Saturday, September 15, 2007
Sing Below Inveterate Scars or, Why Didn't Someone Tell Me (pt. 6)
This looks just like my old landlord
There is a scene during the penultimate episode of the third season of Wire in the Blood in which our "hero," clinical psychologist Dr. Tony Hill, sits down to share a meal with a woman he's recently met on a plane. The scene is played in such a way as to highlight its excruciating banality...which is absolute genius you see, because the woman that Tony is sharing this meal with is delusional. She's broken into his house and prepared a lovely meal for the two of them, but the charming domesticity that she fabricates is wholly the product of her own mind. This woman, Patricia, imagines that she and Tony have a relationship and she behaves and thinks accordingly. It's an absolutely pitch perfect scene for several reasons, but the most important of which is this: much of the tension in the series arises from Tony's woeful lack of social skills. So there's a moment when Tony is deciding whether or not to indulge Patricia in her fantasy before having her hauled down to the pokey/insane-o 'sylum, and then...he just decides, "ah, fuck it. I'm eating." Everything we've seen of Tony thus far assures us there is very little chance that he will ever enjoy this kind of intimate moment in any other fashion. I realize that I'm not conveying the brilliance of this moment adequately, but oh my goodness, people! Someone else start watching this show! When you have to make the decision between another lonely meal at home and eating with what amounts to a sympathetic stalker -- a Canadian one, no less -- when you even reach the point in your life when these two options actually seem equally viable...READERS, I QUIT THIS BITCH. I almost fell off the couch watching this episode(it's called "Nothing But the Night", by the way). So good. When Tony looks at that chick and the food she's made and tells the looney bin operators to wait half an hour and then come get her? Lawd Jesus. This show just got bumped up to A-1 with a bullet.
People, this show has been killing me. Or rather, Robson Green has been killing me. Brigitte and I have been watching it [semi] obsessively since I happened upon the dvds at the library. Apparently, Green's character has got something akin to Asperger's syndrome (it's interesting to note, however, that the conceit behind Hill's allure -- and that of another fictional detective, Adrian Monk -- is some sort of mental disabilty that, having ordered viewers' expectations, largely disappears after the first season. But I digress --), and while I have no idea whether Green accurately captures the essence of interactions with an Asperberger's sufferer, he is definitely capturing something. What's tender and evocative and poignant in the first season, however, becomes something rather different in the third series. Anyway, I've already said too much. Just go watch the damn show.
Also, Robson Green looks just my very first Minneapolis landlord. Fergus, back me up here: doesn't that dude look just like Josh? That is effed up.