We’re starting our summer at a bit of a disadvantage: there is no new season of Mad Men to look forward to this year, as we’ll have to wait until March 2012 to find out what happens to Don Draper and the other staffers at Draper Cooper Sterling Pryce. It’s enough to put a damper on anyone’s television-viewing this summer, but there are still some bright points amid a series of repeats and burn-offs like NBC’s Love Bites. (Seriously, avoid that one like you would the plague.)
Over at The Daily Beast, you can read my latest feature, entitled "Summer 2011 TV Preview: 15 Reasons to Watch TV This Summer," in which I round up what’s new and noteworthy on the telly in the coming months, from True Blood and Torchwood: Miracle Day to British period drama The Hour and the return of Damages and Breaking Bad. All in all, 15 reasons to come in from the warmth of the summer evening and sit down on the couch for a few hours.
What are you most excited about heading to the small screen this summer? Which intrigues you the most? And which will make you change the channel instantly? Head to the comments section to share, discuss, and debate.
"I did warn you not to trust me." - Littlefinger
The world of George R.R. Martin's novels depicts the internal landscape as much as it does the external and epic; the plots of "A Game of Thrones" and the subsequent books in the "A Song of Ice and Fire" novel series balances on a knife's edge between grand battles and stirring soliloquies enacted by the chapters' viewpoint narrator. In a television show, we're denied the ability to enter into the characters' minds, to slip away behind the eyes and see the truths that they keep hidden from everyone but themselves, to hear the words that they whisper as they fall asleep, to see the lies that they tell others.
Instead, showrunners David Benioff and Dan Weiss have had to create ways of sharing information without it seeming obtrusive; the medium largely demands scenes of action rather than long drawn-out moments of inaction. And in this week's episode of Game of Thrones ("You Win Or You Die"), written by David Benioff and D.B. Weiss and directed by Daniel Minahan, we're given two such scenes where the audience is given exposition in scenes that play up the physical aspects of the medium: one involving the great Charles Dance, here appearing as Tywin Lannister, and another involving Lord Peter Baelish, a.k.a. "Littlefinger," played by the incomparable Aidan Gillen.
In both cases, there's a rawness to both sequences, as Tywin skins a deer (and, yes, it did appear as though Dance was doing just that in real life) and Littlefinger "auditions" two new whores (including composite character Ros, whom I think is being positioned as a possible replacement for Shae). In the context of the physical, both men are able to express their emotions, casting off the layers of skin and sinew to reveal their true emotional cores. Littlefinger's arousal is due in part to the two women before him but also to remembering his greatest defeat... and how he intends to pay it back in turn.
The wheel, it seems, never stays still for very long.
There's an interesting lesson about mercy buried within the bones of this episode: Brandon Stark lets Littlefinger live, only to have him betray his brother nearly twenty years later, yet it's Robert's decision to send an assassin after Daenerys Targarygen (using, ironically, wine, the very substance that leads to his own death as Dany's potential end) that backfires most spectacularly. The thing that Robert feared most--that the dragon would spread her wings and bring an army of Dothraki to Westeros--becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. In targeting Dany, Robert awakens Khal Drogo's wrath, as he swears to bring his horses across the poison sea and retake the throne for his beloved khalessi.
Mercy saves but it also dooms, it seems. It's Ned who preaches mercy to his King, but whose advice falls on deaf ears, and he basically challenges the Dothraki to invade after his failed assassination attempt. But it's also Ned who gives Cersei and her children an opportunity to flee the capital, telling the Queen that he knows that Joffrey is not the rightful heir to the throne... and that her children aren't the king's spawn, but rather Jaime's. In allowing Cersei to know what he has planned, Ned tips his hand. He doesn't see Cersei as a threat any more than Robert does Daenerys and Drogo; they're more ephemeral than actual threats to the peace of the kingdom. (Ned goes so far, however, as to alter Robert's last will and testament, replacing "son Joffrey" with "righful heir." He never tells Robert the truth, offering him one final mercy as he heads into the darkness of the long sleep.)
The Lannisters have no such mercy. Tywin has charged Jaime with 30,000 men and sends him to Riverrun to make Catelyn's father Lord Hoster release Tyrion (if only he knew that his son was once again a free man), likely engulfing the Riverlands in war in the process. And I can't shake the notion that so much of Cersei's malice, of her spite and machinations, comes down to the fact that she was wed to a king who didn't love her, who would much rather spend his life remaining in love with the memory of the long-dead Lyanna than with the living wife he had been given as payment for an alliance with House Lannister. Does her plotting come from the blow to her ego suffered on that wedding night when her husband called her by Lyanna's name?
As the life seeps out of Robert Baratheon, it doesn't matter, really. A wine skin, a feisty boar, a treacherous wife. It all comes down to the same conclusion: the King is dead. If he had loved Cersei, would it have gotten to this point? If Ned had sat on the Iron Throne that day long ago, after their rebellion, would things have been different? Or would the never-ending game of thrones had other players, other claimants, other unruly factions warring and scheming? Is man's nature that unchangable?
We're given a glimpse into the wildlings on the other side of the Wall, the so-called barbarians (or "free people") who populate the wintery lands where the Iron Throne does not rule, with the character of Osha, now reduced to being a prisoner within the walls of Winterfell. I loved the scene between Osha and Theon Greyjoy, here once again reduced to a pervy boy in man's breeches, a would-be rapist who is clearly looking at Osha as his next "conquest." While it's Maester Luwin who breaks the moment, it's Osha who has the upper-hand in their dealings, using her wits to score a few points against Theon, reminding him that he's not a high lord but another prisoner at Winterfell, just like her, though his chains might not be as noticeable as hers. As for why she came south, Osha picks up that long-dangling plot threat of the white walkers... "There's things that sleep in the day and hunt at night," she says. And, no, Luwin, she's not talking about shadowcats...
It's unlikely that it's a shadowcat that got Benjen Stark, either. As Jon Snow and Samwell Tarly prepare to take their vows and become Sworn Brothers of the Night's Watch, it's Benjen's horse that comes back to the wall alone and without its rider. Where has the First Ranger gone? And why has he not returned from his scouting mission? What lurks within the dense woods of the world beyond the Wall? And was Osha right to run when she had the chance?
As for Jon and Sam, they make their pledges before a Heart Tree over the Wall, traveling into the unknown. (Jon, meanwhile, is furious at being made a steward to Lord Commander Mormont rather than a ranger like his uncle. But Sam knows the truth: Mormont has personally selected him and intends to groom him to one day be his replacement.) But as they make their vows, the moment of celebration is shattered by a grim discovery, as Ghost comes padding into the weirwood with a severed arm in his mouth. Is it Benjen's? Or someone else's? And how does it connect to the series' opening sequence and those white walkers? Hmm...
It's a mystery that will have to wait. Back in King's Landing, Renly tries to make an ally of Ned, insisting that he rather than Stannis should succeed Robert, but Ned refuses to cave and form a power grab with Robert's younger brother... and he turns down Littlefinger's offer as well. Which is just as good because Ned is then completely sold out by Littlefinger. Believing that the city's gold cloaks are behind him, Ned orders that Cersei and Joffrey are seized... but they turn on him when Cersei rips up Robert's final words (much to the horror of Ser Barristan) and orders Ned to bow before his rightful king. When he refuses, Cersei orders her men to take him prisoner... and they quickly slay everyone loyal to the Starks, as Littefinger puts his knife right at Ned's throat.
It's such a fantastic reversal and a staggering moment to go out on at the episode's end, as Baelish shows his true colors, giving that scene with the whores more weight and emotional grit; it's the moment in which Gillen's Littlefinger becomes the true villain we all know him to be. So much of the action of the season up until now has been due to the whispered words of Peter Baelish, pulling everyone's strings like the puppet master he is. He was right when he once told Ned that the wisest thing he had done was not trusting him. After all, it's Littlefinger who tells Catelyn that the blade that nearly slew Bran belonged to Tyrion Lannister... Was he telling the truth? Or was he setting into motion a colossal and deadly game that would ensnare the entire kingdom in its grasp?
In the hands of Littlefinger, words are most deadly... and far greater than any greatsword.
Next week on Game of Thrones ("The Pointy End"), in an episode written by George R.R. Martin, the Lannisters press their advantage over the Starks; Robb rallies his father’s northern allies and heads south to war.
The dust has settled on the TV season—American Idol and The Good Wife are in, The Event and $#*! My Dad Says are out.
Over at The Daily Beast, you can read my latest feature, entitled "2010-11 TV's Winners and Losers," in which I rate the hits and the flops of the 2010-11 season and take a look at the broadcasters' position going into and coming out of the 2010-11 television season.
Brief caveat: please do remember (because I inevitably will receive something to this effect in the comments section), this isn't a critical evaluation. While certainly some shows I love (cough, The Good Wife, cough) did end up in the winners' column, this is more a look at how individual shows and networks fared in terms of series launches, ratings retention, and (to a smaller extent) critically.
In recent years, it’s been a given that romantic pairs on television had to be subjected to the will-they or-won't-they dilemma—where couples as clearly in love as Ross-and-Rachel, Sam-and-Diane, or Jim-and-Pam were prevented from jumping into bed together for years, as the writers forced them through increasingly tight narrative hoops.
These days, though, it seems like more and more TV couples just will. As writer-producers have sought to surprise the audience, they’re puncturing romantic tropes in the process.
Over at The Daily Beast, you can read my latest feature, "The Death of Will-They-or-Won't-They," for which I talk to Community’s Dan Harmon, Parks and Recreation’s Mike Schur and Greg Daniels, and Bones’ Hart Hanson about how TV is throwing off that age-old will-they-or-won’t-they paradigm in the post-Jim-and-Pam era.
Michelle Forbes has been a TV mainstay since the mid-'90s when she was on Homicide: Life on the Street—she's appeared on 24, Prison Break, Battlestar Galactica, In Treatment, and True Blood. But her role on the AMC mystery The Killing as the destroyed-by-grief mother of the dead girl at the center of the story has gotten her more attention than ever.
Over at The Daily Beast, you can read my latest feature, "Michelle Forbes' Good Grief," in which I sit down with Forbes (for a nearly four-hour-long lunch, in fact) and talk to her about her career, playing the anguished Mitch Larsen, and why committing to a TV show is like an arranged marriage.
The Killing airs Sundays at 10 pm ET/PT on AMC.
"He was no dragon. Fire cannot kill a dragon." - Daenerys
More than halfway through the season of HBO's Game of Thrones, we've come to what was arguably my favorite episode of the run so far (though, now that I've seen Episode Seven, I think I've changed my mind), which reveals several secrets lurking in the background of the series ("the seed is strong") and begins to move the players into place for the climactic gamesmanship ahead.
On this week's episode of Game of Thrones ("A Golden Crown"), written by Jane Espenson, David Benioff, and D.B. Weiss and directed by Daniel Minahan, it's an installment that revolves around changes both great and small, about the way the scales can fall from our eyes and we can see the truth that has been standing in front of us for so long. For Ned, it's a realization of just why Jon Arryn died, of the terrible secret he had gleaned from the book of royal lineages, and just what this could mean for the throne... and for the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. For Dany, it's the brutal truth of her brother's real nature, of his insatiable thirst for power and the twisted quality of his rampant heart.
It's also the episode in which the audience sees, for the first time, just how clever and cunning Tyrion truly is, as he's able to make his escape from the Eyrie without lifting a finger, turning to his usual weapons: his wits and his gold. While it's Catelyn who seized Tyrion, suspecting him of sending an assassin to dispatch Bran, it's this moment more than any other that precipitates a doom that threatens to engulf the kingdom. A Lannister, after all, always pays his debts.
While it could be due to production costs (CGI does cost time and money), we're only really given the opportunity to see the massive statuary of the horses that the travelers pass under and the inside of various tents within Vaes Dothrak, which is a shame as this location isn't quite as well established as well as others. The Eyrie, for example, is a thing of beauty: the mosaics within the throne room are jaw-dropping in their very artistry and Lysa's weirwood throne, all twisted and gnarled and pale, is only fitting given the Lady of the Vale's, um, mental state.
But within Vaes Dothrak, we're told more than we're shown: weapons are not permitted, Dany must undergo a grueling ceremony in which she has to eat (and keep down) an entire horse's heart. The latter, with its chants and gravity, does establish some sense of atmosphere about the place, but it's actually not until next week's episode (more on that in a bit) that we get a sense of what the "city" actually looks like. (Or at least the market elements.)
But that's a quibble in a strong installment that gives the audience what many of them have been begging for since the beginning of the series: the death of Viserys. It's a crowning glory of the season, in fact, as Viserys gets both his comeuppance and the golden crown he's been angling for, for which he sold his sister to the warlord Khal Drogo. If a Lannister always pays his debts, so too do the Dothraki in their own way, as Drogo pours a molten crown of gold directly onto Viserys' head.
It's shocking, gruesome, and very fitting: a liquid crown for a beggar king. Even in the end, Viserys failed to notice that it was his younger sister who was the true dragon among them: seemingly impervious to fire (as seen in the scene where she placed the dragon egg in the smouldering hearth), Daenerys has proven that the dragon HAS truly woken... but within her and not her scheming, weak brother. It's something that everyone--Drogo, Ser Jorah, and even Dany--notice. Everyone except the false dragon himself, who attempts to flee with Dany's prized dragon eggs and raise an army, until he's stopped by Jorah.
But just as Dany's inner strength is finally unleashed, so too is Cersei's, it seems. While Robert would attempt to put his wife in her place after she issues a withering remark ("I should wear the armor, and you the gown"), bashing her across the face for speaking out of turn, he seems to forget that his wife is a Lannister and that she too will find a way to repay her debts. (Their sick ego-centrism makes sense within this context: they're mirror images of each other and themselves.)
But the truth of what Jon Arryn discovered reaches beyond mere infidelity: Cersei and Jaime's unnatural love has produced three incestuous offspring, none of which truly have a rightful claim to the throne, as they are not Robert's children. In fact, it appears that the only one of Robert's trueborn children (as opposed to his black-haired bastards currently popping up all over King's Landing) was the wee son who died from a fever in infancy. Regardless of what Cersei may plot, Joffrey is no rightful price and Robert has failed to notice just how golden the hair of his children truly is. They are Lannisters through and through.
Can we escape our parentage? Is our duty inscribed in our blood and bones? Theon came to Bran's aid, despite the fact that he's been little more than a prisoner these past ten years. Is he more Stark than Greyjoy? Can he escape his heritage? Does he have a right to save the life of a boy he was raised alongside? While Robb rails against Theon ("it's not your duty because it's not your house"), I can't help but wonder if moral duty doesn't trump family. Theon fired that arrow because he cares for the members of House Stark, despite any rivalry that might exist. He fired because he didn't want Bran to die. He fired because he's human.
Robb, meanwhile, shows mercy to the wildling woman Osha, even when Theon wants to kill her. In the Iron Islands, this woman would be shown no mercy for her crime against Bran. But, despite his fierce Northern nature, Robb proves that he perhaps has more moral fortitude than Theon, sparing her life. Is it weakness or mercy that Robb shows that day? Can he afford to spare a prisoner's life or should he end it, lest she enact a bitter revenge? We'll soon see...
As for Bran, I've been wondering if or when we'd get to see the what he dreamt of while he slumbered... and this week gives us a glimpse into his subconscious, as he's lead through the walls of Winterfell by the three-eyed crow. While Bran is shocked into consciousness by the arrival of Hodor in his room and opens his eyes, it seems as though the crow is trying to tell him something: to open his own third eye, long shut to the world, to allow it to open and see the hidden nature of things. It's both a nifty bit of foreshadowing as well as a particularly eerie scene in and of itself. While it's not quite as it plays out within the novel, it nonetheless sets the stage for things to come. Will Bran keep his inner third eye tightly shut, or will he allow to slowly open to the dawning day? Hmmm...
Likewise, I once again loved the scenes between Arya and her "dancing tutor," Syrio. Particularly, as they seem to be greatly foreshadowing future events amid their deadly dance. Syrio's line about the one true god ("There is only one god, and his name is Death. And there is only one thing we say to death: 'Not today.'") filled me with dread. Death, it seems is stalking these characters. And while we might be able to escape it for one day, inevitably it comes to all...
Aside: I also watched Episode Seven of Game of Thrones ("You Win or You Die") last night (thanks to HBO Go, and a friend willing to share their login) and absolutely loved this episode, easily my favorite of the series. After all the set-up of the sixth episode, several subplots begin to pay off magnificently here. I don't want to say too much but I will say that the gratuitous scene at the beginning of the episode (while spectacularly sexy) makes much more sense by the end of the episode and that Aidan Gillen is at his absolute finest as Littlefinger here.
Intrigues, betrayals, and inciting acts of war all twist and tumble together in magical fashion, and the action is split between the goings-on in King's Landing (including some status quo-altering events) and The Wall, where Jon Snow prepares to take his vows, though he's met with some extremely disappointing circumstances. It's a jaw-dropping installment that's masterful in its pacing, reveals, and tension… and demonstrates just how vicious and cutthroat this game of thrones truly is.
Next week on Game of Thrones ("You Win Or You Die"), Tywin presses Jaime to “be the man you were meant to be” as they prepare for battle; Ned confronts Cersei about the secrets that killed Jon Arryn; Jon Snow takes his Night’s Watch vows, though not with the assignment he coveted; after Ser Jorah saves Daenerys from treachery, an enraged Drogo vows to lead the Dothraki where they’ve never gone before; an injured Robert makes plans for an orderly transition at King's Landing.
Television's upfronts week came to a close Thursday with the CW, which will bring Sarah Michelle Gellar back to TV with the thriller Ringer. On Wednesday, CBS presented J.J. Abrams' Person of Interest and five others, showed off new Two and a Half Men star Ashton Kutcher, and moved The Good Wife to Sundays. ABC, meanwhile, unveiled its schedule Tuesday; Fox and NBC did their dance for advertisers on Monday. Watch trailers of the networks' new shows, including ABC's Charlie's Angels reboot, Fox's supernatural drama Alcatraz, and troubled NBC's The Playboy Club.
Over at The Daily Beast, we're keeping track of every renewal and cancellation (and which shows are still in limbo) and well as keeping an eye on the bigger picture issues facing the broadcasters this May.
Plus, we've got the lowdown--in-depth breakdowns as well as information you can't find anywhere else--on the 44 (and counting) new series heading to the networks next season.
While you’d think watching rich mothers outdo each other for luxurious maternity would be repellant, the star of Bravo’s addictive--and unexpectedly poignant--reality-TV series Pregnant in Heels, Rosie Pope of New York City's Rosie Pope Maternity, grounds it.
Over at The Daily Beast, you can read my latest feature, "Pregnant in Heels' Mama Drama," in which I talk to Rosie Pope about motherhood, demanding clients, IVF ordeals, and her alleged speech impediment, recently satirized on Saturday Night Live.
Pregnant in Heels airs Tuesdays at 10 pm ET/PT on Bravo.
"Some doors close forever. Others open in most unexpected places." - Varys
When it is wise to commit a horrific act in the name of the greater good? Does one life matter more than that of millions? Can you cross a moral line in order to keep a larger peace? Such questions of moral relativism hovered over this week's fantastic episode of Game of Thrones ("The Wolf and the Lion"), written by David Benioff & D.B. Weiss and directed by Brian Kirk, which presented both King Robert and Ned Stark with a weighty dilemma: do they act to keep the peace and murder a pregnant girl?
Is Daenerys' existence alone enough the shatter the tenuous union of the Seven Kingdoms? By employing an assassin, would they avert a larger war down the road? Should she and her brother have been murdered as children? By allowing them to survive, did they curse themselves to a potential Dothraki invasion from across the Narrow Sea? And if Robert gets his way and Dany is slain by some sellsword, would they be any better than the hired blade who crept into Bran's room while he slept?
These are dark questions from a dark time, issues of moral boundaries that most dare not cross. But uneasy is the head that wears the crown and King Robert is growing more and more uneasy with the passing days. He previously brought up the notion of ending Daenerys when she wed Khal Drogo, but now she had a son and an an even stronger hold on the Dothraki warlord and her brother has earned himself an army that could choke even the crowned stag.
Of course, Ned also learns this week that there's a price to pay for not toeing the line, but even more so for asking questions in the wrong places, the very thing that got his predecessor Jon Arryn killed after 17 years of service. "The seed is strong," we're told. Ned has heard Jon Arryn's last words and Lysa repeats them back to Catelyn when her sister arrives in the Eyrie. But those final words refer not to his sickly son Robin, still sucking at his mother's breast. (Easily the creepiest scene in the first six episodes of Game of Thrones, and I count in that Gregor Clegane's beheading of his own mare and the depilatory scene this week as well between Renly and Ser Loras. UPDATE: To clarify, it's the hair-removal that's a bit icky, not the people doing it.)
In retracing Jon's last steps, Ned sets himself on a path to destruction. Arya, attempting to catch a cat in the dungeons of the Red Keep, stumbles upon the gigantic skulls of the fallen dragons and overhears the Spider, Lord Varys, and Illyrio Mopatis conspiring. (She also discovers a way out of the Red Keep. Where there's a way out, there's also a way in.) While she doesn't quite understand what the two men are talking about, their intent is clear: the wolf is fighting the lion and the stag. The Starks are up against House Baratheon and House Lannister, thanks to Catelyn's imprisonment of the Imp and Ned's refusal to bow down to Robert. And the threat of the Dothraki--the savage--is made clear here as well, as is the fact that the king's knowledge of the goings-on with Khal Drogo and Daenerys are coming directly from Ser Jorah Mormont. (So that's why he rode out as soon as he heard Dany was with child...)
Does Ned believe his daughter? Does he see himself in danger? He should. While cats know to run when there's danger, wolves don't always follow suit... and Ned is more intrigued by what Littlefinger is dangling in front of his eyes: yet another bastard of King Robert and yet another piece of the puzzle. A whore has given birth to a daughter who has the King's black hair. "The seed is strong."
Ned doesn't get much time to puzzle out the importance of what he's seen, as he's confronted by Ser Jaime and a dozen or so Lannister men outside one of Littlefinger's brothels. Not surprisingly, Jaime is a little upset about his brother being taken prisoner by the Starks and orders Ned seized as his men killed. Poor Jory gets a knife through the eye by Jaime and he and Ned square off before one of the Lannister men puts a spear in his leg. (Never, ever trust a Lannister to play fair.)
Catelyn may have made a grave error in seizing Tyrion Lannister and taking him to the Eyrie. While it's been five years since she last saw Lysa, it's clear that Catelyn's sister has changed greatly, even more so since the death of her husband and that she and her son have a very, uh, unnatural relationship. Sick? You bet. Twisted. Uh-huh. One for the psychoanalytical textbooks? Yep. But Tyrion has a point: why would he give a hired assassin a knife that could be traced right back to him? And he does save Lady Catelyn's life rather than run off when they're attacked by the mountain people on the way to the Vale. Hmm...
But I will say that while Lysa is as mad as a hatter, the one person I did feel badly for--just a little bit--this week was Cersei Lannister, particularly in the scene with her husband as they discuss the fact that the one thing that has kept the kingdom together over the last 17 years has been their loveless marriage and that she did, once, have feelings for him. Feelings that weren't returned, as he's remained in love with the long-dead Lyanna Stark for the last 17 years. Hell, he doesn't even lie when Cersei asks him if they ever had a chance of happiness.
Is it better that he was honest? Or would a lie here have been the kinder thing? While there is no mistake that Cersei is as venal and mercenary as they come, this was a rare moment of vulnerability behind the golden tresses, her heart laid bare on a silver platter... before Robert crushes in with his bare hands. An act of hubris perhaps with consequences down the line?
We'll have to wait and see, but the players are moving into their positions as the latest machinations get underway, as even Loras whispers into his lover's ear that perhaps Renly would make a more suitable king that either his brothers or his nephews. Everyone, it seems, is out for power in Westeros. What they should realize is that, no matter how much a knight's armor might shine in the light, all that glitters isn't gold...
Next week on Game of Thrones ("A Golden Crown"), reinstated as the Hand, Ned sits for the King while Robert is on a hunt, and issues a decree that could have long-term consequences throughout the Seven Kingdoms; at the Eyrie, Tyrion confesses to his “crimes,” and demands that Lysa give him a trial by combat; Joffrey apologizes to Sansa; Viserys receives his final payment for Daenerys from Drogo. Continue reading full story...
If there's a show that knows how to throw a curveball (or a paintball), that seems to relish deflecting your expectations, it's NBC's Community.
The delightfully absurdist comedy wrapped up its season tonight with the second half of a two-part episode ("For A Few Paintballs Or More") that continued the paintball assassin-exploits of last week's Sergio Leone-style spaghetti Western. In looking to top last season's jaw-dropping paintball-themed "Modern Warfare," executive producer Dan Harmon and Company have delivered an astonishing combination of Westerns and Star Wars, paintball and mind games, Stormtroopers, Black Riders, and, er, saloon dancers. (Yes, Vicki, I'm looking at you.)
Tonight's season finale firmly embraces the gonzo style of those previous episodes, creating an episode that is both an absurdist adventure plot and the culmination of the entire season's overarching plotlines: Jeff's need to control the group, the Problem with Pierce, the inter-college rivalry, and the Community gang's obsession with Cougar Town. (Yes, that *was* Busy Phillips and Dan Byrd cheering on the Greendale "Human Beings" near the paintball Gatling gun.)Not to mention the surprising tryst between Annie and Abed... or at least Abed channeling Star Wars' immature hero, Han Solo. But it's not this liplock--its spell broken by the orange paint raining down from the sprinkler systems (courtesy of plumbing enthusiast Troy)--that ends the season; it's a singular moment between the characters. While Annie seems to cling to the unexpected pleasure she gets from that kiss, Abed has already moved on, casting off his latest character to return to the relative reality of the scene.
It's the departure of Pierce--and his decision to walk out on the study group--that actually brings to a close the second season. (Apart, that is, from the tag with Abed and the poor Greendale janitor.) It's interesting that Harmon et al would choose this moment to signify the end of the sophomore year, given the way in which these past twenty-odd episodes have held up a prism to the character of Pierce. Is he redeemed by his decision to sabotage the enemy and then hand over the $100K to Greendale rather than keep it for himself? Is it enough that he commits an act of generosity and altruism? Is it a moment of truth for this character when he turns his back on Jeff and the others and walks out of the study room?
We're told--rather surprisingly--that Pierce has been at Greendale for 12 years, and that this is the first time he actually made friends with any of his fellow students. It's a twist that I didn't see coming, particularly given the spotlight that has been shone on Pierce throughout the season.
Let's be clear: Chevy Chase isn't going anywhere... so neither is Pierce Hawthorne, the group's resident, well, thorn in their side. However, I think that this turn of events will manage to set up a new dynamic between Pierce and the study group when they return in the fall. After being excluded and playing the "villain" all season, he's decided to exile himself from the group altogether, subverting Jeff's own expectations that he would come crawling back at the last second after making a dramatic exit. (This is a man, let's remember, who fakes a heart attack twice during one game of paintball... and has also faked a heart attack out of giving Abed a piece of gum.) Just what does this mean for Season Three and for Pierce's connection to the central characters? Will the series follow Pierce as he forms a new group separate to this group of misfit outsiders? (Perhaps with Starburns and Leonard? Or Fat Neil and Garrett, named for executive producers Neil Goldman and Garrett Donovan? Kendra with a "q-u"?)
Putting aside those far-reaching effects, this was a pretty amazing episode that not only wove together those aforementioned story strands but also served as another installment in a long line of ambitious high-concept plots over the last two seasons, albeit retaining Community's emphasis on emotional truth. In looking at the two halves as a single one-hour episode, the plot veers from the spaghetti Western to the intergalactic wars of, er, the stars. Gatling guns, paintball sprinklers, menacing ice cream company mascots (Pistol Patty, you were Dean Spreck all along?!?!), Han Solo leather vests, and mysterious gunmen all converge into one explosive plot, which culminates in the final study group meeting of the year.
With Pierce's self-expulsion, Annie's curious interest in Abed, and Jeff's self-assuredness returned, the unity that the group had experienced just minutes earlier--as all of Greendale (and a few Cougar Town cast members) celebrated the defeat of their bitter rivals--evaporates into thin air. For a show that's been about communal experiences, about the common goals and shared experiences, it's interesting that the season ends on such a note of fractured friendships: of the group not staying together, of one of its members willingly walking out on the others.
There are no card-based voting systems here, no cries for help, no crawling back to get into others' good graces. Jeff is, for a change, wrong. He's unable to predict what Pierce would do; he's a "father figure" out of touch with his flock. And as that piece of the ceiling plummets to the ground, there's the real sense that the group isn't falling together, but falling apart. And I couldn't be more excited to see what happens next.
What did you think of the season finale, both as an installment on its own and as a full one-hour offering? Head to the comments section to discuss and debate.
Season Three of Community will begin this fall on NBC.
Continue reading full story...
It's no secret that I love Fringe. I've written numerous features and posts celebrating the way in which it blends science fiction with nuanced emotional drama, positioning the fractured characters of the Bishops and Olivia Dunham as a makeshift family studying the mysteries of the universe... and the human heart.
Which might be why I was so monumentally disappointed with the Season Three finale ("The Day We Died"), which aired on Friday evening. After a season that was so tremendously emotional, which delivered a series of staggering performances from John Noble, Anna Torv, and Joshua Jackson in two separate, parallel universes, my expectations were extremely high indeed. But what I found with the future-set finale was that I didn't care about "these" versions of Olivia, Walter, and Peter and that the drama here felt entirely manufactured and without emotional weight, destroying the intense momentum established within the last few episodes.
It was clear from the start that the future timeline of 2016 Fringe was a mere detour on the road to the season finale (I had anticipated the Days of Future Past-style storyline earlier in the week), which erased all sense of narrative stakes from the story unfolding here: End of Dayers, the "death" of Olivia Dunham, the grief of Peter Bishop, all of it would be wiped clean before the final credits rolled.
And it's true: they were. While I didn't anticipate that Peter himself would be erased from the timeline (more on that in a second), the future-set storyline attempted to set up some tantalizing storylines (just what happened to Broyles' eye? Ella is now a Fringe agent! Astrid has a kick-ass new hairstyle), but it paled in comparison to the depth and scope of Over There's characters, which we had a real sense of from the beginning. In the hands of Noble and Co., those performances were incredibly nuanced, using more than wigs or funny-colored contact lenses to give us a sense of the underlying differences between the versions of these now-familiar characters.
The Walter bits got under my skin in a major way. We saw in the pilot episode, clearly intended to be referenced here, what the effects were of his incarceration at St. Clare's. But here, there's no real sense of what the difference was between those two imprisonments or how his mental state further deteriorated. Or if it did. If you're going to attempt to come full circle and use that scene in St. Clare's as a callback of sorts, it needs to pay off better than it did here.
(Broyles' bionic eye grated in a way I didn't expect. Surely, if William Bell could create a bionic arm for Nina that looked extremely real, surely way in the future, a bionic eye could match Broyles' natural eye color? As for Nina, she got reduced to being a funeral guest in the future. A major missed opportunity for story there.)
We're shown scenes that are clearly meant to tug at the audience's heartstrings--Peter brings Walter licorice and calls him dad, Walter embraces Olivia as he might a daughter, Olivia is shot to death before our eyes--but these moments don't carry much weight because (A) the Peter/Walter dynamic has already played out far more convincingly within the main narrative where that same moment ("dad") had a lot more impact than it did here and (B) because these characters and situations would likely not exist by the time the final credits rolled... as Fringe would not suddenly jump ahead 15 years within its main narrative. (Sorry, but even for a show as unpredictable as this one, aging up the actors is just not going to happen on a weekly basis.)
I thought it was interesting that the producers would opt for a sort of Days of Future Past storyline here in order to undo Peter's decision at the end of the last episode by sending Peter's consciousness to inhabit his future self and see the error of his ways. But I also think that Joel Wyman and Jeff Pinkner missed a trick here by having Peter's subconscious subsume his "younger" self. Other than a throwaway line of dialogue from Ella about Peter rambling about the machine, it was 2026's Peter Bishop who was running things, rather than vice-versa.
While it meant that Peter didn't have to play catch-up within this new "reality," it also meant that the narrative stakes were eliminated for him as well. No longer on a mission, having conveniently "forgotten" that he had come forward in time, it was the status quo for Peter Bishop, able to remember what he cooked for Olivia for breakfast and containing the sum of his experiences from the last 15 years. He wasn't a fish-out-of-water, he wasn't his younger self traveling to the future; he was just a middle-aged guy that looked like our Peter Bishop who had inexplicably become a government agent and who wore a wedding band.
So much of Season Three has focused on the familial tensions between Peter and Walter and the romantic ones between Peter and Olivia, so it suddenly felt incredibly trite to see them as a married couple for a little bit here, albeit a marriage that comes to an end with Olivia's sudden (and very predictable) death. Given how much I love the character, I was shocked how little I cared about her demise here, as I knew instantly that it wouldn't "stick" and that the producers would not be getting rid of Torv (or of Jackson) any time soon.
The lack of real emotion carried through to Peter's eulogy at Olivia's watery funeral ceremony, where the cameras pulled back from Peter's speech to offer a musical montage set to Michael Giacchino's score. Lost pulled this trick before (we don't need to hear the words to get the sense of the scene and its tone), but that device only works when there is genuine emotion underneath and I didn't feel that for a second here. Rather, it felt lazy, a shorthand way of getting around having to write the eulogy without it seeming hokey or cliche.
The episode got bogged down first in a dull case of the week (End of Dayers, who weren't given any real development, and despite using Brad Dourif as their putative leader, he was an incredibly flat character) and then in a discussion of paradox, explained rather clunkily by Noble's Walter, that ends up bogging down science fiction-based time-travel dramas. The machine wasn't created by the First People but by Walter himself, sent back to prehistoric times by a wormhole that was created by the machine that they assembled. The First People were, in fact, our Fringe team: Walter, Ella, and possibly Astrid, traveling through the wormhole to hide the pieces of the machine so that they could one day assemble it and Peter could one day use it. But while Walter couldn't not build the machine (it had already been built), Peter could change his decision within the machine. He could opt to create, rather than destroy, to save, rather than damn.
And so he does, his subconscious drifting back to his body in 2011, encased within the machine, which he uses to create a bridge between the two universes, bringing Walter and Olivia face-to-face with Walternate and Fauxlivia, two halves of the same people mirroring one another within Liberty Island, two universes folding over each other at this point in time and space.
And then just when Peter declares that both sides will have to work together, to coexist (to live together or die alone, to quote another show) and that he had created in this space a bridge between the two worlds, he blinks out of existence and we're told by the Observers that, having served his purpose, Peter Bishop never existed.
It's this final moment that gives the episode some heft, a brain puzzle of a reveal that changes the status quo of the show because it means that everything has changed as a result of Peter not existing. We've still gotten to this point--to the two Walters and Olivias staring across a room at each other--but the events that lead them here have been different. Walter had to have crossed Over There but not to save his son, because he NEVER had a son, never suffered the loss of a child, never lost his mind or his moral compass because he acted out of love. Was Walter ever in St Clare's? Was his mind ever compromised? Did Olivia ever step outside the armor she'd constructed for herself? Did they skate out of some tough cases because Peter "knew a guy" that could help them? (Nope.) Did she ever love? Did Walter ever lose his wife, his family?
Peter's disappearance from reality not only changes the status quo of the two universes, but it closes the door to the 2026 divergent reality we saw in "The Day We Died." Because Peter never existed, that world never existed because Walter and Walternate never fought over a stolen son; Olivia never married Peter; Olivia never died. There's a sense of course-correction here, of the facts being true but in slightly different ways, of Walter and Olivia's lives changing as a result of the absence of Peter Bishop from them. Which is definitely interesting and thought-provoking. I just wish we could have gotten to that moment without the hokum and water-treading of the majority of this installment.
I'm still a Fringe fan and I'm sticking with the show when it returns in the fall, but it doesn't diminish the head-scratching, disappointing qualities of the season finale... and of my frustration that a show that has so consistently gotten it right lately had gotten it so terribly wrong.
What did you make of the season finale? Did you love it or hate it or did you fall somewhere in between? Agree with my assessment or disagree. Head to the comments section to discuss "The Day We Died."
Season Four of Fringe will begin this fall on FOX. Continue reading full story...
After last week's Julie Taylor-related catastrophe, I was extremely pleased that this week's episode of Friday Night Lights ("Keep Looking"), written by Bridget Carpenter and directed by Todd McMullen, fell back into the pattern of greatness that the series is known for.
This week's episode offered an examination of the often contentious relationship between fathers and sons, summed up in the juxtaposition of Vince's struggles with his ex-con father Ornette and Buddy's attempts to drum some tough love into his angsty teenage son Buddy Jr.
In this case the dynamics were flipped on their head, with Vince struggling to determine whether he could trust his father, and laying down the law now that he's reentered his and his mother's lives. While his mom is happy to dwell on the more rose-colored memories of the past, Vince can't let go of what his father's absence meant to the family, the missed birthdays and moments, and the fact that he blames Ornette for getting his mom hooked on drugs. Across town, Buddy attempts to drum some semblance of responsibility into his rebellious son and, not surprisingly, pushes him to join the East Dillon Lions.
While it was obvious that Buddy Jr. would eventually join the Lions, the beauty of the episode was how well it dealt with this eventuality, following Buddy Jr. as he brushed off Tami at school (and later made a joke about her "rack" over dinner) and then broke into Buddy's bar and got drunk. But the writers made both Buddy Jr.'s malaise and speed palpable, demonstrating just how fast he can run when Buddy and Eric spotted him at a convenient store and took off after him. (He had, after all, stolen Buddy's credit card and his car.)
Keep reading...
If there is any justice in the world--our world, that is, and not the rough-and-tumble Harlan County--Margo Martindale will walk away with an Emmy nomination (and, one imagines, a win) for her jaw-dropping performance as Mags Bennett this season. Tough-as-nails and quick with her rapier wit, Mags was a top-notch schemer with the brutality to match her Machiavellian machinations, and Martindale brought her to life with all of the grit and dust of the Kentucky mountains intact.
And if there was a highlight of the second season of FX's sensational and atmospheric lawman drama Justified, a season overflowing with dramatic highs and serpentine plot twists galore, it was Martindale's accomplished turn as the head of the Bennetts, a pot-growing clan that has been enmeshed in a feud with the Givens for seventy years. Would Mags and Raylan bury the hatchet? Or bury it in each other's backs? That was the question swirling around the season finale, one populated by several other compelling strands: the quest of vengeance enacted by poor Loretta McCready, the wily plots carried out by bad boy Boyd Crowder, and the future happiness between Raylan and ex-wife Winona.
In the end, Season Two came to a close with much bloodshed, violence, and enmity, much in the same way that it began: with two people sitting across from one another, over a bottle of Mags Bennett's infamous apple pie.
There was a sense of coming full-circle here in the terrific and taut season finale ("Bloody Harlan"), written by Fred Golan and directed by Michael Dinner (who helmed the pilot and second episodes of the series), as Mags poured out another dram of apple pie.
Loretta did get one shot off at Mags, shooting her in the leg, but rather than become a killer and enact her revenge on the woman who killed her father--becoming, in essence, Mags herself--Loretta is given a second chance at life. It's Raylan who talks her down, which is ironic as Raylan knows a thing or two about vengeance and about killing. And it's interesting that it's Mags herself who serves as the conduit for Loretta's new life twice: first in killing her father (an effort to transform Loretta's existence and take her away from a life of crime) and here in the final showdown. But is Mag's suicide an escape from punishment--both Loretta's and the law's--or a balancing of the scales? A life for a life? Hers for Loretta's? Hmmm...
I do mourn the loss of the Bennetts, though interestingly Dickie--the one man whom everyone wanted dead--managed to survive everything this season, including what seemed like a pretty certain execution from Boyd. The man with a limp ended up being the last man standing. Which means that in the world of Justified, the story of the Bennetts might not be over quite yet. With Dickie still kicking and the identity of the mysterious old woman who got him out of jail last week still unclear, there are still quite a few story threads to be picked up down the line. And that's a Good Thing Indeed, though I will miss the wrathful leadership of Mags herself.
The season finale also left more than a few storylines dangling in the wind: would Ava survive Dickie's gunshot, falling to the ground in her own kitchen much like Helen a few episodes ago? Would a pregnant Winona face the future with Raylan... or without him? And would Raylan stay in Kentucky or get the hell out?
We at least learn that Art hasn't completely written off Raylan as a lost cause. He and the Marshal Service do come to Raylan's rescue, just as Doyle is about to end Raylan for good. (As soon as Doyle took the gunshot to the head, it was clear that the bullet had been fired by marksman Tim.) We've not spent much time in Lexington these past few episodes, though the relationship between Raylan and Art did get some depth this season.
However, I'm still of the mindset that we desperately need some development of Tim and Rachel, who got seriously shafted this season (even more than in Season One) when it came to storylines. But this is a quibble that I hope is addressed when the writers begin to break stories for Season Three; these two need some more screen time and some additional shading, which is difficult when much of the action takes place not in the offices of Lexington but on the dirt roads of Harlan.
As for Boyd, he proved himself to be just as--if not more--crafty than old Mags Bennett, envisioning that the Bennetts would attempt to gain the upper-hand during their parley and take out his compatriots. (I loved the shot of Johnny Crowder wheeling out of the barn after he blew up his own house, with two of the Bennett's goons inside.) While the finale once again came down to white hat Raylan working together with black hat Boyd, there was the sense here that Raylan may have been willing to cross a moral line and allow Boyd to murder Dickie... until he realized that he needed his old adversary alive.
But it was the sight of Boyd, literally handing Raylan's white hat back to him, that made me think that Raylan's moral compass wasn't quite as haywire as it appeared. Was it a moment of weakness or of the realization that he and/or Boyd couldn't enact justice upon Dickie Bennett? Or was it something far more pragmatic?
Ultimately, I thought that "Bloody Harlan" was the perfect ending to a sensational season of Justified, one that masterfully balanced individual, character-based plotlines (Winona/Raylan, the salvation of Boyd Crowder, Loretta McCready) with episodic plots... and one hell of an overarching, serialized narrative, one that took the strengths of the series and exploded them sky-high. While I was a huge fan of the first season, it's this second season that demonstrated the real depth and scope of Justified... and has given the writers some mighty big shoes to fill when it comes to Season Three.
What did you think of the season finale of Justified? Did it meet your expectations? What will happen to Raylan, Ava, Winona, Boyd, and Dickie? Who was that mysterious old woman from last week? And how on earth will we be able to stand the long wait for Season Three? Head to the comments section to discuss.
Season Three of Justified is set to air next year. Continue reading full story...
First off, I haven't seen the third season finale of Fringe ("The Day We Died"), airing this Friday, so anything I say here is based purely on conjecture rather than inside information, spoilers, or pre-knowledge of the episode.
Personally, I'm feverish with anticipation for this episode. (And, no, it's not just the flu-like symptoms I've come down with at the moment.) After pulling the rug out from underneath the viewer in the last episode--the doomsday machine seemingly sends Peter 15 years into the future (more on that in a bit)--this season finale arrives with a huge amount of momentum from this season's strong forward movement. The fates of two universes hang in the balance as Peter entered the machine--with Olivia's cortexiphan-derived help--at the end of last week's sensational episode, and seemingly chose "our" world to survive rather than the one "Over There."
The promo shown at the end of last week's episode (as well as in the longer, feature trailer-style one, which can be found below) would seem to indicate that Peter was successful in saving our world and destroying the parallel world that he originated from, dooming his father and his (unknown) child to a certain death. So what is Walternate doing walking around in the future then? Just what happened when Peter entered the machine? Just what did the quantum entanglement between the two devices mean for our world and theirs?
My immediate first thought, upon seeing Peter wake up in the future, was to remember the now classic X-Men storyline, "The Days of Future Past," in which young Kitty Pryde's consciousness was projected into a grim future timeline that was even more terrifying than that glimpsed in the final seconds of last week's episode. In the X-Men plot, Kitty's consciousness is housed in the body of her older self, allowing her to glimpse a possible future and then return to her own timeline in order to alter it.
Which brings us to now and this week's finale ("The Day We Died"), as the outcome of Peter's action comes back to face him head on. He seemingly destroyed the world Over There, dooming a universe to destruction in order to save his own. And he's forced to face down Walter--back in a mental hospital, if you believe the scenes shown in the promo--and his true father, Walternate, who seemingly crossed over in time to avoid all-out negation.
So why is the focus on a timeline 15 years in the future? Curious, that. We know that time is a fluid construct that is always in flux (thanks to Doctor Who and the presence of the Observers in the Fringe mythology), which means that the future can be changed. It's not a constant that is written in stone but can be altered. If the plot of the season finale does echo that of "Days of Future Past," then Peter will be given knowledge of the outcome of his choice... and witness that the future of their world isn't safe, not by a longshot as members of a cult attempt to dissolve the barriers of the universe. Is it the End of Days? Is it the day that we die? Or is it an opportunity to course-correct?
If it is indeed Peter's consciousness that is inhabiting the older Peter Bishop, then perhaps he will have the opportunity to change his decision, or make a decision that's based in fact and foresight. Is there a way to permanently seal off the two universes, to untangle them on a quantum level? Is there a way for both to survive? And will the finale come down to Peter deciding once more the fate of two worlds? How does one go on with the destruction of a universe weighing on their shoulders?
Of course, I could be completely wrong and the comparison to "Days of Future Past" might not be particularly apt at all. But, regardless of my conjecture and theorizing, I know that Jeff Pinkner and Joel Wyman--and the entire Fringe writing staff--have more than a few aces up their sleeves. I can't wait to see how this game plays out and just what the universe(s) have in store for Olivia Dunham and the Bishops.
What are your thoughts on what the endgame of the season truly is? Buy into the "Days of Future Past" comparisons or no? And just what is that voice whispering at the very end of the promo (below)? Head to the comments section to discuss.
The season finale of Fringe airs this Friday evening at 9 pm ET/PT on FOX. Continue reading full story...
"Everyone who isn't us is an enemy." - Cersei
The brutality of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros--and the vantage point of the Lannister clan--is eloquently summed up in Queen Cersei's words of advice to the young prince Joffrey: it's a paranoid and arrogant declaration of their family's separation from the rest of mankind, a testament to the roar of the Lannister pride and of Cersei's own suspicious nature. Trust no one, she tells her son. This is, after all, a woman involved in an incestuous romance with her twin brother, willing to conspire in the death of a ten-year-old boy in order to protect their dark secret. (It's also a creepy scene in which she instructs her son to sleep with "painted whores" or virtuous virgins if he wishes, in addition to bedding his betrothed when the time comes.)
In this week's episode of Game of Thrones ("Lord Snow"), written by David Benioff and D.B. Weiss and directed by Brian Kirk, we're given the opportunity to see how war is waged in Westeros: not on the battlefield, but in the bedrooms and throne rooms of this vast united realm. The ancient Game of Thrones is being played once more, pitting Stark against Lannister, family against family.
A boy, on the cusp of manhood, trains as a knight in the far north, taking on anyone who will fight him; a little girl dances the water dance, learning from her master the art of the deadliest dance. And a father sees his daughter playing at war once more, the playful water dance turning into something fierce and savage, the blow of wooden blades transforming into the clash of steel, the cries of war. But is it a flashback or a premonition of dark times to come?
Never is that more clear than in this installment, which depicts the vast chasm between those two ideas. The younger generation play at being summer soldiers, not knowing the harshness of the long winter. The Starks, we're told by Maester Aemon, are always right in the end: winter does come eventually. Whether you choose to view this as a natural righting of a seasonal imbalance or as the inevitable fall or sin of mankind is up to you, really. But winter does come eventually, just as death does stalk each of us in turn.
Jon Snow's trials at The Wall provide Ned Stark's bastard with some depth and grit; unable to discern why he's so hated by the other recruits of the Night's Watch, he sets himself up as the putative "Lord Snow," a bastard playing at being a highborn lord. He's well-trained in the ways of war but not in the ways of the world. His grace in the training yard makes him an object of derision instantly among recruits who have never held a sword before. Jon sees himself as deserving of accompanying his Uncle Benjen beyond the Wall, but he hasn't earned that right. He hasn't even sworn his sacred oath yet. His innocence is the naivete of youth and inexperience, and it takes Tyrion to teach him the error of his ways. (We see him later offering the benefit of his relative experience to the other recruits, establishing himself more as their leader than their rival.)
Tyrion, meanwhile, makes good on his promise to piss off the edge of the world. He too is a summer lord who doesn't understand the duty and responsibility of the Night's Watch, disbelieving their purpose (he doesn't believe in white walkers or "grumpkins and snapes") and making jest of the paltry remains of their once epic strength. He is an entitled lord, a Lannister through and through. Even offering to accompany Yorek on his way back to the capital, he refuses to travel rough, but instead tells Yorek that they'll stay at the very best castles and taverns along the way. He fails to see the asceticism of the Night's Watch, seeing old men and green boys who believe on faith that what they are doing is worthy. But, for a Lannister, the only thing of worth is gold...
Loved the brief comeuppance that Viserys got this week, when he attempted to put his hand around the throat of his sister, Danerys, now slipping quite comfortably into her role as khalessi. (Even if my wife deemed her Dothraki-style outfit, "Safari Barbie.") A whip around his throat, he's forced to contend with Dany's mercy rather than her rage. And he's further humiliated when his horse is taken from him, a demeaning position among the Dothraki. (After all, it's the slaves who walk alongside the horde rather than upon horseback.) And it's Dany's wishes that Ser Jorah follows, rather than those of his "true king." Be careful what bargains you make, Viserys. You've just given her sister control of a Dothraki horde, after all.
As for Dany, she learns that she is pregnant with Khal Drogo's son, a blessing from the Great Stallion and an omen of the days ahead. A union between these Dothraki and the daughter of the Mad King is a dangerous thing indeed and cements her hold over the horde... and puts Viserys even further on the edges. But just where does Ser Jorah go running off to once he learns of Dany's pregnancy. Hmmm...
I want to say how much I'm enjoyed Aidan Gillen's portrayal of Littlefinger, Lord Baelish, as he manages to perfectly capture this mockingbird's manipulative streak and his haughty demeanor. We learn this week that Littlefinger once loved Lady Catelyn dearly and fought a duel with Ned's brother Brandon for her love. He lost and was cut from belly to throat by Brandon, who spared his life. Traveling secretly to the capital, Catelyn is taken to see Littlefinger ("He's like a little brother to me," she says)--thanks to the whispers of Lord Varys--and learns that it was Littlefinger's knife, lost in a bet to Tyrion Lannister, that the assassin used in his attempt to slay the sleeping Bran.
Which would definitely point the finger of suspicion at Tyrion Lannister, or at the very least the pride of lions currently nesting at King's Landing. A scene between Cersei and Jaime seems to indicate this link, though it's unclear whether the twins are talking about trying to murder Bran in his sleep... or pushing him out the window in the "the things I do for love" scene at the end of the pilot episode. Just how badly did these two want to silence Bran, given that he survived the fall? Did they pay a killer to enter his room and slit his throat before he could wake up? Or did Tyrion act for them, loyal as he says he is to his blood?
As for Bran, our little Stark woke from his slumber at the end of last week's episode but couldn't remember anything about his fall, suffering from a sort of post-traumatic stress disorder-derived short-term memory loss. Will he remember what he saw in the tower that day? Only time will tell... But in the meantime we get a scary story from Old Nan, about the endless winter and the coming of the white walkers. And once again, we're left with the eerie sensation of discordance here: is her story a myth or reality? Does she speak of the past or of the future? And what will our summer soldiers, summer lovers, summer children do when the long winter descends on them once more?
Next week on Game of Thrones ("Cripples, Bastards, and Broken Things"), Ned looks to a book for clues to the death of his predecessor, and uncovers one of King Robert’s bastards; Robert and his guests witness a tournament honoring Ned; Jon takes measures to protect Samwell from further abuse at Castle Black; a frustrated Viserys clashes with Daenerys in Vaes Dothrak; Sansa imagines her future as a queen, while Arya envisions a far different future; Catelyn rallies her husband’s allies to make a point, while Tyrion finds himself caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"Who you are is five words: 'dead girl in a trunk.'" - Jamie
While The Killing is largely about the investigation into the death of Rosie Larsen, it's as much an investigation into the lives of those left behind, an existential discussion of the way in which death invades our lives and how grief, often the only thing you have left after a loved one dies, can transform into rage. That a loving couple can become squabbling rivals in an argument that no one wins, or how a father's love can become misguided vengeance.
This week's episode of The Killing ("What You Have Left"), written by Nic Pizzolatto and directed by Agnieszka Holland, traces both ends of the spectrum, following Linden and Holder as they attempt to ensnare Bennet Ahmed, Rosie's teacher and currently the prime suspect in her murder, and the Larsen family as they bury Rosie and attempt to make their peace with her passing.
Bennet's alibi is rapidly unraveling this week as Linden and Holder discover some disturbing news about his whereabouts on the night of the dance and the possibility that he and his pregnant wife may have been involved in Rosie's murder. But don't get too excited just yet: it's way too early in the season for our favorite coppers to have nabbed their suspect and the frame is just a little too convenient at the moment.
-Rosie attended a school dance dressed as a witch. At some point, she changed out of her costume and left for parts as yet unknown, but possibly the residence of her teacher, Bennet Ahmed.
-At some point after the dance, Rosie was seen banging on the door of Bennet's home at approximately ten pm. She was let in, but it now appears that it wasn't Bennet who let her in, but his wife Amber, as Bennet was still at the dance as of 10:20 pm and couldn't have opened the door for her.
-The presence of ammonium hydroxide in Rosie's system is suspicious as well. We know that Bennet had some in his house but was it used to conceal signs of sexual assault and erase DNA from her body... or was Rosie helping to put the flooring together? If Rosie wasn't there to see Bennet, was she there to see Amber? Hmmm...
-Amber went to see her religious sister Grace much later than Bennet told the police. (She doesn't show up there until 1 am.) Grace insinuates that Grace was upset about Bennet, but it's unclear what transpired between them.
-A neighbor with a telescope claims to have seen Bennet and a "smaller-type person" (read: woman) carrying a girl wrapped up in a carpet. But this seems unlikely, and he also claimed it was hard to see what was going on because it was raining. While it seems as though the writers want us to believe that it was Amber who was helping him, I don't see a pregnant woman hefting a dead body, wrapped in a carpet, into car. More likely, the woman was Rosie herself. Particularly as...
-Rosie was pursued through the woods by the lake by an unknown assailant. How she got to the lake is currently unknown, though her body was discovered in the trunk of a submerged car belonging to the Darren Richmond campaign and she was not dead when she went into the water. Which could mean that the killer intended her to suffer, which either displays a form of pathology or a connection to the victim. Additionally, it's worth pointing out that Holder and Linden are as yet unaware of these events, as it's only the audience that saw this scene play out...
The fact that we see Amber clutching a hammer in the darkness when Linden and Holder bang on her door leads me to believe that we're definitely missing some crucial pieces of information from the bigger picture here. Something is not quite adding up with Amber and there are some definite inconsistencies to Bennet's story, as though he's trying to protect someone (Amber being the most likely suspect there), but why does he slip and call his unborn child "he" when he knows it's a girl? Weird.
I don't think for a second that Bennet is the killer, but that doesn't stop Adams from insinuating as much during his debate with Darren... and Darren, being the stand-up guy that he is, refuses to throw Bennet to the wolves without due process. After all, he IS innocent until proven guilty and everyone--from the politicians to the police--are making huge assumptions about his guilt because it's an easy frame: sick teacher takes advantage of his female students. (That Amber is a former student is particularly damning, it seems.) Darren's unwavering support for Bennet--or at least his refusal to condemn the man without a trial--could signal the end of his campaign as Adams is only too willing to use his association with Bennet to his advantage. But while the lights in the studio go out, leaving Darren on his own, I wouldn't count this crusader out just yet...
And then there's Stan, who is only too willing to believe that Bennet murdered his only daughter, thanks to Belko whispering in his ear. I'm not sure just who Belko's source at the school is, but the likeliest person is Holder's confidante (sponsor, perhaps?), a fellow detective who trades some information with Holder in exchange for Bennet's name as the chief suspect in the Larsen case. He tells Holder (who only later finally tells Linden) that Stan was an enforcer for the Polish mob and killed a few guys in his day, before leaving that life behind altogether.
Add together a violent past, mob connections, and a dead daughter who is now six feet underground and you get a ticking timebomb that's ready to blow. And it does at the reception after Rosie's funeral, thanks to Belko. Stan manages to get Bennet alone in his car as they drive off... to parts unknown, though Stan's intent seems clear enough: he wants payback for Rosie's murder. And I don't know that Linden and Holder will get to him in time...
Meanwhile, there's Mitch's sister Terry, who seems to be going through something of her own. She lashes out angrily at Belko, reminding him that he's not a member of the family and then proceeds to drink and smoke her way through the remainder of the reception, putting a record on in Rosie's old room. But it's the way that Jasper's father, Michael Ames, not so subtly snubs her when he and his wife arrive to pay their respects that jumped out at me the most. Was Terry sleeping with Jasper's dad? Or Jasper himself? (Remember, he claimed to have a thing for picking up older women at bars.) Just what is the bad blood there exactly? Hmmm...
But, while the episode was filled with new questions stemming from Rosie's murder, it was once again the small moments that stood out, the somber and momentous indications of death and grief: the bitter fight between Mitch and Stan over when Rosie gave him those cufflinks; the sight of Rosie in her selected dress in her coffin, being wheeled upstairs by the undertaker; Tommy squishing the bug underfoot as he contemplates his sister's burial; the fragile beauty Mitch exhibits as she stands at the bottom of the stairs.
What you have left, it seems, is grief and the struggle to continue on without a sense of closure. What's left, for the Larsens, is a Rosie-shaped hole where their daughter should be, and the sense that their lives will never, ever be the same again...
Next week on The Killing ("Vengeance"), the police learn more about Rosie's whereabouts on the night of her death; Mitch begins doubting the investigation.
The network upfronts—when the broadcasters unveil their fall schedules, tout their new programming, and bring out stars to shake hands with advertisers—are the week of May 16, but it’s never too soon to take a look at which shows you might become addicted to next season.
Over at The Daily Beast, you can read my latest feature, entitled "The 8 Best Pilot Scripts of 2011," in which I pick my favorite scripts--from the period dramas Playboy and Pan Am to the Sarah Michelle Gellar-starring noir thriller Ringer and Kyle Killen's mind-bending drama REM.
What shows are you rooting for? Which will make the cut as the networks unveil their fall schedules in the coming weeks? Head to the comments section to discuss...
