Tag Archives: lawyer

Better Call Saul 2.06 – Bali Ha’i

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“How about your payment is that you get to live?”
“Not enough.”

Mike is once again confronted with certain dangerous elements, and on two separate occasions on this week’s episode of “Better Call Saul.” What is truly fascinating about the construction of the character is that, given an event where any reasonable audience member would fear for his certain doom, we already know that Mike is going to survive – he’s already in a chronologically much-later sequence of events in “Breaking Bad.” Knowing beforehand that he’s going to make it through, the suspense is remarkably just as palpable here, as we wait to see exactly how the plodding old man manages to wriggle free from closing nets.

Mike’s apparent disregard for his own life, it must be noted, allows him to battle beyond his means. Bravery and intellect help him compensate for ‘bad knees’ and age. And his devotion to what remains of his family makes him easily the most sympathetic character of the show’s entire ensemble (he assumed the throne once Saul quit making ice & food deliveries to Chuck). The total of Mike’s written dialogue for any episode of “Better Call Saul” could be scrawled on a note-card, but a tremendous amount of his thought process is acted through body movements, eye rolls, facial expressions. What’s most interesting about Mike – a character I’ve already insisted is the most interesting character in the whole of the Gilligan-verse – is how his character seems to very closely mirror the trajectory of Walter White in “Breaking Bad.” He is a man with little or nothing to lose, willing to go to any length for his family, loses himself, and dies in the process.

It’s just a bonus to us, I suppose, that the circle finally closes with Mike dying at Walter’s hands. It’s an almost Shakespearean way for the character to die.

The connections to “Breaking Bad” have been steady over the past several episodes, including cameos of Krazy-8, last week’s introduction of Hector Salamanca, and now this week’s reintroduction of “The Cousins.” The arrival of The Cousins was like something out of a horror film, a startling moment in a television program that, thus far, has been noted for its deliberate, slow pace.

Speaking of those connections, it has dawned on me that Nacho Varga isn’t a character in the “Breaking Bad” series. I thought long and hard about this while he sat in the background at the shop at the end of this week’s episode, overseeing Mike’s meeting with Hector and The Cousins. Nacho is still stuck in the middle of all of this, and when Mike hands a conciliatory $25k bundle of bills to the side-dealing Latino, I began to immediately speculate what kind of untimely and grotesque fate awaits the man. At this point it’s just conjecture, but I suspect that Nacho isn’t going to survive the series.

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This week also finds Kimmy and Jim running an almost identical series of professional mishaps and frustrations. Kimmy suffers under the lunch-denying thumb of Howard Hamlin. Jimmy struggles under the constant and corrective watch of Davis & Main’s 2nd year stickler, a role expertly and irritatingly played-off like the most loathsome of teachers’ pets. Jimmy is miserable and resentful and Kim becomes increasingly aware of the tenuousness of her position at HHM.

In a brilliant sequence, we watch Jimmy unable to sleep in his king-sized, well-adorned corporate palace. He wrestles with the bed-sheets, kills time bowling with condiments, and eventually gives in, returning to the cramped office at the nail salon. I’m reminded of the Brooks character from “The Shawshank Redemption.” The aged criminal, finally released from his concrete cage, can’t adjust to life in the real world. He has nightmares, forgets where he is when he wakes up, and daydreams about committing a crime just so he can get back to the life he was used to at the penitentiary. In many ways, Jimmy is so used to his hand-to-mouth former life, all of the rewards of the corporate life are actually more of a burden. He’s Tom Hanks from “Cast Away,” preferring to sleep on the floor rather than the comfy pillow-top bed in his hotel suite.

This effectively illustrates how ill-suited he is to his new life, and suggests to us that he is beginning to realize he needs to find a different, more independent path.

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Up to this point in the series – and in this episode in particular – what has been accomplished is a thorough setting of the table – all the chess pieces are in place. Mike’s conflict with Hector Salamanca and the Juárez Cartel, Kim and Jimmy’s parallel dissatisfaction in their respective workplaces, and an eventual statement of purpose between the two.

All of the loose ends appear to have been trimmed, and we’re ready for the mad-dash to resolution. I don’t think that Jimmy’s coffee cup – “World’s 2nd Best Lawyer” – is just a throwaway joke. Every time he sits in his fancy new car, he gets angry that it won’t fit in the cup holder. Even though the car is nice and new, and represents everything Jimmy thought he would want out of a career, it just doesn’t fit – literally. So how does he solve his problem? He breaks it. He breaks the cup-holder to make it fit. Just like he breaks any law or rule that prevents him from getting what he wants, or what he thinks he wants.

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Better Call Saul 2.05 – Rebecca

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Kim Wexler postFINE ART PRINTS AVAILABLE HERE

The female characters in the works of Vince Gilligan often come to represent family, responsibility, order, and process. The audience inherently regards the Skylar White character from “Breaking Bad” with disdain, not because she is morally wrong, but because a hijinx-appreciative audience wants to watch Walter White continue on his destructive trajectory. The women who would reign in these corrupt figures are intuitively the “bad” guys.

That’s the conundrum of Kim Wexler. In many regards, we haven’t been provided the appropriate opportunity to sympathize with her, even if we recognize her as the voice of reason, perpetually trying to talk Jimmy away from bending and breaking the rules. We have seen moments of quiet intimacy between Kim and Jimmy, and we even got to watch her execute a confidence scheme in a hotel bar alongside her wayward friend. This is what elevates her from the status of Skylar White; we know that Kim is drawn to shenanigans, even has an appreciation for how artfully Jimmy is able to find his angle, but she also occupies a moral realm. She can taste the fruit, but life goes back to normal in the morning.

This week’s episode, titled “Rebecca,” gives us an opportunity to walk in Kim’s shoes for a bit, and we understand how she has come to occupy the “nagging wife” archetype. Jimmy himself is experiencing his own form of house arrest, with a new babysitter named Erin, hired specifically to shadow slippin’ Jimmy and make sure he plays by the rules. Kim’s in the dog house and Jimmy’s on a leash, and we watch as they both attempt to adapt to their new circumstance.

The cold open is a also an interesting and revealing glimpse into the past, a dinner with Jimmy and Chuck immediately following Jimmy’s move out west to begin his new career in the mail room at HHM. Chuck’s mental illness hasn’t gripped him yet. Polished utensils, chandeliers, jazz music on the hi-fi stereo adorn the scene. And we’re introduced to a new character: Rebecca, Chuck’s wife, a celebrated violinist and a personal acquaintance of Yo-Yo Ma. The scene is underplayed and deceptively simple, but what it reveals is Chuck’s refined bourgeois lifestyle being disrupted by his brother’s beer-swilling and artless boorishness.

Rebecca is taken with Jimmy’s charm, laughing at his jokes and smiling while Chuck is left aside to scowl. There is resentment, here. Jimmy has an ease and charm about himself that Chuck cannot comprehend, and certainly doesn’t appreciate. At the end of the flashback, Chuck tries telling a joke to Rebecca, hoping for a similar laughing response – but he fails. This undercurrent of anger and resentment colors the entire dynamic between the brothers, and we become much more aware of the Biblical ‘Cain and Abel’ dynamic at play.

The brothers are engaging in silent war. The book-end of the McGill conflict occurs at the end of the episode, with Chuck telling a story about his father to Kim. We learn that Chuck blames Jimmy for their father’s death, and his story is an obvious attempt to poison Kim against her friend and sometimes lover. Simultaneously, he insist that he will talk to Hamlin and try to get her out of the doc-prep dog house and back into an office. At the beginning of his sermon, he points out how destructive and self-interested Jimmy is. He ends his sermon by demonstrating that he is the only McGill that’s willing to go to bat for her. It will be some time before we see how she responds to the brothers, each yanking her in different directions.

The most interesting aspect of the episode is in it’s title, which doesn’t only refer to the introduction of Chuck’s absent wife. A.R. Magalli of CutPrintFilm astutely observes:

“‘Rebecca,’ the 1938 novel by Daphne du Maurier, is the story of a woman caught between fighting in the present over the wrongs of the past, largely the death of the titular Rebecca. The novel’s protagonist is used as a pawn when those devoted to the deceased try for revenge on who they feel is responsible. Here we see another Rebecca disappeared, and the man once devoted to her, Chuck, using another woman as a weapon against the man he may feel is responsible for her death or disappearance, Jimmy.”

There is little chance in the Gilligan-verse for this to be a coincidence. Painterly sweeps of light, the color palette of the offices of HHM, the connective-tissue of the narrative – all are carefully mapped-out, infusing “Better Call Saul” with a tension and an identity that sets it apart from anything else on television. This is among one of the most literate programs ever produced, asking more questions than it answers and peeling away at the layers of each individual character with slow deliberation.

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Better Call Saul 2.02 – Cobbler

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Saul Is Born post“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised I have to tell you this. But it’s probably a bad idea that you willingly talk to the police, being a criminal and all. ”

Jimmy McGill (Bob Odenkirk) doesn’t disappoint as season two inches forward. Last week, he explained his perspective clearly enough, explaining to Kim (Rhea Seehorn) that the reason he liked being a lawyer was because he likes to sell people, persuade them into believing him. He also put it bluntly, after pulling a con on a loathsome businessman at a hotel bar, that “I don’t have to be a lawyer to do that.”

But he still takes the job offer in Santa Fe, eventually. We’re left with the impression that he’s more curious than passionate about the position, but it’ll serve his interests for the time being. Company car, salary, and his own office – including an almost too ‘on-the-nose’ painting of a man slipping on ice.

This week, we see one of our first concrete glimpses into the Saul Goodman we known from “Breaking Bad.” Jimmy spins an intricately detailed fiction and sells it to the police to disrupt an investigation into his client’s extra-curricular drug dealing. How does he do it? Easy as pie – or cobbler. He invents a tale that plays into the jaded worldview police detectives: people are stupid and sick and anything, no matter how ridiculous or depraved, is possible.

Jimmy reserves the right to break all the rules, and his lies have migrated from hotel bar and into his profession. This is the first crack in the facade, and temptation is no doubt going to continue chiseling away at his already-flimsy sense of morality.

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Nebraska Life

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Fallen Saul postThe return of “Better Call Saul” on Monday has seen me reacquainting myself with the show’s first season. Anybody who has been a fan of “Breaking Bad” and “Saul” will understand that most episodes warrant multiple viewings; the narratives are layered, the characters complex, and the writers go to great lengths to embed interesting symbols – easter eggs, if you will – into each episode.

It is always fun watching genre-bound comics break through with powerful dramatic performances. With a great script, rubber-faced slapstick goof-ball comedians often turn in remarkable performances. One may never have believed Jim Carrey could play a dramatic role, but “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” turned a lot of heads. Bill Burr, albeit a secondary character, was given an interesting opportunity as one of Saul’s fixers in “Breaking Bad.” Bob Odenkirk, who plays the titular character in “Better Call Saul” has himself spun some incredible magic bringing his character’s internal struggle and moral complexity to life.

There’s little doubt that “Saul” is a strong show, replete with powerful performances, but season one ended with a whimper. The writers have taken great care to make Jimmy McGill relatable, sympathetic, and three-dimensional. This is necessary if we’re to care at all as we watch his gradual descent into corruption and moral ambiguity. Nevertheless, the phenomenal performances and fascinating back-stories haven’t led to any concrete gasp-worthy moments, which is what we have been preparing for. I think this has a lot to do with the rhythms set up by “Breaking Bad,” but “Better Call Saul” has proven to be a different kind of program. The ten-episode set-up of season one didn’t lead to a satisfying catharsis, car chase, murder, or any other kind of earth-shaking revelation.

Season one of “Saul” is a sentence without punctuation. It’s a beautiful sentence, yes, but we are left without knowing quite how to feel. We know the ultimate fate of Mike Ehrmantraut. We know that Saul Goodman flees Albuquerque under an assumed identity, relegated to the life a low-rent fast food manager, always looking over his shoulder. What we don’t know is where he came from, not entirely. We’ve been provided with some interesting details, but the picture is still undeniably incomplete. What we’re still waiting for is a solid explanation: when, exactly, did Jimmy McGill ditch his birth name and become Saul Goodman? When did he lose his soul? How did he lose it? And why?

Hopefully, season two will satisfy some of these questions.

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Better Call Saul 2.01 – Switch

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Saul On Knees postBetter Call Saul has a tricky, if not wholly problematic, premise. We, the audience, already know what’s at the end of the line for James McGill (a.k.a. Saul Goodman, played by Bob Odenkirk). The series begins by showing us exactly where he winds up after escaping New Mexico at the end of Breaking Bad. He is trapped and miserable in Omaha, Nebraska, paranoid, afraid for his life, working under an assumed identity at a local shopping mall. And when you already know how the story ends, great care has to be taken with the narrative in order to keep the story interesting and the characters dynamic.

Season one sets up the chess pieces, the key players, and the motivations. The themes are ultimately borrowed from Faust, the noble doctor tempted by the devil into abandoning his morals for wealth and accolades. Who the devil is in Better Call Saul, we’re not sure. There doesn’t appear to be a Mephistopheles here; the titular character is at war with himself.

Season one explains why con-artist-turned-lawyer Jimmy McGill transitions from a reformed con-artist to slithery lawyer. The first episode of season two, appropriately titled “Switch,” pushes forward. If we have already begun to understand why he abandons the idea of leading an altruistic life, the show is now beginning to show us how he does it.

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Season two picks up right where we left off, moments after Jimmy decides that he no longer needs to satisfy the wishes of his mentally ill older brother Chuck (Michael McKean). Frustrated by failed attempts at establishing a legitimate law practice, he resigns himself to living a morally ambiguous life – a life he seems much more adept at living. The episode steers into territory we’ve only experienced in small vignettes during season one. Above all else, “Switch” explores Jimmy’s relationship with Kim Wexler (Rhea Seehorn), illuminating the nature and details of their intimacy.

The two characters live their lives in seemingly assumed roles, playing characters that aren’t true to who they really are. Jimmy is preoccupied trying to live up to his brother’s standards, and Kim is preoccupied with her professional ambitions. Beneath it all, the two characters experience a sense of freedom together that their personal and professional lives don’t allow. They become giddy, playful, and optimistic when they’re together; apart, their jobs and responsibilities bleed the enthusiasm out of them. Kim occasionally drifts out of her role to spend time with Jimmy, but always returns to the workaday world. Jimmy turns his back on the best opportunity to become a lawyer that he’s ever had – although he does, eventually, take it, and we know it won’t last.

“Switch” is a great title. It’s yet another in a parade of Vince Gilligan tropes. In this case, it refers metaphorically to the transformation of Jimmy McGill. It also refers, quite literally, to the light switch in his new office. A sign is taped over the light switch, with printed instructions to “never ever turn off.” Oppositionally defiant, Jimmy can’t help himself. He peels the tape back and flips the switch into the ‘off’ position. He looks around. Nothing has happened.

It’s a wonderful metaphor for the character. He cannot – absolute can not – abide by the rules, so he breaks them. In this instance, at the close of the episode, he flips the switch. He broke a rule and there is absolutely no consequence. If that isn’t telling, I don’t know what is.

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