2x03 Virtù e Fortuna

[7.7/10] It seems like every episode of Westworld comes down to a handful of questions. Some of those are the usual mystery box type questions: What is Ford’s plan? What info does Hale want to smuggle out of the park? What’s the deal with the Ghost Nation warrior? But some of them are more philosophical questions, about the nature of the self, about the ethics of a synthetic and controllable population, about the path to self-determination and self-actualization.

“Virtù e Fortuna” answers some of the plot-based questions here, and teases a few others. We know, now, that this robot revolt isn’t limited to Westworld, but extends to at least two other parks, one with a colonial India theme and the other set in the age of the Samurai. The latter offers the closing tease of the episode, with a combatant from the Samurai park threatening Maeve’s band of renegades, in what feels like a pretty corny cliffhanger.

But the former provides a striking cold open, that shows a new character trying to discern whether the affections of the handsome gentlemen who approached her on the lawn are genuine or another mechanical invention. She tests him with a pistol -- “the only way to know for sure -- before having to use bigger weapons against her rebelling guide and the bengal tiger that provided a tease a couple of episodes ago.

Those last skirmishes offer some of the tautest action this season, as the speed at which the woman’s affectionate encounter on safari turns into a fight for her life on the edge of a cliff is tense from beginning to end. But the little vignette that precedes it centers on the broader, bigger question that this episode is asking -- how do you determine what counts as real, particularly where emotion and affection are concerned?

The woman from the colonial Indian park is exceedingly concerned that her beau not be made of ones and zeroes, that she wants those affections be earned through who she is rather than served up on a silver platter by programmers. So she runs her pistol test, assuming that if he’s flesh and blood, then at least his love isn’t fabricated.

It ties into William’s ultimate rejection of Dolores in the last episode, with his declaration that he couldn’t believe that he once thought himself in love with her. There is a luddism in that, a belief that because the hosts are designed to please the guests, to accommodate them, that nothing they feel, and by extension, what human beings feel for them, can be real.

It’s a point that Maeve and Hector dispute with their very presence in front of Sizemore. He blanches at the pair holding hands, and declares that the two are designed to be lone wolves, with Hector in particular destined to be head-over-heels for Isabella. Hector replies that once he knew Isabella was a lie cooked up for him by the programmers, he wrote it off as just a voice in his head, and his affection for Maeve flourished (delivered in a much more enjoyable and cheeky manner than that).

It is, in an odd way, a similar sort of chauvinism, that Hector’s affections for Maeve are genuine because they came out of real deeds and choices, even if Sizemore can quote his feelings back to him, rather than the directives in his head.

But Maeve turns the idea around on Sizemore, pointing out that the story he wrote for Hector and Isabella is Sizemore’s own fantasy, his way of coping with and living out someone he cared for leaving him, that ends with her being effectively fridged and him being the badass cowboy he always wanted to be. Maeve calls it a bit sad and a bit silly, but no more than a pair of robotic individuals holding hands when they’re not supposed to. It teases out that notion -- of how there’s a truth ignored in both their instances, just ignored in different ways.

Even then, Maeve’s not in much of a position to dismiss those sorts of connections, because she’s on this whole quest -- which adds a Skywalker-handed Armistice, Lutz, and Sylvester back to the gang -- in order to find a daughter she knows is a collection of code. Whether or not they’re constructed from outside sources, and possibly imbued with another person’s truth, those connections compel individuals with agency to act, and it’s hard to find a better test for realness than that, pistols or no.

Which lends weight to the moment when Dolores, who knows that all of this world is a fabrication, finds her father and shares a tender but harrowing moment to remember their shared past and lament his current debilitated state of madness. It’s a great scene for the performers, where code or not, Dolores sees a loved one in pain, as the lesser shell of someone who represents the life she emerged from. She is stung by it; she threatens and kills for it, and she herself is pierced by her father’s condition, despite knowing that what makes him her father is the work of people like her Bernard. It prompts emotion. It prompts action. That is reality enough.

It also adds weight to Peter Abernathy as a walking, raving macguffin. The dullest parts of “Virtu e Fortuna” are the nuts and bolts “we’re at war” material. The stand between Dolores and the confederados with the nitroglycerin feint is serviceable but a low-grade Game of Thrones substitute as battles go. Hale’s little extraction of Peter feels contrived and like more of the show extending the plot for plot’s sake. Even Bernard reprogramming Rebus to be a virtuous, peerless gunslinger is fun but a little superfluous. But given what Papa Abernathy means to Dolores, it makes him being hauled away something more significant than just an android-based game of capture the flag.

But really, that’s not why I come to Westworld. Sure, I enjoy a thrilling skirmish as much as the next person. And the prospect of time-hopping rumble with cowboys vs. samurai vs. bengal tigers vs. whatever else is out there is an admittedly intriguing one, in the same way one is oddly compelled to eat a seven-layer nachos dip where one of the layers is corndogs and another is cotton candy.

But what compels me about this show is not those plotty questions, of who will prevail in the battle to hang onto what’s in Peter Abernathy’s head, or what’s motivating the Ghost Nation, or even who lives in who dies. It’s those big, navel-gazing philosophical ones, about what makes our feelings real to the point that we believe them, even empathize, when they’re coming from a machine.

For once in my life, I'm gonna be as brief as I can because otherwise I would be writing hours and hours talking about this show.

First thing, when I thought Abernathy's actor couldn't surprise me more, he does. His acting is superb and no one plays a malfunctioning robot as good as he does.

Dolores is such a badass but her lines are starting to become a little repetitive. I just feel for Teddy so damn much. I get the feeling that Teddy is us. Just look at his face, he's got a constant "Wtf?" written on it. I think he'll turn against Dolores in the near future. So far, his narrative is to follow Dolores and do as she pleases; however, he also has to kill Wyatt and something tells me he's gonna go the second road.

Maeve, Hector, Armistice, Felix and Sylvester. The gang is back together. I'm loving Sizemore more and more. I didn't know that was possible but it is. So Hector is a version of who he wanted to be? Interesting.

The first scene was amazing. A godamn tiger! Poor girl. When she appeared, I thought she could be William's daughter, Emily, if memory serves. Let's see how it evolves.

The Ghost Nation is back! I wonder where Elsie is. She was captured by them. Since they caught that girl and they wanted Sizemore, I'm starting to think that Elsie somehow reprogrammed them to save the guests from the robots.

I missed Ed Harris in this one. But next week we've got Shogun world and I can't be more exited.

Also, did Bernard just insert all Abernathy's data into himself? Charlotte is growing on me more and more, I hope the trend continues because I want to see more of Tessa Thompson.

There's interesting stuff that begins to emerge in this episode, mainly the introduction of not one but two other parks and the goose chase of Abernathy combined with Bernard's dilemma of loyalty. Those are the threads that feel like they are the most true to what this show has been.

But this is mainly an event-driven episode. Rather than delve deeper into the significance of these events, the events themselves are played out on screen from start to finish. It is the exact same problem that Game of Thrones had. The shift from the series's initial intention--deep, philosophical narratives--to the spectacle of battles playing out onscreen loses me. I just don't really care, to be honest. I don't need to see the battles, I want to know the bits behind them.

Additionally, I have an issue with the introduction of the India-themed park. The brilliance of Westworld, the park, in context of the show is how the writing is able to play upon the archetypes from western stories and tie that into philosophical concepts. A shogun themed world also works here because of the historic link between samurai film and western film. It's very clever. However, that India themed park doesn't seem to have the same amount of significance for how the hosts' rebellion matters for them. As presented, there doesn't seem to be a clear linkage to any pantheon of storytelling? Is it going to be inspired by adventure films like Indiana Jones? Or is it going to simply use a historic reference to imperialism that dominated India for a significant portion of their history. I'm really not sure based upon this episode and as a result it's a bit of a bungled execution. The park needs significance and I'm sure that it has it, but within this episode that purpose was very vague.