By Matt Zoller Seitz
Review of Season Two finale. Originally published in the Star-Ledger May 23, 2005.
David Milch's profane, philosophical HBO western "Deadwood" ended Season Two with a series of unions - one actual, the rest symbolic.
In public, there was a formal, according-to-Hoyle wedding between widow-turned-gold-mogul Alma Garrett (Molly Parker) and her right hand man Ellsworth (Jim Beaver). Behind closed doors, other bonds were created or strengthened.The secret father of Alma's baby, Deadwood marshal Seth Bullock (Timothy Olyphant), sat out the wedding to grieve with his wife, Martha (Anna Gunn) over their son, who was killed by a runaway horse. Despite her grief, Martha said she planned to stay in Deadwood and teach the camp's children; Seth resolved to stay with her and make their marriage work. Later in the episode, Bullock met with saloon owner and power broker Al Swearengen (Ian McShane) and commissioner Hugo Jarry (Stephen Tobolowsky), who brokered a deal with the territory's capital, Yankton, that recognized Deadwood's ragtag government and spelled out fine points of residency and voting.
Tellingly, writer Ted Mann and director Ed Bianchi cross-cut between Alma and Ellsworth's wedding and the signing of the Yankton deal. The reading of wedding vows served as unifying voice-over narration: two social contracts cemented in the presence of witnesses. On top of all this, Swearengen joined forces with Chinese immigrant powerbroker Wu (Keone Young) to kill Wu's Chinese rivals and establish him as the sole supplier of cheap labor to newly-arrived mining boss George Hearst (Gerald McCraney). These events pushed the lawless mining camp closer to its goal of becoming a legitimate town, and reinforced the show's underlying narrative: the process by which order emerges from chaos, and civilization creates itself. The hour was organized around images of diplomacy, compromise, favor-trading and punishment - the blood and marrow coursing through civilization's body politic. Deals were brokered, properties purchased. Differences were downplayed, commonality affirmed, stability embraced.
Mining scout Francis Wolcott (Garret Dilahunt), a serial killer of prostitutes, hanged himself. He may have been pushed into it by Swearengen's rival, Cyrus Tolliver (Powers Boothe), who disclosed Wolcott's viciousness to his boss, George Hearst (Gerald McCraney). If Wolcott hadn't done himself in, Hearst probably would have ordered him killed. You can't have psychos running wild; it's bad for business.
The wedding reception occurred in the camp's muddy street and was attended by most of the series' recurring characters. Seeing all these marvelous eccentrics in the same place reminded us of how much they've changed in two seasons - another quality that distinguishes "Deadwood" from the rest of TV, a medium that prefers its characters stay the same from week to week and year to year. Twenty episodes into the story, Milch's characters still get tangled up in ugly, crazy, sometimes violent situations. But you can see the town and its people moving toward stability, one baby step at a time.
Hard-bitten prostitute Trixie (Paula Malcolmson) has distanced herself from her longtime pimp and lover, Swearengen, and fallen in love with law-abiding hardware store owner Sol Star (John Hawkes), who's teaching her the basics of accounting. Foul-mouthed cowgirl Calamity Jane (Robin Weigert) pulled herself out of an alcoholic stupor and befriended brothel owner Joanie Stubbs (Kim Dickens), who needed protection from Wolcott. Jane attended the wedding in a dress provided by Joanie, her pulled-back hair highlighting her scabbed-up face.
The ceremony was performed by the Rev. Andy Cramed (Zach Grenier), a onetime gambler who contracted the plague in Season One and was left in the woods to die by Tolliver. Nursed back to health by Jane, Andy disappeared for a while, then re-entered Deadwood as a man of God, presiding over the funeral of Bullock's son and stifling his rage when Tolliver manhandled him, blasphemed his religion and otherwise 
treated him like horse dung. But he could only swallow his anger for so long. When Tolliver publicly abused Andy a second time at the wedding, Andy stuck a knife in his guts. Like most of the show's violent acts, this one was symbolically charged. Tolliver is a relic who stands for the every-man-for- himself Deadwood, while Andy has changed so much that even old friends had trouble recognizing him. Viewed this way, Andy's attack wasn't an instance of backsliding, but a pivotal event that confirmed the narrative's inexorable forward march.
It's strange to think of "Deadwood" as a life-affirming show, but it is. Beneath its dirty, bloody surface, it's an essentially optimistic, at times oddly inspirational drama. It suggests that while we're all born with certain physical flaws, emotional blind spots and social limitations, our lives are still defined by moral choice, that people and communities can re-invent and improve themselves, and that deep down, the human race craves order.
Moments of brutality are eclipsed by acts of kindness: palsied saloon janitor Jewell (Jewell Brooks) helping Trixie dress for the wedding; Swearengen, who's become a lot nicer since his near-death experience, tossing Trixie and Sol a bribe earmarked for an undercover Pinkerton agent, and asking them to give it to Alma and Ellsworth; Doc Cochran (Brad Dourif) tenderly probing the healed-up gunshot wounds of plump miner Mose Manuel (Pruitt Taylor Vince), then showing him how to touch his toes, spread his arms and take a deep breath. By the episode's end, Wu hacked off his ponytail, cried "Wu America!" and gestured to Swearengen with crossed fingers, signifying their alliance. Swearengen, a brute who once prided himself on owing nothing to nobody, returned the gesture.
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For more on "Deadwood," see "The Deadwood Columns" in the sidebar at right.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
Deadweek: Season 2, Ep. 24: "Boy the Earth Talks To"
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8 comments:
Great wrap-up of a fine season...my one complaint with season 2 was the storyline involving Wolcott the prostitute killer.
Although I suppose you could find all kinds of thematic justifications for this character, as the season progressed it felt as though the writers really didn't know what to do with Wolcott. Especially after he had committed the murders, when the storyline was essentially dropped. Dillahunt's exceedingly mannered performance didn't help.
Interesting that Dillahunt also played the man who killed Hickock in season 1. Keep up the good work!
Simon: I'd disagree about the writers not knowing what to do with Wolcott.
Before and after the murders, his existence had both thematic and narrative justification because Wolcott himself was a rebuke to ideals of community explored throughout the series, in everything from major public gatherings (Wild Bill's funeral, Alma and Ellsworth's wedding) to moments of personal trauma that become collective experiences because they occur in plain view of everyone (the shooting of Wild Bill, the death of William Bullock, Seth Bullock's fight with Swearengen).
Wolcott is insulated from all of this because he is truly a man alone, beholden to nothing but his job and his sick appetites. In a town marked by its operatic emotions, he is distinguished by his inability to truly feel anything -- a sociopath par excellence. His only responsibility is to his boss, Hearst, and in contrast to most major relationships in Deadwood, that relationship is entirely financial, without even a backdoor emotional component. Wolcott has carte blanche to indulge his Jack the Ripper appetities because he's good at his job.
I found it chilling, and on point, to see Wolcott wandering around Deadwood after committing those murders; the death of Wolcott at the end -- hung by his own hand after Hearst expresses revulsion at his behavior, dying alone on a night when virtually the entire town is either celebrating a wedding or is at least aware that it's happening -- is like a bookend to the shooting of Wild Bill. It's as if the town purges Wolcott from its system the way Swearengen purges his gleet. Where Wild Bill's death marks the beginning of the end of Deadwood as a frontier outpost, and the beginning of its march toward "progress," Wolcott's suicide makes the progression official, and unstoppable.
Also, yeah, Dillahunt was mannered, but so is Christopher Walken, which is another way of saying that I never felt he stylized his line readings beyond the realm of credibility; he always entertained me, but also made me feel weirdly sad for the character, an unlikely scenario considering he's easily the most repugnant creature every to scuttle across the streets of Deadwood (and that's saying a lot).
He didn't seem like an abstraction to me, but a courtly psycho with a strange way of speaking, almost like an alien or a robot trying to pass as a human -- an actor's gamble that seemed right to me given the character's cold decadence and fathomless sadism.
I liked Dillahunt as both Jack McCall and Wolcott, and I sometimes hear particular Dillahunt line readings in my head when I don't expect to -- McCall's "That's one in a row fer you, Wild Bill" and Wolcott's "And often to myself as well."
One thing I liked about the Wolcott storyline was that, although his story involved almost everyone in Deadwood, his death gave "closure" to no-one. It was almost off-screen, even.
You feel that in any other drama Joanie would have had revenge or Bullock would be given reason to shoot him. Bullock, though, had barely, if at all, registered the death of a few prostitutes.
As for Dillahunt's performance, I didn't really feel that it was mannered as such. More that Wolcott would be the sort of man who pushes that sort of mannerism to the fore in order to keep from losing his composure and letting his darkness show.
"Also, yeah, Dillahunt was mannered, but so is Christopher Walken..."
-Matt
Garrett Dillahunt is no Christopher Walken......
Simon: I didn't mean to imply Dillahunt is Walken's equal, just that both actors specialize in performances that are more stylized than "real." You could say, of both actors, "nobody talks like that," but theatricality -- what Orson Welles called "bigness" -- can be fun, and truthful in a different way. In any case, I adore Dillahunt in both "Deadwood" roles. I even liked him as Jesus on NBC's "Book of Daniel."
Paul: "As for Dillahunt's performance, I didn't really feel that it was mannered as such. More that Wolcott would be the sort of man who pushes that sort of mannerism to the fore in order to keep from losing his composure and letting his darkness show." Definitely. His whole life is a performance, aiming to convince people that he's a reasonable, feeling human being, rather than a murderous shell.
I just watched this ep. for the first time last night, so allow me to share my most potent reaction from the evening's events: Medavoy! I suppose it says something that the town of Deadwood has finally come to a place where a man of Gordon Clapp's likeably doughy mien can fit in (although the murderous Pinkerton he played in MATEWAN could have moved in a long time hence).
As far as Dillahunt's performance goes, I don't think "mannered" is unfair, but I don't think it's a criticism, either. Woolcott is a man who's always in danger of failing to keep himself in check, one who clings to outward precision and control as a way of regulating his demons. He'd convinced himself that as long as he had Hearst's tacit approval, he might count himself somehow allied with polite society (although as we see in this ep., he significantly overstated Hearst's awareness of his past sins to Tolliver); take that away, and crrrrack.
For me, the most interesting developments in the latter half of the season have do with the situation in (ahem) "Chink's Alley." There was something almost unbearably poignant about Lee (aka the San Francisco cocksucker) saying, "I am a civilized person" (especially given the way the l in "civilized" comes out as an r). I wasn't entirely convinced by Swearengen's rationale for backing Wu over Lee -- it may be the most contorted of Al's exceedingly twisty strategy speeches -- but it was a brilliant touch having Swearengen's men don Chinese masks during the raid, prefiguring Woo's (slightly on the nose) severing of his ponytail, and the "Woo -- American!" moment.
It did strike me that Swearengen has become significantly less ambivalent of a character. Perhaps it's just fear of redundancy, but it does seem that Milch has jumped through quite a few hoops to avoid having Al kill anyone in cold blood this season. (Three nameless Chinamen and the monstrous Lee surely don't count.) Nearly everyone's gotten more likable, with the notable exception of Tolliver and crew. Even Dan, that murderous sumbitch, has been showing his sweet side. I don't mind, myself -- self-impressed grit is the death of a lot of otherwise fine shows, especially in places like HBO where "edginess" is the most valuable commodity.
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