policeman who comes to arrest Dot, which seems poised to inevitably bring even more law enforcement to the circus. That escalated quickly. Even so, I’m curious to see how that dovetails with Twisty the Clown’s killings.

– More on the sexual horror: Elsa basically kidnaps and drugs Penny the candy striper (played by Streep-spawn Grace Gummer), then shows her a tape of all the sexy times she got up to while high on opium. It’s, well, it’s really dark, and the first indication that Elsa may not be all she seems. (And she already seems like quite a lot.)

– The second indication that Elsa may not be all she seems is that, at the end of the episode, she removes her legs. Does anyone else know about this? How did she lose them? Certainly both questions will be raised in due time.

Another week, another step closer to total ruin. That’s the mode Sons of Anarchy is in this season, as we continue what’s essentially the fifth act of one long tragedy. We feel the full weight of the show’s dramatic structure and its Shakespearean inspiration this week, as various characters’ decisions have repercussions throughout Charming. The story’s beats may be familiar, but that familiarity lends a sense of inevitability that enhances the story rather than detracts from it.

The show has a lot of balls in the air at the moment, and it’s impossible not to be impressed that, so far, it hasn’t dropped any of them. In fact, “Some Strange Eruption” even begins to bring the various threads together, the many strands of Jax’s scheme quickly pulling themselves into a know. While it’s entirely too obvious that Nero is setting Lin up, it’s much less obvious that Unser will learn of the meeting as well, and alert the legit police in Stockton. And it’s even less obvious that Gemma would panic and take Juice, her last loose end, and eliminate him. By the time Gemma is cowering on the ground, Juice’s gun leveled at her temple, Sons has found a way to genuinely surprise the viewer.

This is a show that had lost any element of surprise prior to this season, mind you. Any number of plot twists in recent memory, beginning with the absurd revelation of Romeo as CIA agent, have been convoluted, unnecessary, unjustified extensions of a plot that was clearly stalling its endgame. But what Kurt Sutter and his team have successfully (unbelievably?) managed is to take all of that accumulation and still make it add up to something. Juice’s confession to Gemma, that he killed that boy’s mother under Jax’s orders, is a moment that arises from character, and which serves to develop character. Theo Rossi deserves the highest praise this week, for fully portraying the rapid, confused decision-making processes that Juice undergoes this week. “I betrayed our king,” is a powerful admission that doubles as a revelation. Moving Juice into this role makes sense dramatically and narratively, and the idea of him setting out on a crusade against the club, with Gemma as his hostage or worse, is a compelling one.

It does take entirely too long to get to this point, though. The episode dances around Jax’s double-cross of Lin, and then Unser intervenes, leaving the conflict off for another day. There isn’t nearly enough of interest in the various scenes that set-up this double cross; for now, all interest lies in what’s happening surrounding Jax, and not what’s happening to him. It’s in this area that the show has some trouble this week, as delaying the moment Jax learns the truth about Tara is the only way to maintain the show. Once he knows what Gemma did, there is no turning back for the narrative.

That knowledge also deflates the cliffhanger ending a bit. Juice is almost certainly not going to kill Gemma. But even if the show does take a left turn and kill her now, that feels like a distinct disappointment, as well. That’s so unlikely as not to be worth worrying over, though. Instead, the show goes to lengths to underscore the idea that all this violence is laid directly at Jax’s feet. Abel watches over Thomas with a hammer, to protect him, because that’s what he learned from his father and grandmother. Juice kills an innocent man, because he’s terrified that everyone is trying to kill him.

There’s just enough toward the end of this episode to suggest continued forward momentum, but this episode is a lot of middle, too, and for the first time this season, it does feel a bit like marking time. It’s not necessarily a dealbreaker at this stage, though. There’s more than enough else of interest in this episode. Dayton Callie turns in some great work this week, as Unser gets pulled in two very different directions as he tries to remain loyal both to the club and to his conscience. Annabeth Gish is also hugely entertaining, putting a refreshing spin on the sheriff role. I’m enjoying Jarry’s morally great characterization; she’s clearly a good person, but she’s no squeaky clean cop, either.

The middle of any story is tough, especially coming after several seasons’ worth of middle. Sons was never going to sustain the momentum of those first several episodes, but nor does it lose enough momentum here to be more than, occasionally, a little boring. There’s enough good characterization, and enough new wrinkling of the plot, to hold interest, and the tone remains on point. Tragedy will always take a moment to reflect on how very bad things are, and the massacre on Diosa is a significant enough event that it warrants the extra time spent on the fallout. With that out of the way, the show can soldier on—if we’re still in this same place this time next week, well, then we’ll talk.

 

Stray Observation:

– My lone stray observation this week isn’t really all that stray, because that horrid cover of “Age of Aquarius” dominated all of my thoughts on this episode. “Age of Aquarius” is a deeply silly song to begin with, and makes for one of the more egregious, ridiculous montages we’ve had in quite some time on this show.

How do you know what you are? That’s the question that the asylum’s doctor levels at Gillian Darmody, who claims to recognize the insanity that overtook her, and to have now overcome it. It ironically is the most rational we have seen her in quite some time. But the doctor doesn’t believe her. There must be something inside her, and they will find it and get it out. How do you know what you are? It’s a question that’s come up again and again throughout this season, and really, throughout the series. Is Nucky a gangster or isn’t he? He was supposed to have proven it by murdering Jimmy, but he’s in just as much doubt now as ever. Chalky is convinced that he’s unfit as a husband and father, a criminal to the bone—but surely he’s better than that? Van Alden has been living under an assumed name for years, long enough perhaps to have forgotten his true self. How do you know what you are?

Throughout “King of Norway,” it becomes increasingly obvious (if it wasn’t already perfectly plain) that Terence Winter and company are setting up a very long story in this final season. A smaller episode order and an impending finale are of no concern. On almost any other show, this downright luxurious pace would be a concern; but “King of Norway” proceeds with such confidence, such conviction in its own storytelling, that it’s basically impossible to do anything but look on, mesmerized, and wonder just how the hell this is all going to come together.

The plot may be running itself in circles now, creating new tangles and heretofore unseen complications, but unlike other shows (and, perhaps, unlike earlier seasons of this show), these are not stalling tactics, are not unlikely or even outright impossible complications that exist purely to extend narrative and mark time. Each and every complication is borne of character, borne of a decision made years ago, that only now is rearing its head and revealing its consequences.

This week Chalky returns to Atlantic City, and not a moment too soon. He stops to see Nucky first, but he has just one goal: to find and kill Narcisse. Michael Kenneth Williams remains one of the show’s greatest assets (though really, every actor on the bench is an asset), delivering his lines with a flat, hopeless affect that still does not hide the bloodlust boiling just below the surface. Nucky senses it, too. He offers Chalky money, “between friends,” and wonders why Chalky won’t return to his family. But Chalky knows better than Nucky, knows there is no going back to family after what he’s wrought. And yet, when he does arrive at Narcisse’s at episode’s end, he finds himself face to face not with the man himself, but with Daughter Maitland. Family, of whatever kind, is not so easily abandoned.

Obviously, the gangster life has done a number on all of the family units in this show, and not just Chalky’s. Nelson Van Alden’s family is a farce, invented to better hide himself as George Mueller, but even now, after living more or less comfortably in this invented skin for the better part of a decade, it’s past indiscretions that come forth to tear everything down. Sigrid’s revelation that she and Eli, “we fuck,” as she so elegantly states it, is crushing, especially since June is pregnant with yet another Thompson child. Sigrid’s quiet tension looms over the dinner table until finally she explodes, but her revelation coincides with another, even more dangerous one, as the feds from a couple weeks back have tracked down Eli and Van Alden, and they know exactly who they are. Now, the two have become complicit in the scheme to take down Capone for tax evasion, and we’ve seen more than enough of Capone to know that there’s more blood on the horizon.

As for Nucky himself, he meets with Maranzano, warning him that Luciano is not to be trusted. Torrio, of course, knows this already, and soon bullets are flying at Nucky once more. For a man who’s spent his whole life trying “to get himself ahead,” to ingratiate himself to the right parties, he’s found himself a target an awful lot. The guard is changing, and so far Nucky has survived the slaughter of the men he ingratiated himself to, but not for long. This is a process that began years ago, with Jimmy Darmody. When the Commodore fell, he was merely the first. Luciano sees the opportunity to kill all of these old men, and take everything for himself. Nucky’s been on the outside long enough; he sees the plan, but now he’s out for blood. He’s already gotten himself ahead, as far as he’s concerned, and now he’s determined to stay put.

What “King of Norway” is, chiefly, is a tightening of the noose. Perhaps it comes too late in the season; and yes, too little actually happens in this episode, which feels mostly like a pivot upon which the season will ultimately turn, making Sally Wheat’s death last week simply the last overture of the preamble. It might seem that it’s pace slowly, but there are some major revelations that happen in this episode, major enough to send a clear signal: the time for playing out is over. All that’s left now is reckoning, and, perhaps, understanding, even a slightly better sense of who these people are. It’s the type of novelistic storytelling that Boardwalk excels at, and to have the conclusion in sight empowers that storytelling all the more.

 

Stray Observations

– The actor playing Nucky as a young adult does a literally pitch perfect impression of Steve Buscemi. The dead-on voice and mannerisms, and even the similar eyes and sunken cheeks, all contribute to an eerie verisimilitude.

– The flash of recognition Nucky has with young Joe Harper is the kind of small link that makes the flashbacks feel, if not worthwhile, at least intentioned. They jump forward in time this week, and in doing so, restore the momentum that had flagged a bit last week.

– Speaking of the flashbacks, surely they are building to a reveal involving Gillian, no?

– Sigrid Mueller is a treasure.

– Of the speculation that Joe Harper is in fact Tommy Darmody, I say: highly unlikely. It’s not the sort of game the show tends to play.

This week’s episode of Sons of Anarchy is, for a while, business as usual. Jax’s murder of the reverend comes back to haunt him, Juice finally agrees it’s time to skip town, and Gemma realizes she’s accidentally framed Nero.

But then, with twenty or so minutes to go, things escalate, and fast. When the club meets up with those meth heads, two cops get shot, and one survives, perhaps to tell the tale. When Jarry goes to confront the club at Scoops, the Chinese lob a handful of bombs through the window; and while the Sons and Nero are distracted by that, Lin’s men murder all the women at Diosa.

At this point in the series, the momentum of the narrative depends on the rate at which everything twists out of control and into chaos. Each episode must introduce a new complication, or else the show merely treads water. So far, the writing has made good on that, making clear that the center here cannot hold, and throwing everything into disarray with wild abandon. The writing on the wall has never been clearer. Escalation is an effective storytelling technique only when the escalation doesn’t have to stop. Sons, finally, is in a place where stalling is no longer necessary. The continued success of the narrative here, then, is entirely dependent on future episodes continuing the pattern. For now, though, the Sons’ final ride has been one heck of a rollercoaster.

The characters, as well, are finally falling victim themselves to the havoc they’ve wrought. Gemma descends ever more deeply into madness. Even in admitting that Jax is responsible for beating that girl’s father up, she won’t reveal her own complicity in that. She truly believes she can manipulate everyone around her and get away with it. Meanwhile she’s having regular conversations with Tara’s ghost. Gemma’s delusion is so total, and her madness so vividly and explicitly portrayed, that she has yet to realize she’s the villain of the piece.

Jax, also, is seemingly ignorant of the evil within him. When a mission to track down the reverend’s son goes awry, he rescues the reverend’s widow from drowning. It’s a real “save the cat” moment, one that ordinarily might fall flat, but here serves to highlight how Jax is as deluded as his mother. He believes he can be a good man, still; but just as the narrative explodes all around his character, Jax is faced with the death of sixteen women, and the blame lies directly at his feet.

Zach Handlen of the The A.V. Club writes this week that the show is setting up Jax for the same old redemption story, that by having Lin’s men murder Diosa, the writers’ have moved the morality markers, so to speak, and given Jax a legitimate reason to go on a resumed vengeance quest. And while yes it’s true that Jax has not crossed that particular line, I think for once the show is still asking Jax, and therefore asking us, to consider his own complicity in this. The hammer will fall harder upon Gemma, if there is any justice at all, since it is her lie that has set this whole war in motion; but I think show and character both are well aware of Jax’s role in this. As I’ve noted before, he long ago made the decision that sealed Tara’s fate, and his own. Now, I could end up being wrong about this, and if this turns out to be a legitimate attempt to paint Jax as an essentially “good” antihero, that will re-color my whole perception of this season. For now, though, I’m buying what Kurt Sutter is selling; this is the reckoning for six seasons of increasingly immorality.

By episode’s end, there is a legitimate question as to how the Sons will escape this situation. It’s been a while since that’s been the case. This kind of breakneck pace might not be sustainable for a full thirteen episodes, but so far, it is indeed holding up. While some of the moments this episode are quite predictable (Tig’s fling with Venus, for one, as well as every plot twist leading up to the explosion), others are genuinely shocking, especially the final twist of the knife at the end of the episode.

The other major development this week is not so major at all, as Juice’s decision is another of those forgone conclusions. Theo Rossi’s acting is still only intermittently effective, and he isn’t quite as good as Katey Sagal at selling the whole act of soliloquizing. But then, the writing doesn’t provide as strong of a reason for his soliloquizing, either. It’s not exactly a weak link in the episode, but this scene could just as easily have been put at the end of last week’s episode, too.

Overall? This final season has been a pleasant surprise. All-out tragedy is a mode that suits Sons well, if it can keep things going at this rate.

 

Stray Observations:

– “This is a bad place, isn’t it, Wayne?” Althea Jarry asks. Sister, you don’t know the half of it.

– Speaking of “sister,” Gemma’s taunting of Jarry over her name is so typically Sons, but somehow pretty funny.

– Jarry also appears to be getting chummy with Chibbs. That’ll be an interesting development to keep an eye on.

– Theo Rossi is suddenly naked all the time on this show (not that I’m complaining about it). Sons has always had a fairly equal-opportunity nudity policy, and seems like Rossi is filling the FX man-ass requirement until a Jax sex scene makes narrative sense again.

– Venus Van Dam returns this week, and more Venus is never, ever a bad thing. Walton Goggins does so much with what could easily have been a one-note joke in poor taste. Even the running joke of Jax wondering if he should be “worried” about Tig plays as funny, rather than offensive. We know these characters extremely well by this point, and the joking, the innuendos, are all rough edges we know to expect; but they also treat Venus like a person, as does the show itself.

 

This week’s episode is aptly titled, as the show continues to take stock of its characters and where they stand in the wake of the carnage that closed out season three. The episode is very much painting a portrait of broken people, and now we are watching them attempt to piece themselves back together, with varying degrees of success.

Nowhere is this more evident than in the scene on the balcony where Cyrus confronts Mellie, who refuses to attend the State of the Union address. She’s been photographed in her bathrobe, eating potato chips, at her son’s grave, and now the media is speculating that she may not have it all together. (The media has obviously not been as privy to Mellie’s antics as we have all this time.) Now, Mellie has frequently been villainized on this show, and she’s a character that tends to be written in the broadest strokes. As with the reveal of her rape last season, Jerry’s death is fairly transparently functioning as a device to generate sympathy for her.

It’s down to Bellamy Young, then, to ensure that there is at least some depth to this over the top, clichéd display of grief. Fortunately for the show and for us, she delivers. She approaches the material seriously, and when she plays out the maniacal laughter, the hysterical munching of chips, she plays it as though Mellie herself is putting on an act. There’s an additional layer to the performance that, in some ways, suggests that Mellie’s demeanor has always been an act, and that she’s always just been one screw loose from becoming completely unhinged. We get that at the end of the episode, when she collapses in the portrait room, with all the First Ladies surrounding her (fortunately, this time there are no zoom cuts to the portraits themselves). This meltdown is, perhaps, overwrought, and the scoring certainly doesn’t help; it’s a disappointing capper to what’s otherwise the best story of the night.

Second best is good old Cyrus Beene, who is, in his own way, equally wracked with grief. His actions led directly to his husband’s murder. He cannot turn back from that now, and he knows it. So he casually blackmails Olivia. He spends the night with a sex worker. He tries to convince Mellie that his grief is equal to hers. Jeff Perry doesn’t slouch this week, either, even when the writing surrounding him is a little lazy (of course Portia de Rossi is blackmailing him!). In a show full of broken, soulless people, Cyrus is perhaps the most soulless, or at least he has done the most damage to his soul in the name of his country and his ambition.

So, when the two of them stand on the balcony and compare notes on their grief, it’s an excellent and much needed reflection upon the carnage that ensued last season. Last week brought us up to speed with the plot; this scene, and several others this week, bring us up to speed emotionally, and it’s this that is much more important for the show to work. Scandal is drama writ large, Greek mythology by way of the Washington beltway. These are bad, powerful people, and their actions have wrought chaos and gotten people they love killed.

The question is even raised by David Rosen, who states, correctly, “Olive Pope just gets whatever she wants, and sometimes you’re just collateral damage.” The white hats are long gone, even after the show she made of putting them back on last season. So it’s interesting that this outburst occurs in an episode where “Fitz and Olivia” rears its head again in a massive way. Sure, she just helps him deliver an impassioned speech; but her idea is to use his child’s death as a catalyst for that passion, to essentially turn Jerry into a political talking point. It’s Olivia’s idea that sends Mellie into hysterics later that evening. And of course, Fitz is still obsessed with her: “Can Ms. Pope and I have the room?” is laden with sexual tension. He’s not just asking a favor.

So that’s what’s happening with character work this week. But, in the opposite of what’s usually the case with Scandal, the plot it hangs on is uninspired, dull, and occasionally just outright bad. The couple that the White House is trotting out for gun control, a former POW and a paralyzed woman who saved a group of kids at a school shooting, is a living cartoon. I’m still cringing this morning from how thinly and poorly the characters were written, and how terribly the actors over-performed each cloying, obvious line. The episode requires everything to ride on Olivia’s success in getting these two idiots to attend the State of the Union, but it is impossible to care about something so stupid. Any narrative tension at all deflates the instant these characters appear on screen. And they end up not mattering at all, since it’s Olivia’s addition to the speech that ultimately saves the day. In addition to being a horrible, dumb distraction from the episode, they’re also an entirely unnecessary one. Boo.

This, then, is a good Scandal episode, buried within a terrible Scandal episode. Too much relies on the gun control couple for me to truly say that I enjoyed it as a whole, but there are strong moments nestled within here, such as another brief encounter between Olivia and Huck, or Abby’s scenes in the White House. But you still have Jake, who is seemingly still in competition with Fitz to see who can be more grossly protective; and in these scenes, the writers seem to be in competition with each other to see who can make Olivia more grossly submissive. Shondaland’s idea of romance has always been just slightly off, and the love triangle here accentuates that a lot. Jake himself is also tied to the biggest piece of dead weight this show has, B-613, and from this week, it seems we haven’t laid that or Harrison’s death to rest just yet.

We’re not quite there yet with this season. But we’re getting there, and the scenes in this episode that do work are more than worth the time. My hope is that season will get a good serial storyline going, one that hopefully involves minimal B-613, and then we’ll be able to begin the scheming, double-crossing antics that give the show the energy it desperately needs right now.

 

Stray Observations:

– Putting Abby in the White House has been a great narrative move, and the character pairs well with both Cyrus and Mellie. I hope we keep her in this role for a while.

– Is Quinn dressing like Huck on purpose or what? Their weird thing continues to be a weird thing, but as it functions tonight, as a conduit for more Huck-Olivia heart to hearts, it works pretty well.

– “Singing the Army song what the hell are you doing?” is perhaps Huck’s best line to date.

“How much?” is a question asked regularly by this show. . How much is enough? How much of yourself will you give up? How much that you love will you sacrifice, and to what end? So far, Boardwalk Empire’s answer to this question is two-fold: eventually you will lose everything, and your loss will be in vain. This week’s episode paints a bleaker picture than usual. In his youth, Nucky is released from work by the Commodore at summer’s end; unable to bear the thought of returning to school, and to his life, Nucky ends up sneaking back into the mansion with little Eli, showing him the Commodore’s various wonders, including a fully functioning toilet. Nucky is caught, of course, by Sheriff Lindsey, but, in the first suggestion of a talent we’ll watch him exercise later in life, he parlays this into a new “job” as deputy sheriff.

The story of Nucky’s youth feels particularly Dickensian this week, telling of a downtrodden, poor young man, who makes a promise to himself and to his brother to one day pull himself out of poverty, to make something out of himself. (You might even say “to leave something behind,” if you were feeling particularly cheeky.) But the flashbacks this week intrude in a way that they did not last week. They don’t feel like they are particularly informative; in fact, they feel obvious, on the nose. Once again, they are providing information we already knew about Nucky. There are some great beats that arise from the flashbacks this week—for instance, juxtaposing young Nucky’s protectiveness over Eli to the brief, clipped conversation on the phone in the present—but nothing that justifies the great amount of time spent on them this week.

Sluggish pacing has always been an issue with this show, and even this truncated season is no exception. Here, at the end of episode four, the death of Sally Wheat finally indicates that the season might be done drawing its breath, and is now at long last ready to begin the sprint to the finish. But that’s just one portion of what’s become a sprawling story. “Cuanto” does push Van Alden to a similar point, as the truth of his identity is now out, the hammer poised to fall at any moment. But with other characters entirely absent, one wonders when the show is going to begin telling stories with them, and not merely playing catch-up with the viewer.

With all of that said, there is very much to enjoy this episode, but much of it is atmospheric, or performative, rather than narrative. Everything with Capone draws a giant line under character traits we’ve already become well acquainted with. Al Capone is a bona fide psychopath, and its his lack of control that will eventually give Luciano the upper hand. The show has great fun with these scenes, though, as does Stephen Graham. The newsreel clip especially is a neat way of briefly recapping Capone’s historical rise to fame.

Margaret Schroeder is more entertaining and interesting in this episode than she has been in a long time. She waltzes back into Nucky’s life with one hell of a complication, especially as Nucky endeavors to go legit. Their relationship was never simple, but now has taken on a new level of criminality. They spend much of the episode just talking over a boozy lunch, and it is magnetic. This new arrangement between them is a shot in the arm for a relationship that had grown stagnant in terms of its importance to the show. Kelly Macdonald plays Margaret’s ambivalence really well, and with verve and a sense of fun to boot. Her chemistry with Steve Buscemi is palpable, as well. Margaret and Nucky sit there, feeling each other out, testing how far they can push back, wondering how far apart they’ve really grown.

The pieces are slowly—slowly—moving into place. While that happens, the show remains often captivating and occasionally fascinating. But the sluggish crawl of the season arc is too much for “Cuanto” to bear, especially with respect to the flashbacks, and we end up with an episode that feels longer or bloated than it should. The moments of excitement or genuine tension are swallowed up by the tedium elsewhere. “Cuanto” is almost certainly a turning point, though, and where we go from here will ultimately determine Boardwalk’s legacy.

 

Stray Observations

– The scene where Capone interrogates Van Alden is an example of that genuine tension. With the show coming to an end, there is no reason at all that Capone wouldn’t splatter Van Alden across the wall, and the show plays that uncertainty for all that it’s worth.

– The chain of lackeys handling Capone’s Empire State Building statue is hilarious. The statue itself was marked for its violent end the moment it appeared on screen.

Scandal’s fourth season premiere is something of re-pilot, and it functions that way for the bulk of its running time. When we first meet Olivia again, she’s living it up on a private island “a hundred miles off the coast of Zanzibar,” with Jake. She’s completely off the grid and pretending to be happy. The entire sequence is completely over the top, the light so bright, the island so idyllic, and it all serves to underscore just how much Olivia is lying to herself. Even when she’s actually living her fantasy of freedom, it’s still a fake, constructed thing.

The rest of the episode is an exercise in getting Olivia Pope back in the game. She returns to Washington upon receiving news, from Quinn, of Harrison’s death. Her desire to plan a funeral for him leads to her re-recruiting the old team one by one. Quinn is still at the office, being awful and spending her time tracking down Olivia. Huck is working as a tech repairman, and going by the name Randy; he’s in worse shape even than when we last saw him, as a result of what he sees as Olivia’s abandonment of him. And Abby is the new White House Press Secretary.

Honestly, I completely forgot that Columbus Short was being written off the show, and even in an episode devoted to Harrison’s funeral, I can’t say that I miss the character at all. He never came to life the way the other characters did. The end of the last season was the first real attempt to give him a storyline, but even that fizzled out into anticlimax as a result of the actor’s off-screen complications. All the overwrought emotion of sending him off, then, doesn’t have quite the impact that the script wants it to, despite the actors’ best efforts.

More successful is the show’s use of the classic case-of-the-week structure as a device to bring Olivia back into the fold. Season three took many, many steps away from the idea of “white-hatted gladiators,” so now is as good a time as any for both Olivia and the show to emphatically restate their purpose. The case itself is typical Scandal: Olivia gets a call from a senator, who is afraid she has accidentally killed another senator. Instead, it turns out the man attempted to rape her congressional aide. That’s all it takes; the firebrand Olivia we know and love is back, even is she is flying solo for the time being.

Olivia is on her own in more ways than one. The team has scattered, yes, but there’s also the question of Fitz, still racked with grief over his son’s death, and busy trying to salvage his presidency at the same time. Plus he has to deal with Mellie, who is in even worse shape than he, drunk all the time, even more drunk and prone to cruel soliloquy than usual. Bellamy Young sells both the comedic and dramatic aspects of the performance, as always, and when the two have a frank conversation about the past several months, it’s Young who shines.

The Grants, and especially the stuff with Olivia and Fitz, can be the most tiring part of any given Scandal episode, so it’s nice to see the Grants with some of the best material for once. Jake is still tiresome, a cipher, and he’s the one to resurrect the godforsaken love triangle, as well, taking Olivia’s obsession with returning to work as a secret signal of her pining for Fitz, because of course. Jake is also a reminder of the show’s obsession with B-613, as is David Rosen, and frankly, the less said about evil secret organizations at this point, the better.

So basically, the premiere boils down to Olivia returning after a prolonged absence. She can’t function without her world, and it can’t function without her, either. The episode, then, becomes an exercise in playing around with everyone’s newfound roles, but also setting up the new status quo, which of course is just the old status quo. The more things change, the more they stay the same, or something.

Scandal is as its best when it’s at fever pitch, firing on all cylinders. Quiet reflection is not its strong suit, but that’s kind of what this episode aims at for much of the time. Still, after the tumultuous run of the second half of season three, a solid palate-cleanser was in order. With everyone back in place, and Olivia where she belongs, expect season four to take off properly in no time at all.

Stray Observation

– Perd Hapley makes another appearance on Scandal! I feel bad for the actor, but through no fault of his own, it takes me out of the moment every single time.

– Olivia’s relationship to Huck has always provided a nice emotional throughline for the series, and this week is no exception.

– Portia de Rossi debuts as the RNC chairwoman, and as a rival for Cyrus. She doesn’t do much beyond be generically bitchy this evening, but then, neither does Cyrus. Again, once a wrinkle or seven gets thrown in here, everyone and everything is bound to become much more exciting.

I was both excited and concerned coming into the sixth season premiere of The Good Wife. Excited because they were coming off their best season yet and concerned because they were coming off their best season yet. It would be an understatement to say that season 5 was a game changer. We saw who was essentially the male lead of the show killed off, the firm that we’ve been rooting for the entire series become the enemy, and every character change drastically in one way or another. Alicia said it best in the season finale: “it’s been a weird year.” However, all those excitements and concerns were put to rest when a different, but still phenomenal series premiered last night.

In “The Line” we are thrown into a case that has an interesting character at its emotional center. From the beginning of the series, Cary has been the relatively straight character. Not to say he is a boring character, it just seems that the writers never saw an opportunity to use the character in any capacity outside the legal side of the show. However, this episode tests Cary’s resilience outside the courtroom. Turns out life isn’t so pretty on the other side of the law. We’re quickly learning that Cary may not be as strong as we originally thought. There was a degradation of his put together facade when he was faced with an arena that he isn’t used to or fearful of.

The most satisfying part of this episode is that Cary’s arrest, which happens before the opening credits, seems like such a gimmick. The Good Wife is a show that is based in such realism, so when something somewhat outside the norm occurs you know that something is up. It’s the same way I felt with Will’s death. It came off as jumping the shark, but it turned out to be just another step in what is an education of Alicia Florrick. Cary’s arrest came as a test for Alicia to see if she could handle the firm and decisions on her own. It’s also going to further complicate Diane’s transition into Florrick/Agos. With a name partner incarcerated and firm funds being tied up with his bail, it may be difficult to convince clients to come into the firm ($38 million worth, as Diane has said 57 times).

Cary’s arrest has an interesting tie to the rest of the series. Lemond Bishop has been an interesting character in that he makes nearly everyone he interacts with question their morals. The characters on The Good Wife are educated, successful, and wealthy people, who believe what they are doing is being done for the greater good. However, when you mix a man who has a corrupt business but also brings you revenue beyond your imagination, they’re morality is questioned. Are they bad people? Everyone down to Kalinda, whose morality seems so self centered even questions what she’s doing.

A side story line (which brought us a very… adult moment involving panties, or lack thereof) involved Eli’s attempt to get Alicia to run for state’s attorney. Her answer? Not in hell. However, Eli continues and discovers that she can in fact win. Let’s keep an eye out.

This episode is a wonderful reminder that this is a show about adults by adults for adults. The writers don’t attempt to baby their audience. They cut the bullsh!t and give us story. That’s why The Good Wife is such a successful network television series. This episode doesn’t really give us any clues about the rest of the season, usually the Kings are careful to bury those deep within the episodes, but it’s clear that The Good Wife is back at it.