7.8/10. Sometimes Ian McShane makes an episode great by sheer force of will. This is one of those times. That final scene is a doozy, and another bravura performance from McShane in a scene where he's mostly on his own. We so rarely see Al Swearingen at a lost. He is the man who is forever in control, forever able to see the chess board and figures out the next three moves before anyone else can move a pawn. And yet here we see him thrown for a loop by Hearst, short one digit, trying to maneuver his way out of the situation, and second guessing himself at every turn in a way we didn't see before.
In the process, we get a little more insight into Al's childhood. He, like Hearst, is a man who wants to be in control of his own destiny, and we get a little insight as to why here. The story of him being held back by a guard at his orphanage as his mother called for him is heartbreaking. It's simplistic, but it's not hard to imagine that little boy deciding he would never be helpless, would never be powerless, would never let any man, god, or institution hold him down or hold him back like that again. McShane puts on a clinic in that scene, communicating all of the hurt, all of the anger, all the frustration and uncertainty rushing through Al.
I could do without the sexposition element of it though. There's the obvious motif in this episode of someone facing a problem with themselves and blaming it on others. Here, Al's experiencing literal and figurative impotence, and it causes him to lash out, at Hearst, at Cy, and at his poor employee stuck trying to do what's asked of her. He changes everything else, the time, the position, the angle, and still can't get going because the cause of his problem is between his ears. At least he has the self-awareness to realize that his prostitute's "me too" in response to his statement about how much he hates being held down applies to him as well as the people he's lashing out at, even if it takes some repetition to get through to him.
I have my issues with Deadwood as a series. When it's on, it makes me laugh like hell and fills the frame with interesting people in a well-developed and lively setting. When it's off, it's a tedious slog through byzantine, half-unraveled plots and folks the audience, or at least I, don't really care about. Much of that comes down to character. Whereas a lot of shows have a handful of three-dimensional characters and then a bevy of one-dimensional characters, Deadwood is a little different. It has scores of two-dimensional characters, folks who are developed enough that it takes more than just one or two adjectives to describe them, and that makes the town of Deadwood feel real and alive. But there's very very few true three-dimensional characters, people who we see grow and change and get to really explore the inner life and what makes them tick. Hell, there's an argument that Al's the only character that qualifies.
But my god, what a character to anchor a show around. Here is this endlessly complicated man, who seems constantly in control, constantly ahead of everyone around him, and constantly ready to slam the door and act as ruthlessly as he needs to in order to get what he wants. And yet he's strangely vulnerable, strangely understanding, strangely loyal, and strangely sympathetic even as he does terrible thing. Part of that is just Ian McShane's raw charisma and the way he can be absolutely captivating when thrust into the spotlight, but a lot of it is the fact that Al Swearengen, far more than most characters on television or elsewhere, contains multitudes. There are so many impulses and motivations that we are privy to with him, so many relationships and tics and predilections that feel diverse and yet organic to the character. It seems like every episode we get some new wrinkle as to who Al is and why he is that way, and each of them not only adds to our understanding of Swearengen, but feel like a natural, believable extension of what we already know about him, damn near every time, and that is a hell of a feat.
The problem is that it makes much of the rest of the show pale by comparison, even when the rest of the proceedings are going well. Bullock trying to mediate the conflict between Hostetler and Steve the Drunk is an interesting look at the difficulties of nation-building and mending fences. Steve is vituperative in his infuriating racism here, finding himself back to where he started through no one's fault, and even offered a job and compensation for his time at the Livery when Hostetler was gone. But is he gracious or understanding? Of course not. Things go to hell and all he can do is fall back on his racism, fall back to blaming the oppressed, hard-working person who is on the lower rung of the social ladder even to deadbeat Steve because of the color of his skin. It's as ugly as the show's been thus far (perhaps short of Leon's bigotry toward the Chinese) and yet it serves to demonstrate how that excuse evaporates for him when he has the chance to buy the livery fair and square.
Even then, even when people are bending over backwards to resolve this situation and give him what he wants, Steve can't sign the damn piece of paper first. He can't give up that last tiny bit of privilege he'd have over Hostetler because of his skin. (And in fairness, Hostetler won't either, but mostly because he believes, quite reasonably, that Steve may just be screwing with him when it comes to buying the livery.) Bullock returns to his state of barely restrained rage, and seems poised to let them both have it when Sol proves why he should be mayor by finding a third, equal option that seems to set Bullock's mind at ease. It's another indication of how Bullock means well, but doesn't necessarily have the temperament to handle the prejudices and weaknesses of his fellow man in a place that's full of them.
On top of that, there's Joanie potentially selling the Chez Ami to Langrishe on the condition that he build a new school for the town's children. It's another dig in with Joanie that's starting to get diminishing return, but pairing her up with Langrishe, who's been a hell of an addition to the show as a lovable ally and foil for Al in contrast to Hearst, is a good move. Plus, it gives Jane a chance to be Jane, and pout about potentially being kicked out before showing her sentimental side by trying to, in her own roundabout way, look out for Mose after Joanie tells her that she's welcome anywhere Joanie goes.
Otherwise we get little vignettes of other people's vulnerabilities as well. Doc has a cough that's very troubling. Dan Dorrity, cuthroat that he is, is also an easily hurt little puppy dog, who falls to pieces a little bit every time he thinks Al's favoring Adams. It's really rather sweet and another instance of a seeming bastard having a soft belly (again, literally and figuratively). Stapleton and Claudia make the usual woman-to-man business arrangement in Deadwood, though to what end is unclear at the moment. And Elsworth, for however hurt he is by how Alma (who may be getting dope from Leon?) treats him, is still adorable with Sophie and the kindest, all around best husband he can be.
And then there's still Al, who even amid this array of solid-to-good storylines and characters stands head and shoulders above it all. Rarely does performance, writing, and character development combine to produce such a fully-formed, incredible presence on the screen and in the story, that would justify the show's existence even if it didn't have other favorable qualities. At the end of the day, whatever the show's other virtues, Al Swearengen is Deadwood, and somehow the hard-edged schemer, the vicious tactician, the keeper of misfit toys, the expert wielder of sarcastic one-liners, and the scared and angry little boy who was kept from his mother, all coexist under that same skin, to mesmerizing effect.
Review by Andrew BloomVIP 9BlockedParent2016-07-31T06:05:16Z
7.8/10. Sometimes Ian McShane makes an episode great by sheer force of will. This is one of those times. That final scene is a doozy, and another bravura performance from McShane in a scene where he's mostly on his own. We so rarely see Al Swearingen at a lost. He is the man who is forever in control, forever able to see the chess board and figures out the next three moves before anyone else can move a pawn. And yet here we see him thrown for a loop by Hearst, short one digit, trying to maneuver his way out of the situation, and second guessing himself at every turn in a way we didn't see before.
In the process, we get a little more insight into Al's childhood. He, like Hearst, is a man who wants to be in control of his own destiny, and we get a little insight as to why here. The story of him being held back by a guard at his orphanage as his mother called for him is heartbreaking. It's simplistic, but it's not hard to imagine that little boy deciding he would never be helpless, would never be powerless, would never let any man, god, or institution hold him down or hold him back like that again. McShane puts on a clinic in that scene, communicating all of the hurt, all of the anger, all the frustration and uncertainty rushing through Al.
I could do without the sexposition element of it though. There's the obvious motif in this episode of someone facing a problem with themselves and blaming it on others. Here, Al's experiencing literal and figurative impotence, and it causes him to lash out, at Hearst, at Cy, and at his poor employee stuck trying to do what's asked of her. He changes everything else, the time, the position, the angle, and still can't get going because the cause of his problem is between his ears. At least he has the self-awareness to realize that his prostitute's "me too" in response to his statement about how much he hates being held down applies to him as well as the people he's lashing out at, even if it takes some repetition to get through to him.
I have my issues with Deadwood as a series. When it's on, it makes me laugh like hell and fills the frame with interesting people in a well-developed and lively setting. When it's off, it's a tedious slog through byzantine, half-unraveled plots and folks the audience, or at least I, don't really care about. Much of that comes down to character. Whereas a lot of shows have a handful of three-dimensional characters and then a bevy of one-dimensional characters, Deadwood is a little different. It has scores of two-dimensional characters, folks who are developed enough that it takes more than just one or two adjectives to describe them, and that makes the town of Deadwood feel real and alive. But there's very very few true three-dimensional characters, people who we see grow and change and get to really explore the inner life and what makes them tick. Hell, there's an argument that Al's the only character that qualifies.
But my god, what a character to anchor a show around. Here is this endlessly complicated man, who seems constantly in control, constantly ahead of everyone around him, and constantly ready to slam the door and act as ruthlessly as he needs to in order to get what he wants. And yet he's strangely vulnerable, strangely understanding, strangely loyal, and strangely sympathetic even as he does terrible thing. Part of that is just Ian McShane's raw charisma and the way he can be absolutely captivating when thrust into the spotlight, but a lot of it is the fact that Al Swearengen, far more than most characters on television or elsewhere, contains multitudes. There are so many impulses and motivations that we are privy to with him, so many relationships and tics and predilections that feel diverse and yet organic to the character. It seems like every episode we get some new wrinkle as to who Al is and why he is that way, and each of them not only adds to our understanding of Swearengen, but feel like a natural, believable extension of what we already know about him, damn near every time, and that is a hell of a feat.
The problem is that it makes much of the rest of the show pale by comparison, even when the rest of the proceedings are going well. Bullock trying to mediate the conflict between Hostetler and Steve the Drunk is an interesting look at the difficulties of nation-building and mending fences. Steve is vituperative in his infuriating racism here, finding himself back to where he started through no one's fault, and even offered a job and compensation for his time at the Livery when Hostetler was gone. But is he gracious or understanding? Of course not. Things go to hell and all he can do is fall back on his racism, fall back to blaming the oppressed, hard-working person who is on the lower rung of the social ladder even to deadbeat Steve because of the color of his skin. It's as ugly as the show's been thus far (perhaps short of Leon's bigotry toward the Chinese) and yet it serves to demonstrate how that excuse evaporates for him when he has the chance to buy the livery fair and square.
Even then, even when people are bending over backwards to resolve this situation and give him what he wants, Steve can't sign the damn piece of paper first. He can't give up that last tiny bit of privilege he'd have over Hostetler because of his skin. (And in fairness, Hostetler won't either, but mostly because he believes, quite reasonably, that Steve may just be screwing with him when it comes to buying the livery.) Bullock returns to his state of barely restrained rage, and seems poised to let them both have it when Sol proves why he should be mayor by finding a third, equal option that seems to set Bullock's mind at ease. It's another indication of how Bullock means well, but doesn't necessarily have the temperament to handle the prejudices and weaknesses of his fellow man in a place that's full of them.
On top of that, there's Joanie potentially selling the Chez Ami to Langrishe on the condition that he build a new school for the town's children. It's another dig in with Joanie that's starting to get diminishing return, but pairing her up with Langrishe, who's been a hell of an addition to the show as a lovable ally and foil for Al in contrast to Hearst, is a good move. Plus, it gives Jane a chance to be Jane, and pout about potentially being kicked out before showing her sentimental side by trying to, in her own roundabout way, look out for Mose after Joanie tells her that she's welcome anywhere Joanie goes.
Otherwise we get little vignettes of other people's vulnerabilities as well. Doc has a cough that's very troubling. Dan Dorrity, cuthroat that he is, is also an easily hurt little puppy dog, who falls to pieces a little bit every time he thinks Al's favoring Adams. It's really rather sweet and another instance of a seeming bastard having a soft belly (again, literally and figuratively). Stapleton and Claudia make the usual woman-to-man business arrangement in Deadwood, though to what end is unclear at the moment. And Elsworth, for however hurt he is by how Alma (who may be getting dope from Leon?) treats him, is still adorable with Sophie and the kindest, all around best husband he can be.
And then there's still Al, who even amid this array of solid-to-good storylines and characters stands head and shoulders above it all. Rarely does performance, writing, and character development combine to produce such a fully-formed, incredible presence on the screen and in the story, that would justify the show's existence even if it didn't have other favorable qualities. At the end of the day, whatever the show's other virtues, Al Swearengen is Deadwood, and somehow the hard-edged schemer, the vicious tactician, the keeper of misfit toys, the expert wielder of sarcastic one-liners, and the scared and angry little boy who was kept from his mother, all coexist under that same skin, to mesmerizing effect.