513: 'The Song Remains the Same'
Wr: Sera Gamble & Nancy Weiner
Dr: Steve Boyum
Synopsis: To prevent the Apocalypse before it ever starts, Anna travels through time to kill Sam's parents before they conceive him.
Review: Trust Sera Gamble to take a plot premise that's been utilised on the show before and turn it into something resoundingly original and engaging. Season four's superlative 'In the Beginning' sees Dean transported back in time to before he and Sam are born, thrown into the lives of his lovestruck parents and given the opportunity to change history so that his mother never succumbs to the brutality of the Yellow Eyed Demon. The song essentially remains the same here, natch, as a frighteningly militant Ana throws herself back to 1978 in an attempt to prevent Sam from ever being born and the brothers follow suit, struggling to resist the temptation to interject 'for the better' and put an end to what they perceive to be their miserable existence. In the hands of lesser writers, such similarities would render the episode frivolous and predictable. However, Gamble and co-writer Nancy Weiner know better and what results is a top notch marriage of dramatic ennui and mythological advancement.
The key to its success is all in the pacing. From the moment that Ana interrupts Dean's somewhat risque dream, it's heads down, pedal to the metal, no turning back. The narrative commences its trajectory, with the viewer believing that Ana has returned for honourable reasons and that her mission is of the utmost importance. There is an immediate sense of urgency established which permeates the subsequent sequences as we move directly into the resolution of this trope, bypassing any extraneous incident or moments of character introspection. The story just gets on with it, throwing twists and turns at us in glorious succession. Very quickly, we discover that Ana isn't trying to help the brothers at all and that her time banged up in Heaven has changed her. Cue a spectacular fight sequence, some wonderful two-handers between she and Castiel and a breakneck narrative that captivates just as much as it mesmerises. In any other show, this would form the meat of the episode, but not here. Instead, this is merely the preface to the main event as the plot shifts a few gears after only the first act, becoming something entirely different in the later stages.
It's a somewhat brave move to transform your story in this manner and to do it in such a way that effectively decreases the momentum. As Sam and Dean are (re)introduced to their young parents, the motifs change dramatically; the characters inevitably find themselves questioning what they can do, how they can prevent the seemingly inevitable from arising. While the show has touched on this before, it remains a relevant and realistic concept and is distinctly well-handled. Gamble addresses the issue and resolves it quickly, demonstrating to both parties that nothing can change. Essentially, they would be no better than Ana if Mary took their advice, divorcing John and running off into the sunset. It's heartbreaking to see them realise it, which is a testament to the strength of Padalecki and Ackles's respective acting talents, but it is a necessary epiphany and one that ties neatly into the episode's thematic web. Credit should also be given to the actors portraying Mary and John, who deliver whirlwind performances with what they're given, making it seem like they've been part of the show's framework since the very beginning, not simply since last season. John is particularly good when he discovers the truth about the demon world and even exhibits shades of Jeffrey Dean Morgan at times, most notably as he's insisting that he can draw the symbol on the wall.
Of course, in amongst all of this, there's the small matter of the debut of the one, the only, motherfracking angelic Michael to contend with. After easing the pace of the plot in the episode's mid-section, Gamble ramps it up again with this knockout of a sequence, mercilessly slaughtering Ana to begin and then unpacking a whackload of mythology on Dean's ass in a spectacularly shot and written scene. Remarkably for something so loaded with development, it comes across as rather methodical, feeling less like an information dump and more like a tempered, natural progression. Michael's likening of his own situation to Sam and Dean's and his rationale for occupying the Winchester's meat suit is very effective and adds further shades of grey to this already refreshingly murky paradigm. There's a notable sense of foreboding about the whole thing too, which is perhaps due to the eerily composed manner in which Matt Cohen plays the part.
A pretty darn spectacular episode then and one that recalls Supernatural's more recent penchant for playing with its own format, taking chances with its narrative and making brave and unconventional decisions regarding the structure of its stories. At once packed with mythology and resoundingly introspective, 'The Song Remains the Same' acts as a blueprint for how this show should operate, providing a thrilling roller coaster of engaging plot and insightful cornucopia of character examination at the same time. Predictably, Sera Gamble stands victorious again. Unquestionably brilliant. 9.4
514: 'My Bloody Valentine'
Wr: Ben Edlund
Dr: Mike Rohl
Synopsis: The brothers take on Cupid when the people of a small town start killing each other in the name of love. However, they soon discover that a greater power is responsible.
Review: You know you're onto a winner when your episode's named after a superlative cult noise act from the early 1990s. 'My Bloody Valentine' is a dastardly little rascal of an episode, a televisual upstart, if you will, that defies convention, flies in the face of expectation and simply refuses to sit still, flitting intermittently between genres and storytelling styles to produce a melting pot of scrumptious goodness, an encapsulation of all that is so bloody brilliant about this most flexible and daring of shows. And perhaps predictably, it's from the indomitable pen of one Ben Edlund, the man responsible for a plethora of Supernatural's most memorable moments (the talking Teddy bear? All Ben).
What is perhaps most remarkable about 'My Bloody Valentine' is its ability to present a number of genuinely comedic moments within a narrative that is chiefly concerned with the progression of the season-spanning narrative. At its heart, the central story is desperately bleak, focusing on the harrowing effects of Famine being free to roam the Earth. We're treated to a superbly macabre teaser sequence that moves from cliche-ridden schmaltz to one of the most grotesque ideas ever presented on the show. It's executed so seamlessly and with such verve that it remains with you long after the episode has finished and is one of those stark visuals that undoubtedly has a place in the annals of Supernatural history. People eating each other while having sex? Yeah, you're not going to forget that one in a hurry. There are a number of other superb conceits too, particularly the idea of the guy eating himself into an early grave and Castiel's craving for red meat, but the icing on the squeamishness cake has to be Famine's grand entrance in the cafe, which contains just about every gluttonous, debaucherous activity known to man and is genuinely terrifying (the guy putting his hands and head into the fryer? Jesus!) However, amongst all of this horror, the script maintains an undercurrent of humour that manages to work in con junction with the more serious elements to create something truly rich.
Evidently, some of the more hyperbolic moments of repulsive excess become humorous by virtue of their extremism (Castiel's penchant for burgers being one of them). However, there are other amusing nuggets here, the most notable of which is the debut of one of many Cupids. Edlund's writing is absolutely perfect, making use of every beat and nuance to manufacture something so patently absurd and contrary to every behavioural convention to which Sam and Dean adhere that it's howlingly funny. Every detail is spot on: from the guy's nakedness to his childlike enthusiasm for the concept of love; from his ridiculous 'handshake' to the moment he begins to cry when his feelings are hurt. And in order for all of this to work so well, Cupid requires a foil, something that Edlund takes great delight in delivering. The reactions of the central cast are just priceless: Dean gets angry, Sam feels awkward and Castiel, well, Castiel just doesn't know what to do and his laconic, aborted attempts at comfort are certainly enough to tickle your funnybone, if not have you in stitches. It's a neat idea at its core too, and one that slots nicely into the show's mythology: that Heaven might have a hand in orchestrating love, in determining who can and cannot 'couple up', so to speak, in order to ensure certain destinies come to pass, is both a nice notion and a somewhat scary one, since (again) it demonstrates the callous disregard that those upstairs have for free will.
This draws an uncomfortable parallel with the machinations of those downstairs too. Effectively, Famine is manipulating the entire cast throughout, robbing them of their ability to temper their hunger, to use their free will to prevent them from, say, sticking their heads in the deep fat fryer. Once again, Supernatural refuses to paint its apocalyptic war in demonstrable black and white, instead choosing to illustrate the murky and complex nature of everyone's motivations: hell, you need only look to the plight of poor Sam for evidence of that. His struggle to resist the temptation of chowing down on the ol' demon blood is harrowing to watch, especially when it's accompanied by a hefty slice of dramatic irony, since the viewer knows Famine's minions are heading to the hotel when Cas and Dean leave the poor boy there. And while it's neat to see him saving the day, albeit through the use of his dangerous powers, the effect is qualified by a saddening coda in which he finds himself forced into cold turkey, locked in the 'panic room' in Bobby's house until purged of all that he has consumed. Comparatively, Dean's juxtaposing character expose, while far less visceral, is no less heartbreaking. The idea that Famine cannot affect him because he's 'dead inside', incapable of feeling the way he used to, sits well with all that's happened to the character in the last season and a half and gives Jensen Ackles some decidedly meaty beats to play, to which he rises admirably (tell me you weren't a little choked up by that last scene... go on!)
All of this and we still haven't mentioned Famine himself, who is just fantastic, a real tour de force of casting and representation from all involved. Really, this guy is astoundingly eerie and is arguably one of the finest villains in Supernatural history which, frankly, is saying something. Still, in an episode so loaded with brilliance, it's easy to bypass a few things. Yet again, Ben Edlund provides us with a script bursting at the seams with engaging ideas and insightful character development, moving effortlessly between genres, throwing grotesque horror, superlative humour and highly suspenseful drama at us with reckless abandon and clearly loving every second of it. Five years and ninety six episodes in, Supernatural still surprises and delights with each passing week. If only more shows could follow suit. 9.3
No comments:
Post a Comment