The House Next Door

My main reaction upon this episode wrapping itself up was a fervent wish that shows like Deadwood just be released 12 episodes at a clip. I don't want to wait another week for the next installment, though it will give me time for a reviewing that will provide a deeper reading of the rich dialogue.

Cy even told the Rev. about his reawakened interest in the Good Book, in regretful and oddly touching tones. Who could have imagined that these two would have so much to talk about?

If your viewing of the first five episodes contributed to this analysis, Matt, I don't want to know - I avoid severe Deadwood spoilers when I can. Based on Episodes 25 and 26, though, I read this scene more as scheming by Cy towards some end with Andy rather than a legitimate, if slightly crazy, interaction.

Cheers

James: How about a trick answer to a trick question? I've seen all five by now, and I've watched the premiere three times and the follow-up once. So yeah, I have a professional advantage in guessing where the season is headed. However, I'm mindful of the fact that most viewers don't get HBO screeners in the mail two months ahead of time, so when I write a recap, I try to project myself into a mindset where I'm only thinking about the episodes everyone else has seen, and trying to phrase things in terms of probables rather than likelys. I ask, "If I had no idea of anything that's about to happen in episodes three, four or five, what would I be thinking right now." Does that make sense?

It may sound strange to you, but as much as I enjoy getting TV screeners in advance of premiere dates, and going to press screenings of movies before they open, I remain somewhat jealous of people who experience TV and movies along with everyone else. It's just more fun that way -- the collective excitement or disappointment. The upside of seeing stuff in advance is you see it in advance (instant gratification). The downside is, you have to wait X number of weeks to be surprised again.

PS, for what it's worth -- where "Deadwood" is concerned, this blog presumes everyone reading has seen Seasons One and Two, thus none of the contributors trouble themselves about spoilers. With Season Three, which is only now underway, we're trying to be as careful as we can.

PPS--Remember, Cy doesn't bust out that Bible for the first time during his conversation with Cramed. He handles it and mentions it whenever we seen him in the first couple of episode of Season Three.

Plus, in re-watching the Season Two finale prior to Deadweek, I realized there's a big scene where Cy frames an elaborate threat/proposition in terms of a conversation with The Lord, in malevolent but bouyant tones reminiscent of Robert Mitchum's Preacher character in NIGHT OF THE HUNTER. So it's clear that Cy's thinking is already framed in the language of scripture, scumbag though he is.

PPPS--Am I the only person who's floored by how good Kim Dickens is this season?

I've always like Dickens, since I saw her for the first time in ZERO EFFECT, I think it was. I was happy to see her listed in the cast for this show, and even when Joanie had not been fully fleshed out in the writing yet, the actress projected a sense of her complex inner life.

Very good stuff as usual. But why did you neglect to mention the gun Cy had in the scene with Andy?

It's debatable whether Cy would have pulled the trigger, but I don't think it's debatable that he wanted to. You have the advantage on me having seen more episodes, but I think you'd agree that it's possible for Cy to want to kill Andy and embrace the Bible in equal measure?

I thought Boothe's reading of the "Where is the strength" line you referred to was clearly sarcastic. Cy may be in a sickbed, but he still has a tight reign on his little corner of the camp.

This episode got me thinking about the evolution of Al. When we first meet him in Season 1, he's murdering and conning his way to wealth and a Mob-like control of Deadwood.

Like many people, after seeing the pilot I assumed the show would revolve around Al's assorted criminal enterprises and the efforts by Bullock and others to keep him in check. I'm almost always wrong about these things, but I imagined that Season 1 would turn on Al's efforts to silence Sofia, the lone survivor of a massacre that Al has engineered.

Obviously I was wrong. The thought I want to get to (and would like to hear comments on) is that though Al still engages in murder and other misdeeds, there was a point when he began to care about the future of the camp as much as his own interests. When was it? What made him make that decision? Al wants to make a living just like everybody else, but there are certainly many aspects of Deadwood he can't or won't control. Yet he battles Hearst and negotiates with politicians anyway. (And yes I know there's something in it for him)

Thanks for letting me ramble...

Simon says: "I think you'd agree that it's possible for Cy to want to kill Andy and embrace the Bible in equal measure?" Absolutely. Milch's characters are torn by conflicting, unresolved impulses; that makes them so much more exciting than most TV characters, who are basically a fixed personality type with two or three quirks thrown in for spice. Rather than hewing to the usual either/or dynamic -- either a vicious bastard or a God-fearing, Bible-reading man who sincerely wants to be a better person -- DEADWOOD permits a character to be both, often with two or three other warring traits/impulses thrown in for good measure. Is Al a self-interested gangster cutthroat or a burgeoning statesman? Both. Is Bullock a fearless reforming lawman and good husband/father, or a hypocritical adulterous bully who vents his temper on anybody who gets in his way? Both. Go down the cast list; most of the major characters are that conflicted and contradictory; they contain multitudes.

Plus, Deadwood has an Old Testament sense of fate/justice/moral choice, so having Cy be sincere about faith yet incapable of controlling his rotten impulses seems of a piece with the show's spiritual temperament. As my colleague Alan Sepinwall has noted elsewhere in this forum, Milch, a reformed addict of various sorts, believes every person has the capacity to redeem or transform himself. But that's not the same as saying that everybody has the strength and courage actually do it, much less the discipline to stay reformed rather than reverting to the old ways.

As for Al's exact change point, I am not convinced that there is one. Alan and I discussed this on a few occasions -- chime in here if you want, Alan -- and neither of us could identify a particular point when a switch got flipped. It seems like a change that's still in the process of happening, and I think if you could enter this fictional world and ask Al point-blank when he started to give a shit about the camp and his future, he wouldn't know how to answer.

That's how it happens in life, right? You wake up one morning and realize you're not the same person you were six months ago, or six years ago, and you're not exactly sure how you got from point A to point B. It's not the sort of journey that can be measured in mile markers.

PS -- I didn't think that line reading was sarcastic. I'd be interested to hear what other viewers thought.

PPS -- I did mention the gun originally, but then I had to explain that he seemed to have picked it up more out of habit, or perhaps a subconscious wish to make Andy pay attention, rather than a desire to terrorize or shoot Andy. (Andy's fearful reaction seemed like a perfectly understandable overreaction to me -- but of course other viewers might feel differently.) I ended up cutting the entire description of Cy picking up and handling the gun because it seemed like too much information. In retrospect I wish I'd left it in, but in column writing, not every choice you make turns out to be the right one.

Matt, you mention the false dichotomy of having to choose whether Cy is a murderous thug or God-fearing Bible thumper, well, I'd say the same for having to pick a moment where Al went from being completely self-interested to caring about the camp. I think he carries both desires, it's just that now he realizes that his self-interest is best served by a camp that is more than merely an extension of his appetites. Al's always been a Big Picture kinda guy, willing to lose a few battles in service of the larger war. It's just that now he more clearly sees how a healthy and thriving community might better allow him to achieve his own long-term ambitions. Unlike Hearst, who is short term, exploit the land and people for all you can get as quickly as possible then get the hell outta Dodge kinda capitalist.

Dan: You write, "I think he carries both desires, it's just that now he realizes that his self-interest is best served by a camp that is more than merely an extension of his appetites." Interesting way of putting it. It sounds like you're saying Al is behaving unselfishly for selfish reasons.

But that begs the question, at what point does the gangster posing as a statesman become a statesman posing as a gangster?

It's like one of my favorite Kurt Vonnegut lines, from MOTHER NIGHT: "We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be."

There's an interesting six-minute featurette currently available on HBO on Demand where Milch talks about the new season. One of his insights regards Bullock: As I heard it, Milch sees the character as a psychopath (due to the shapings of a physically and psychologically torturous childhood) who has encased his potentially murderous rage within the confines of a career in law & order. A reading I never considered until now, and I think back with some measure of regret on my first season/first episode review of a few years ago, which myopically suggested that Deadwood would be much more white-hat/black-hat than it turned out. Nice to be proved wrong. And so consistently at that.

Anyways...

>there was a point when he began to care about the future of the camp as much as his own interests. When was it? What made him make that decision?

Although I agree with the comments that Al's transformation from compelling anti-hero into a brilliant strategist who has more or less lost the anti (consider Bullock's unambiguous alignment with Al) has been gradual and organic. However, if you have to pick the one great moment of change, there is only one word: gleets.

As with all my posts here, I realize that I clicked "post" before proofing. Please mentally drop the "Although" that begins the first sentence of the above comment and pray for an edit function to be added at some point. I'll be over here, enjoying the flavor of foot.

Yeah, I have to agree with Hayden about Al's big moment of "change." Of course the stones weren't the ONLY thing which moved him to a more community-focused administrator, but Al's near death experience did seem to usher in a major change, both for Al and for the camp. (I think it was one this blog that someone mentioned it, but Al's incapacitation in the beginning of season two allowed the town to grow as well.)

There are probably other pivotal moments, too, but the kidney stones seem to be a rather significant area of Al's personal journey over the course of the series.

Matt: I guess what I'm trying to say is that Al is beginning to see that his self-interest and the community health's are not necessarily mutually exclusive. If we were lucky enough to live in a utopia, wouldn't they be the same?

Hayden, Tom and Dan: Yeah, the gleets were a big signpost, to be sure. But Al's community-mindedness still seems curiously incidental -- a guy doing the right thing for selfish reasons. It's not like he said, "After that, I'm going to be as good a person as I can." In his mind, he's still a cutthroat, profit-minded schemer.

Plus, Al was doing good for the town in Season One as well, most notably in the finale, when he pretty much cemented Bullock's decision to accept his destiny as sherriff. He putatively did this because he thought Bullock was a murderous ape who could be manipulated and controlled, but it soon became obvious that he was his own man, yet Al courted/coerced/cajoled him into his office anyway. On some level, Al must have known he'd be good for the town, not just good for Al.

But as Dan points out, that's the fun conundrum of Swearengen. What's good for Al is good for the town, and vice-versa. It's actually in his best interest to go legit, and ironically, every community-minded decision he makes pens him more tightly into respectability. He's like a guy who goes to church every Sunday to keep up appearances, then a few years later finds himself standing behind the pulpit.

I thought the key quote for Cy's real frame of mind was "Deception don't preclude a search for fucking conviction." (Or something like that. Its hard to remember where the "fucking"s go without a transcript in front of you.) The whole Bible thing is partly a schtick, an attempt at camouflage while in a weakened state, but Cy is also driven by his demons to actually look for answers. As has been pointed out, Cy is the damned version of Al, without his sense of the need for community or even normal bonds of affection. Yet he occasionally senses his plight. His mania about Joanie is driven by his instinct that his feelings for her are his last remnants of genuine human emotion. Once she's out of his life, he really will be nothing more than "a monkey throwing his shit" at people as he tries to rob them. The show seems to ask the question, who's worse off: somebody like Hearst who's equally cut off from normal human contact but is unreflective about the consequences, or somebody like Cy who is tortured now and again by the knowledge of what he's become?

Matt said: How about a trick answer to a trick question?

Fair enough! I didn't even realize it as I wrote it, but that is a bit of a trick question. "Tell me if this effects your thinking, but if it effects your thinking I don't want to know."

Remember, Cy doesn't bust out that Bible for the first time during his conversation with Cramed. He handles it and mentions it whenever we seen him in the first couple of episode of Season Three.

Very true. He quotes Matthew off the top of his head in the scene with Andy, so he obviously isn't just using that bible as a prop when somebody comes in. Also, he seems legitimately hurt by Joanie's "When you speak, I feel like it's the devil talking."

It may sound strange to you, but as much as I enjoy getting TV screeners in advance of premiere dates, and going to press screenings of movies before they open, I remain somewhat jealous of people who experience TV and movies along with everyone else.

I can see that. Though, I wasn't so much referring to advance screening for critics, as a direct-to-DVD series. We won't be seeing anything like that anytime soon. For most of these the goal is to get a return on investment before the DVD, and something like that would probably be too much of a risk. But it would certainly strengthen the "series as novel" concept that is emerging.

Matt, you beat me to the Vonnegut quote, and RD, to the critical line from the episode regarding Tolliver's maybe/maybe not conversion. The first episode deliberately led us to think that Tolliver was faking his coming to Jesus, mainly in (yet another) attempt to bring Joanie back into his orbit. But it seems all that reading of the good book has wormed its way into his diseased mind, which somehow has ended up making him even scarier than he was before. If there's anything more frightening than a murderous lunatic, it's a murderous lunatic who thinks he has a direct line to god.

Mightily impressed by this episode, although I need to rewatch to suss out some of the nuances of the dizzying cross-cutting. I do like the way the episode reaches what ought to be a high point in the town's development -- democracy comes to Deadwood! -- and then can't seem to maintain interest in the speeches as long as Al and Hearst are talking upstairs. Farnum's blatant anti-Semitism (another perverted use of the Bible) was a way to make an already repulsive character even more so (although his ineptness was, as always, delightful); nice that Star, rather than hitting back, merely picked up the thread of Biblical references and beat Farnum at his own game.

In the end, though, the long-awaited speeches were of no more import than the drunken babbling that opened the episode, although this time, it was Swearengen and not the speakers who got hurt. It hasn't taken Hearst long to show his true color, or to metamorphose from the upright, clean-shaven man of 2.12 into a shaggy street-fighter. That he's now out not just to bend Swearngen to his will but actively take his place was confirmed by the episode's last shot, which showed Hearst assuming Al's traditional place on his newly constructed "veranda," overlooking the town while a crippled Al takes refuge below. I don't mind waiting a week for the next episode (and in fact am ignoring my screeners) when there's this much to think about.

One logistical question to the TV pros: Any significance to Milch taking co-writing credit for the first two episodes?? Even though it's well know Milch writes most of the show himself, the credit has generally gone to other writers (perhaps since Milch feels his name is already on the show enough). What's the process for determining who gets credit?

Farnum's blatant anti-Semitism (another perverted use of the Bible) was a way to make an already repulsive character even more so (although his ineptness was, as always, delightful)

Phil Nugent, an always-brilliant writer and good friend, quipped elsewhere: "Who knew that Pat Buchanan was writing Farnum's speeches now?"

If there's anything more frightening than a murderous lunatic, it's a murderous lunatic who thinks he has a direct line to god.

Tolliver = Bush's proxy?

I've seen the episode twice but I'm not clear on something. I understand that the Widow Garret (now Mrs. Elsworth) left Bullock in charge of her estate (previous to her marriage) which would then be Sophie's estate. The idea being that in order to fend off potential litigation from the Pinkertons, her claim would have to be sold to Hearst (who would be far better equiped in affecting the outcome of any court case). What wasn't clear to me is who would actually be Sophia's legal guardian? Bullock or Elsworth?

Whew I've still got the vapors from eppy 26. A question: Is Al left-handed? He pours his coffee w/it. I dont remember seeing him write anything. Hearst probably just really really broke the hand as I don't see Al going around with every frame a pinky cgi'd out? This could also hamper his knife-wielding. What a performance that ending was.

In Cy's case, there dont appear to be a whole lot of adult books in town, so the bible would be most convenient (and a long recuperatory read.) Wasn't Lila reading one in season 2? She wont be reading it currently that's for sure; needing it, yeah, reading it, nah. I, personally, think Cy is faking--Jane might call it, malingering.

Since historically the Bullocks have daughter(s), this would be a handy way to get one (Sophia) but the plot isnt apparently going further in that direction (yet.)

DAMN I LOVE THIS SHOW! I even visited DW in Feb! What a place!

After watching episode 26, I remain perplexed with the decision to do induce Alma's miscarriage. That the fetus is no longer viable suggests all too strongly that nothing good can come of the union between Seth and Alma. Nothing but violence, lawlessness and dead offspring seems to be the message of this pairing, which in my humble opinion is one of equals.

Positioning Martha - who is increasingly morphing into the patron saint of Deadwood - as the counterpoint to Seth's volatility, and fashioning her as the vehicle for his emotional stability, political ambitions and children, is far too convenient a plot device. She functions as a surrogate maternal figure and guide not only to the camp's children but also to Seth, who views her as his salvation. Seth seems to want to fall in love within the confines of righteousness – however, no matter how affectionate he tries to be, his interactions with Martha are stilted and contrived. I hope that their conversation over tea wasn't meant to be delivered as the beginning of "sparks"; it washed over as forced flirtatiousness. To have Seth fall in love with Martha's magnanimity and goodness would be a cliché not fitting of the unsentimental nature of Deadwood.

Seth needs to face his demons, which unfortunately include his love for Alma. His reaction to her heartfelt "I regret nothing" was that of a terrified child. He could have let the woman he claimed to love last season die on that operating table/ butcher block without as much as an affectionate word. He is unable to unravel his innermost feelings; inserting Martha into his life now essentially saves him from ever having to look into his heart. Martha is no better than Alma's dope – a Band Aid masking a much deeper wound.

As far as the bigger picture goes, I believe that a pregnant Alma would have been a far more interesting ingredient to throw into the imminent mêlée between Seth, Al and Hearst. What a hotbed of inbred complicity that would have been, and what metaphors could have been assigned to that unborn child…it boggles the mind that such possibilities were sacrificed.

One question I have is what is Al's long term goal with regard to the camp? What is the payoff for going up against such a powerful player as Hearst? Is it simply continued power over the camp?

One interesting thing I noticed was that the "undeserving" sherrif candidate's main point was that the town needed a Fire Brigade. Historically the town of Deadwood was devastated by a fire. It seemed like a throwaway line because at that point the crowd had mainly dispersed and his speech was poorly delivered. The scene seemed to be showing how he could never be a respectful sherrif of the town since no one respected (or feared) him, but it was interesting that his ideas would actually be useful for the town.

Well, anonymous, Power is an Aphrodysiac, you know.

Good question, though. What motivates people in general to be so acquisitive, whether it is of goods or power? It has to point to a character defect, and Al has more than his fair share of those. I reckon the psychology student would point to the abusive childhood and formative years in an orphanage where the headmistress was selling people into prostitution. Al cannot imagine letting loose the reins (reigns) of power for fear that such horrors may be visited upon him again by Hearst, that cold-blooded San Francisco cocksucker father figure?

That's a good point about the Fire Brigade, since the name Deadwood comes from the dead wood surrounding the town, DUE to fires. I got a creepy feeling tho, about Harry admitting that he LIKES fires. Maybe, just maybe he will be the cause (we may never "know" unless its included in the dubious 2 future movies) if he was responsible (in Milch's mind only) for the mysterious fire which destroys the town in the not so distant future...payback maybe, for losing the sheriff's race?

Bullock's reaction to Alma's admission was also a mystery to me. I would agree that his maturity is in question. But still, she's potentially on her deathbed, and they both know it! The decision to abort was a sound medical one since so many women died in childbirth and Alma certainly qualified as a candidate there.

As a longtime lurker, I want to thank posters for their philosophically insightful comments.Sorry if my replies are mostly "about" the show itself. Not that "inwardly mobile," I guess. :(

Matt,
Since you have the advantage of having seen the first five epiosdes, can you comment on Alma's addiction and her marriage to Ellsworth in general terms so as to not spoil it too much? On interviews the actors have suggested a "dramatic" relationship and the trailers haven't suggested the romance that I had hoped for; I also got the impression that Ellsworth would not survive Hearst.

In the blogosphere where a day is a week, I feel like last month's news to be continuing to comment on this episode, but I only just viewed the damned thing, so indulge me.

Sam: I need to rewatch to suss out some of the nuances of the dizzying cross-cutting. I do like the way the episode reaches what ought to be a high point in the town's development -- democracy comes to Deadwood! -- and then can't seem to maintain interest in the speeches as long as Al and Hearst are talking upstairs.

This is my favourite scene in the episode. Not only is it a treat from the "film"making end, with the public show contrasted with the private one, and a tremendously suspenseful bit of business (when the Captain attacks Al and Hearst wield that hammer, I confess to an attack of the vapors), but it also gives us the truth of Deadwood in a nutshell. The shills running for public office are the front men for the potent businessmen, the puppet masters manipulating everything from behind the scenes, and waging pitched battle for control over the camp's (and their own) destiny.

This has been a tremendous start to season 3.

Has it ever occurred to anyone (besides me) that Cy's backstory might include an evangelist father? Even before he did the God-Cy monologue for Hearst, he had demonstrated a significant distaste for religion, as shown by his reaction to Lila telling him she always prayed for him, and Tess reading the Bible.