Well, she was drawn actually, but hey, I spent seconds on that pun.
You've been with the professors
And they've all liked your looks
With great lawyers you have
Discussed lepers and crooks
You've been through all of
F. Scott Fitzgerald's books
You're very well read
It's well known
Because something is happening here
But you don't know what it is
Do you, Mister Jones?
Bob Dylan, Ballad of a Thin Man.
1.14- 'The Coup'
OK, I'm hooked. The combination of the Rambaldi stuff and the interpersonal stuff in these episodes, while not knock-out crackling, has cemented the slow burning interest I've had in the series, to the point where when the second one ended, I had to stop my instinct to go straight on and watch a third. Hence your rather early evening reviews. It's Sunday, I should be resting.
The fourteenth episode is quite funny. Orci and Kurtzmann, who as a partnership wrote the first non-Abrams episode of the show, have a feel for the characters that equals Abrams' own, if not quite as much genius for paying out interesting speeches with interesting lines. Here though, they inject a bit of silliness and (as Xander would put it), bawdy French farce into the proceedings, as Sydney's social and professional lives come into full-blown conflict. As a result of this, we get people self-consciously examining their own roles within their jobs and hence their characters, and allow them to shed temporarily the shawl of earnestness they have about them the majority of the time.
Croutons in this gigglesome soup:
-The previouslies are starting to irritate me a little. I know they're trying to compress the concept of the show into four massed-produced sentece-packages, but need we see the same thing over and over again. Vent ends.
-I like this idea, this perpetual touchstone of the series, of inheritance. Somehow, now Sydney has found that both her parents were spies, she feels as if she's the most at home in the environment is her birthright, and was almost feted to happen all along. This in turn ties in with the ideas of fate conferred on the plot lines by the Rambaldi arc. There are all these problems of birth and nurture inveigled into the fun action show, consolidated by the presence of Jack, and burnished by the revelation of Laura Bristow's heritage, so that Sydney feels the time may be right to shed the persona of college girl and get on with the life and death of her existence; perfectly literally.
-And so she goes to see her English teacher to withdraw from her course on American literature, and is told to rethink the idea. The whole plot from this point onwards is underscored by the idea of making our own way in the world, coming to our own view of ourselves independent of parents. Sydney's exploits in the Tarantino held-up SD-6 in the preceding episode helped her to establish her worth as an agent herself, wuite outside the influences and confusions of Jack or Laura, and in fact largely without the crutch of support of Vaughn. In this episode, though, we are persistently reminded of the dangers of following a parent into a line of work: that it can become so routine you stop to talk about your friends wedding plans; that it can get obsessive, (partly in an ongoing desire to emulate your parents) and lead to ruptures with your best friends, and that you can end up swinging hundreds of feet up in the air from a twirling rope in a Moscow backstreet. OK, strike that last one.
-At the same time, we have Sydney really wondering about whether her desire to become a teacher was a real desire of her own, or whether that itself was just a spectre of her current situation, an ideal she wanted to pursue merely because of the idea of replicating her dead mother's absence. Of doing what she wanted to do. The puzzle is never jigsawsolved for us, which is a relief. We're left with the intractable exploration of how our parents' exploits shape us still hanging in the air, like perfume out of place in a Vegas betting hall.
-When we see our hero attempting to come off her course, she's been handed 'The Tragic Hero: studies in F Scott Fitzgerald' which was part of her work. How do we react to this. Firstly, Fitzgerald expressed as well as anyone the problems that come sidling up to you in their dirty mackintoshes when the American Dream, the centrefold of so much cultural sanctity, becomes tarnished. The whole CIA/ SD6 storyline also has echoes of that. At heart, we are supposed to believe that the CIA is a good organisation with noble, [OK, I said it, noble] ambitions. However, the secretive nature of their operation, the use of people who must destroy their lives in order to be functioning agents, and the quotidian presentation of the greyer sides of morality to its inhabitants leaves the intentions of protecting the USA and allowing it to thrive buried under sullied ephemera. The CIA, like Gatsby, wanted to pursue the green light across the harbour, the perfect dream encapsulated in Daisy, the American way of becoming rich through self-belief. In the end they find the aim so difficult to pursue that the complexity of their pursuit becomes complex and mottled. In Gatsby's case, it is too difficult to stomach altogether. In the CIA's case, they attempt to soldier on.
In the meantime, what of Sydney Bristow? A character who joined SD-6 in the best intentions, hoping to help her country. Who was betrayed by them, and now betrays innocent colleagues whose own ambitions are unknowing betrayals of the CIA, whom they believe they are working for. Is she to end up tramelled under the foot of Cole or Sloane, or a million other 'careless people...who tore things up and then moved on' [quote approximate, apologies to the Joneses out there!], and be Gatsby? Or will she turn out to be the great observer and the great survivor, the Nick who in the end has to go away to consider what it all means, but comes back stronger in the end to tell the amazing story? The mystery remains as to whether Sydney is the tragic hero she wrote about, or a new mould of hero, one who can transcend the crumbling ideals of the world that betrayed her, and rebuild herself with transitory hopes and aspirations, like simple moments of good. It's the distillation into network TV form of Cat Steven's maxim that, in a world as uncertain as that of Alias, you'll still be here tomorrow, but your dreams may not.
What Sydney can never become, due to the emotional wholeheartedness of her investment in whatever she does, is the pallid academic who reads Fitzgerald but never feels the mayfly sadness of the 1920's generation, never connects with the dogeared, (yes, I dogear), pages of the work he reads with a maniacal determination. Sydney is an incarnation of a Fitzgerald character, rather than the Mr Joneses that Dylan met and disliked so vehemently.
One final footnote on this subject- is it accidental that in an episode with a Gatsby theme, Dixon inter alia, becomes Buchanan?
-While good things just go on smashing in Sydney's life, the biggest trauma of all is the breakdown of the apparently perfect engagement of Charlie and Francie. Initially, it seemed Francie's distrust of her to-be-fiance was just carefree jealousy, but in time it's shown to be real, and has to be revealed by Sydney rather than the cowardly Charlie, not wanting to hurt her but failing to admit to himself that the hurt has already been inflicted. It's another good thing gone bad, a wedding made in heaven festering in dank pools of chaos, (oddly, no, I haven't been reading Edgar Allen Poe. I don't know what's come over me. Fitzgerald, maybe). The problem comes to a head when Syd plays poker with Dixon's safety in leaving him playing poker with their target. Here the juggling balls of Sydney's life come perilously close to knocking each other out of spin, and it's only by the skin of her teeth that everything survives intact. The scene between Francie and Sydney later is one of those excellent dramatic scenes that enshrines a realistic situation which is not clear-cut, Seventh Heaven simplicity. What Francie says about Sydney's job taking over her life is entirely true. However, it's also true that Francie's attack on Sydney os motivated by her rage at Charlie, and she understandably shoots the messenger. While Francie quickly comes to realise that her anger was misplaced, Sydney is nevertheless made to think about the kernel of truth contained in Francie's outburst. How often do we find out what somebody dislikes about us, (fairly and honestly), when we are being chastised for something that genuinely holds no water?
-The Vaughn/Sydney romance continues to build slowly, steadily.
-Is their such a word as 'surveilling'? If there is, scrap it. It there isn't, don't invent it. That will be all.
-And Jack actually touches Sydney on the shoulder this week. What tenderness! Anyhow, it means as much as various hags would do in other shows. It's odd how saving up physical affection can really make little things mean so much more.
-And with nary a complaint about Sark's sillily imperfect English accent, (cf Alexis Denisof, young man, and don't come back until you've got it), we segue into...
1.15- 'Page 47'
I'd go as far as to say I loved this episode. Mostly it earnt my adoration through the careful backstory that previous episodes have built. But when we get to a set-piece dinner in a television show, we tend to balk at the idea of a couple of people's intentions becoming the pivot by which we must see the meal. Here, the scene was an unmitigated delight. And that's because we have five people: Will, Jack, Sloane, Emily, Sydney, and they all have subtly different thoughts about what each other is saying. It's not broad bands of opinion which divides the table into two sides or anything. Each of them knows vaying amounts about each other. I mean look at the schematic:
Will: Thinks he's met Sydney's father once before politely, new to the Sloane's, a friendmaybemore to Sydney
Sydney: Deceiving Sloane, her boss and grasping Page 47 from safe, friend to Emily, father helping her on mission, Wil her best friend and that only, as far as she can see.
Emily: Husband, one of husband's best friends, her friend Sydney, and the new Will, who's intriguing to her because she has seen his articles in the newspaper and enjoyed them.
Jack: Under the suggestion of best friendship with Sloane, is deceiving him. Has recently intimidated Will without him realising it. In league with Sydney, non-plussed by Emily's babbling.
Sloane: Casts himself as a new believer in the Rambaldi mystery to Sydney, seeing her as surrogate sister. Regards Will as a possible thorn in SD-6's side, with his wife frail and not needing over-exertion, and Jack being his capable assistant.
When all these facts and nuances are bound together and then used as well as in the serially fascinating dinner sequence, it's a delight to watch- like a later episode of Firefly (um, except way better Masq. Way, way better ;-)).
Fragments which lead to the genius moments:
-There are some truths Sydney must never learn', says Sloane to Jack. Whether the father believes this to be true is a moot point, but he rarely makes an effort to spill the beans for Syd. To complicate matters, Sloane's observation is also a threat, an indictment to be careful not to raise his ire, otherwise he might just let facts, accidentally, slip.
-I liked the elegant, double use of the phrase 'Fish' in the Petersburg discussion about The Man's operations. It calls back Luco Brasi sleeping with the fishes, in this most Godfather-recalling show.
-I like the complication and eventual strength of Vaughn's argument with Syd about exploiting Emily, who's dying of cancer. His eventual argument about it being Emily's last chance, even unknowingly, to do some good, is persuasive at the moment, but starts to decompose once you look at it carefully. Nonetheless, the intellectual battle between Vaughn and Sydney continues to be interesting.
-Sloane's left handed, (good news for his writing then). Another person joins our ranks. Whether I want to be in the same rank, (or file) as Sloane is another matter. But he's great to watch.
-The Will/Sydney scene as he's awoken after being tortured by Jack? very clever indeed.
-What did Rambaldi see? asks Sloane leadingly, only omitting the phrase, tune in next week to find out. it continues to be the show's mystery in an enigma wrapped in a riddle, (Churchill had it in the wrong order, dear), and pulls the plot forward effortlessly.
-There's a whole interesting dimension added to the question of Bosses who don't treat their employees rightly in Wil's award winning story, and watching Arvin shuffle uncomfortably in his chair while Emily listens wide-eyed is delightful. It's set into context by Sloane's earlier killing of an innocent man, casually laced into the script.
-Feminism alert: oh, hooray, another female character! Oh, she's powerless and dying of cancer. I know Alias only pretends to be a show about strong women, (at most it's a show about a strong woman), but surely they could think this through a little harder. As a bonus in this episode, Jenny is slightly callously dumped by the tortured But Right Will. Those women hey? Always complainin'...
-I loved the work in of the liquid in the vial uncovering the details on Page 47, like one of those magic colouring books where you add water. Plus, the best, most personal cliffhanger to date!
Doesn't the time fly by when you enjoy yourself. I apologise for this entry having more references than an Empson poem, but on the upside, I don't have a long straggly beard.
Thanks for reading.
TCH