In recent weeks my partner in zombie shuffling Josh Winstead and I have been getting these posts out later and later. In fact, if you're still looking for a recap of 4.13 "Alone," no, you didn't miss something; we never got around to posting it (however, it's at the bottom of this recap). But every once in a while an episode comes along that is so affecting, so devastating, that you feel like you need to talk about it. I didn't get to watch the episode until lunch time on Monday, and by that time I'd already had three emails from friends not spoiling me (thank goodness) but just saying, "Have you watched it yet? We need to talk." Another friend phoned me that evening because he had to talk about it with someone.
Thank goodness this was the week we'd previously agreed we'd aim to get out a post earlier than usual. And now, we crawl back into our fetal positions and continue sobbing.
Dear Josh,
So remember
when I was recently talking about how there's only been one episode of The Walking Dead that's made me cry, and
that was when Sophia came walking out of the barn and was a walker?
Yeah. Turns out
dead little girls are something I can't handle on television. And this week's
episode was beyond heartbreaking.
For several
episodes, spread out over a year, we've had little clues that something weird
was happening in the prison. Who was hanging rats/mice through the fence slats?
Was it Bob Stookey? He's a weird dude. Was it one of the people who hadn't been
introduced yet? Had Daryl finally lost it? And then… whoa, there's a dissected
animal in the basement. Who the hell did that? Bob Stookey's been hanging out
down here a lot (poor Bob… we just kept suspecting him). But… Lizzie's been
acting strangely, was it her? As the weeks went on, Lizzie became Suspect #1 in
that case, and many viewers (including us) began speculating that perhaps she's
the one who killed Karen and David, and that Carol had dragged the bodies
upstairs to burn them. The set-up has been a long one (to the point where my
cousin's wife said to me the other day, after marathoning the series within a
few weeks, that she must have missed an episode because she didn't know who was
feeding rats to the zombies at the prison) but it's paid off in this episode. A
couple of weeks ago we saw a bunch of little dead bunnies in a row on a log,
all left behind by Lizzie Borden Jr., and then there was that frightening scene
where she covered Judith's mouth and nose to shut her up, and every viewer was
on the edge of his/her seat thinking she was going to shut Judith up for
good.
So we knew
something was coming. A confession, maybe? Lizzie going AWOL, something… but
not this. Oh my god, not this. I didn't see this coming at all. And certainly
not immediately following a testicle joke.
It would be one
thing to suggest Lizzie's a sociopath, or that after she lost her parents,
something simply snapped in her head. But there's a scene earlier in the
episode where Mika kills a zombie (Lizzie feels something for the zombies and
believes they have souls and feelings, ruling out the sociopath idea), and
afterwards Lizzie can't calm down. Mika begins reminding her to focus on
something in front of her, and begins counting, telling her to breathe…
something any parent with a child who suffers from an anxiety disorder has had
to do. It was a terrifying scene for me to watch, because I'm uncomfortable
with all-too-real depictions of anxiety disorders on television, having
experienced it in real life. Whenever Nurse Jackie's daughter Grace has an
episode, I feel like I'm going to throw up.
So imagine
realizing that all the calming methods and therapies aren't worth the paper
they're printed on if something truly horrific like this happened. The mentally
ill can't help that they're mentally ill. But if a group of people were on a
deserted island and one of them got terribly sick and couldn't contribute, that
person would be killed. Now we realize the mentally ill would suffer the same
fate. There are no drugs they can find for her, no way to tell her that the
monsters aren't real and everything is OK and she just needs to breathe her way
through it and focus on something beautiful in front of her. No… because this
sort of person "can't be around people" in an apocalypse. A child
with a mental illness can't be helped. They believe the world is a terrifying
place and monsters are real; how can you calm them down when… they're right?
Clearly her parents always used these techniques on her before the apocalypse,
opening closets to prove there were no monsters, that monsters weren't real.
And if there's a chance Lizzie was actually getting better with cognitive
therapy, and believing that there's no such thing as monsters, now her brain's
going the other way and she's looking at the zombies like puppies, rather than
realizing that the monsters she feared all along ARE VERY REAL.
Going back to
Rick's questions — "How many walkers have you killed? How many people have
you killed? Why?" — the answer to that last one would be, "Because I
wanted to prove that when she woke up, we'd be besties." Just as she'd
been counselled all her young life, she was just trying to show Carol there was
nothing in the closet.
As Carol said,
just like Sophia, Mika didn't have a mean bone in her body, so we knew from the
beginning of the episode that she was probably going to die. But at the hands
of her own sister, who was just trying to prove a point? And then for Carol to
have to execute Lizzie for her crime, all the while giving her Mika's calming
techniques — "just focus on the flowers, Lizzie" — like George asking
Lennie to tell him about the rabbits in Of Mice and Men… ugh, it's just
too much sometimes. This episode hurt my heart so much. It was so beautifully
done, but was just too real for me. I'll need some time to recover from this
one.
You're a
parent, too, Josh; I'm assuming this one hit home in big ways for you?
All the best,
Nikki
Dear Nikki
-
About a
month ago, in our write-up for the 'Inmates' episode, I mentioned that I had a
theory about what might happen with Lizzie and Mika based on a brief storyline
from the comics. I didn't want to be too specific for fear I was right, but the
stories differed enough in detail that I was far from certain. Moreover, the
subject matter was so harsh that I suspected it might simply be too much to
address on tv, even for a show this adult and intense. The similarities are
circumstantial, I reassured myself. They wouldn't go that far. Surely they
wouldn't.
Oh, how I
wish I'd been right about that.
(Just the
same - my apologies for the inadvertent spoiler, Rebecca T. and whomever else I
might have tipped off.)
Because,
of course, we've now seen that theoretical connection blossom and yield bitter
fruit.
They did
go there. All the way there. And then blew up the bridge behind them.
I suppose,
however, that if you're planning to play out a scenario as profoundly awful as
this, then it should at least make an impact. 'The Grove' did that very well,
wrapping the tragic story of these sisters and also bringing in and tying up
the loose threads of Karen's murder, giving Tyreese closure and bringing the
magnitude of the New Morality home to both Carol and Tyreese - and likewise the
audience themselves - in the most profound and unsettling way.
The show
has been building toward this moment all season, from way back in the premiere
episode, when we meet Lizzie and Mika as they are naming walkers at the fence,
discussing their persistent humanity, remembering their mother's turning,
setting us up for the conflict to come. So many aspects of the story this year
-- the unknown individual feeding rats to walkers at the prison fenceline,
their father's death on Cell Block D, Carol's clandestine story time training
of the prison kids, the mystery of Karen and David's murders, the pain and
anger of Tyreese's grief, Rick's excommunication of Carol, the dread
possibilities of that vivisected rabbit -- have been diligently pushing us in
the direction of the pecan grove. We just didn't know it yet.
That being
the case, a lot was riding on this denouement, and its sequence of events
served as a perfect peak for the emotional journeys of Tyreese and Carol. That
last scene at the farmhouse, as Carol finally confesses to Tyreese and he
chooses to forgive her, was breathtaking to watch, a masterful culmination of
all these terrible things come down to one last poignant choice. None of it
would have packed half the punch if the entire story arc had not been so
carefully constructed throughout these past fourteen episodes, and kudos to
Scott Gimple and the writing staff for a masterful execution. Coupled with
absolutely searing performances from Melissa McBride and Chad Coleman, 'The
Grove' proves that playing the long game can pay off in a huge way when it's
handled this well.
However,
as much as I loved the delivery, the reality of the point they're making is a
difficult one to take. I believe there aren't many things in this world as
terrifying as being a parent. The responsibility inherent in the care and
rearing of a child is a staggering weight to bear, even in the best of
circumstances. When you add in the many variables of humankind's genetic
lottery, it multiplies that apprehension tenfold. And then, as if all that weren't
enough, you also have to raise them in this world, with its myriad dangers and
inequities pressing in on you from every direction, as constant and inescapable
as gravity.
No matter
how long you work at it, no matter how carefully you navigate the slings and
arrows, you are always nagged by the feeling that you're doing it all wrong,
that everything is about to fall apart, and that when it does, it will surely
be your fault. But even the magnitude of that worry pales in comparison to the
unquantifiables - the thought of those things over which you have no control
whatsoever, that can completely negate every good intention, every thoughtful
lesson, every ounce of love and support you pour into the relationship. The
greatest strength required by parenthood comes from the certainty that at some
point, regardless of what you do, you'll have to let them go. It's a cruel but
undeniable truth, and this episode served as a striking reminder.
I need to
go hug my kids now. And maybe climb up into their beds and just lie there for a
while. Touch their hair. Watch them breathe. Be grateful.
You go do
the same.
- j
Dear Josh,
Already did it,
my friend. I find I'm doing that a lot these days. As the kids get older and
the world gets more complicated (and… as they become more complicated) I find
every night I just go in and stare at them, sound asleep, looking like angels,
and wishing parenting was as easy as just leaning over a sleeping child and
kissing them on the forehead. But it's not. I didn't know what anxiety and
stress were until I had kids. I thought working a 60-hour week and having to
face a looming book deadline on top of it was stressful. I thought having to
work through weekends and still not catching up was stressful. But it's nothing
compared to willing your body not to sleep at night because one of your kids
has a fever and you have to remain somewhat alert in case she needs you. It's
nothing compared to seeing your child become consumed by an anxiety attack.
It's nothing compared to holding your child's head in your hands as you race to
the hospital because he's split his forehead wide open against a door… or
trying to calm the other child who's having another attack because of the dire
fear created by seeing all that blood… or worrying that the bullies at school
have already sensed your child's vulnerability and are preying on her… or
listening to your child talk about how so-and-so is gossiping and trying to
turn the rest of the class against her, and trying your damnedest not to go to
school and hit the other child yourself…
As parents, we
have one job: to protect those children. And so much of that is teaching those
children to protect themselves. We're in an age of helicopter parenting, where
every parenting book says you need to rock your baby to sleep and carry him in a
sling on your hip… no, you need to let that baby cry himself to sleep and learn
independence… no, you need to get a nanny who will give that child lots of one
on one time… no, you need to put them in a daycare where they can socialize…
no, why the hell are you looking into caregivers when you should be staying at
home with them yourself!!… no, you should be going back to work to show the
kids what a strong independent woman you are.
Parenting, as
you say, is trying to be a superhero and a nanny and a counsellor and a best
friend and a protector and a provider… and feeling every day like you're
failing miserably at every one of them. I always wanted to be a different
parent than my parents were. And when my kids were very young, I hoped that
everything I did for them would make them strong and capable and one day, when
they were grown, we would be incredibly close. And now… sometimes after a
particularly rough day where I'm utterly defeated, I just hope that when
they're adults they don't hate me.
I couldn't
possibly imagine parenting in a more labyrinthine world than the one we're in
now.
You are so
correct in that the build-up of the past year was worth it. I've seen many a
series draw out something for several episodes, but it's rare to have done it for
so long, and so meticulously… and to do it so well that many viewers probably
figured, like my cousin's wife, that they'd missed something and just moved on.
And then to have the shock of this episode bring it all back was extraordinary
and devastating all at once. I couldn't help but think of the episode where
Rick exiled Carol, where he basically said to her, "You can't just go off
making big decisions like this like you're somehow, oh, I don't know, ME."
What would he have thought of her executing Lizzie? Perhaps, in Rick's mind
back then, Lizzie could have rehabilitated. "Here, Lizzie, let's grow some
strawberries together and everything will be just fine."
But that's one
of the beautiful aspects of separating the groups like this: Carol is able to
make this decision, which was probably the right one. And the writing is so
carefully crafted this season that the foreshadowing of this episode didn't
just come from the Lizzie and Mika story, but from others folding in. A couple
of weeks ago, Carl and Michonne were checking out a house and Michonne opened a
bedroom door to find an entire family who had committed group suicide together
rather than being ripped apart by this horrible apocalypse. If Lizzie's family
had done that, a husband wouldn't have had to see his wife die… two girls
wouldn't have to watch another woman stick a knife through their dead father's
forehead… they wouldn’t have suffered through the gunfire at the prison… Lizzie
wouldn't have become a murderer… Mika wouldn't have died at the hands of her
older sister… and Carol wouldn't have had to execute Lizzie. Carol shooting
Lizzie through the back of the head just made everything STOP. And at this
point, that's the best one can do, really. The family that Michonne stumbled
upon did the same thing: a mother, by the looks of it, realized that her family
was better off dead than roaming the world as walkers, or being chased
mercilessly by them. The mother probably sedated them, one by one, and shot
them, one by one, and then turned the gun on herself (if that was, in fact, a
mother; it could have been a father, too, but the rotting bodies made it tough
to tell). And now Carol has to shoot Lizzie, telling her to focus on the
flowers in front of her to try to calm her down — still doing the job of a
parent right to the end.
And then… she
tells Tyreese. Of course she tells Tyreese. It was the perfect episode in which
to do that. Rick and Tyreese and everyone else on their high horses could argue
that in this world, you still have to live by the moral codes of the previous
one, but Carol sees what the world is really like. Tyreese tells Carol out in
the woods that she doesn't have to be ashamed of anything she's done in this
world, and he watches a girl kid herself into thinking that the zombies are
friendly, that they're worth taking care of, and he saw Carol do the necessary
thing. And then, when she tells him what she did, he realizes that even then,
Carol had done the necessary thing. From Carol's point of view, much like the
mother of that family that Michonne found, it's easy to hand the gun across the
table when you're at a low point. If he'd shot her, it might have come as a
relief.
But to the
viewers, the relief comes in hearing him forgive her. In a world of pain and
suffering, of constant defeat and hopelessness, forgiveness is more precious
than gold. He says he won't forget, but he forgives her. What a wonderful,
perfect scene. And maybe it's a reminder to all of us parents out here watching
that it's OK to forgive ourselves every once in a while, too. Yes, we make
mistakes, and no, not everything we do is perfect and something the kids are
going to appreciate, but we do what we do because of how much we love
them.
Early in the
episode, Carol is discussing Huckleberry Finn with the girls,
specifically the character of the Widow Douglas, who takes in Huck and adopts
him along with her more rigid sister, Miss Watson. Like Carol, the Widow
Douglas takes in a difficult child and treats him with patience and kindness.
Huck's story has a happier ending, but it's not because of Carol that things go
wrong. When Carol walks Mika out to the woods to talk to her, Mika says
she doesn't feel angry about anyone who kills another person. Carol asks why,
and Mika says she feels sorry for that person, "because they probably
weren't that way before." This apocalypse has changed people. As Tyreese
so eloquently put it, "People who are living are haunted by the dead . . .
the whole world is haunted now."
Carol has been
haunted by Sophia, who didn't have a mean bone in her body. Now she's haunted
by Mika, who was similarly a kind and gentle soul. Lizzie wasn't a monster, but
a little girl with a mental illness, one that simply can't survive in this new,
uncaring and unforgiving world. As Tyreese and Carol vow to head off to
Terminus, they do so with a little baby girl, one that Carol will no doubt
protect with her life. If only to prevent having one more dead little girl
haunting her every minute of every day.
We didn't get a
chance to talk about last week's episode. As the various groups move towards
Terminus, shall we catch everyone up on the others?
Best,
Nikki
Dear Nikki
-
Last
week's episode was a step down from the intimacy and focus the previous week's
exceptional outing, but the pace was similar, as was the sense that the minds
behind the show are trying to give the story some room to breathe, letting
character dictate more of its content than plot machinations. It sounds strange
to say that, considering how obviously our survivors appear to be headed toward
reunion at Terminus. And I do still think it odd that the prison council never
thought to organize an outside rendezvous point in case of attack, particularly
after The Governor's failed first incursion back at the end of season three.
However, it does make sense to think that whomever saw these ubiquitous signs
pointing toward a nearby 'sanctuary' would collectively consider it as good a
place as any to seek one another out. It ain't perfect, I know, but it works
well enough for me.
What's
more important is the way this setup serves to draw out their separation,
re-setting the pace to allow for a more casual examination of the survivors and
their relationships with one another. In 'Alone,' the primary focus was on Bob
Stookey, who we already knew to be a recovering alcoholic with hard losses in
his past, losses for which he blamed himself. Despite the opening flashback to
his time in the wilderness (where he apparently survived on pink frosting and
sizzurp), most of his scenes this week related to his present state of mind,
which is considerably more solid. Through a series of conversations with Sasha,
we learn that he's happy and at peace despite their misfortune, simply because
he wasn't the only survivor this time. He feels like his losing streak has been
broken now, and it's given him a new lease on life and a new outlook on
companionship.
Sasha, of
course, wants to be purely pragmatic, find a place to hole up and hunker down,
push away any hope in favor of security. She's afraid, and she knows that
giving up will be easy to justify under the circumstances. But Bob Stookey
surprises her by sticking to his guns, refusing to give up the pursuit of their
friends.
It's a
nice bookend to the earlier material, which ended with Old B.O.B. telling Glenn
and Daryl that it didn't matter who they were, the unspoken implication being
that at least he wouldn't be alone. Now Bob is dead set on chasing Maggie until
he catches up, even if that means leaving Sasha behind. His drive has developed
into more than just looking for company on the road. They've both had a taste
of family again, and that might frighten Sasha, but it emboldens Bob. Despite
his feelings for her, he knows he can't let Sasha hold him back from hoping,
lest he revert to the sad, stumbling shell he left behind when he first climbed
into Glenn's truck all those months ago.
Lawrence
Gilliard Jr. is a terrific actor, and his work this week elevated a fairly thin
story line into something greater than the sum of its parts. Bob Stookey is no
D'Angelo Barksdale, but I'm glad he's still around. Maybe he'll last long
enough to see whatever is waiting at the end of the tracks.
- j
Dear Josh—
I thought
“Alone” was superb, as recent weeks have been. Daryl and Beth's story continues
from the week before, and now we have a strong, established bond between these
two. Perhaps with some romantic inclinations, but I think what makes it far
more interesting is that they simply care about each other. She's watched so
many people in her family die and feels all alone in the world; Daryl felt
alone in the world even before the apocalypse. As he lay in the coffin (which I
was really hoping wasn't some sort of foreshadowing) and asked her to keep
playing the piano, there was a strange look on his face: he cared about someone
and felt like she really got him. Just as the episode title suggests, these two
have felt "Alone" for so long they're now trying to find their way,
step by step, back to the feeling of togetherness.
The fight
scenes with the walkers were particularly intense in this episode, especially
as Daryl led them to the basement away from Beth, trapping himself in a tiny
room in the base of a funeral home with nothing to fight with except… oh wait,
these steel gurneys and scalpels will work just fine. How much did I love that
even with a dozen walkers chasing him, he still stopped to yank one of his
precious arrows out of the chest of the dead zombie on the stairs.
But when he
finally gets out and past everyone, Beth is gone. He runs… and runs and runs,
as if he's somehow going to catch that car. In this world, that might not
actually be a crazy thought; there could be three drops of gasoline in that
tank for all he knows. But he runs out of steam, right next to the train
tracks, and just sits down. Like Bob Stookey was in the flashback at the
beginning of the episode, he's all alone. Daryl’s lost his tribe, and where he
used to be the guy who preferred it that way, now he longs to be with other
people. Because he's next to the train tracks, will the next person to pass by
him be… Carol? Maggie?
Unfortunately,
the other people happen to be the crazy guys who were occupying the house Rick
and Michonne were in. D'oh. So who took Beth? We last left Michonne/Carl/Rick
running away from Jeff Kober's people, so maybe they got a car? But wouldn't
they have stuck around for Daryl? Could it have been Glenn?
One thing I
think we need to keep in mind is the timing is all wonky this season, which I
like a lot. They established that in the second episode back, when we jumped
from one story to the next, but the second story actually took place before the
first chronologically. Which means, this Carol/Tyreese story could have taken
place before the Daryl/Beth material. We saw the burning pit of zombies in “The
Grove,” but I don’t remember seeing anything about that (if I’m missing
something obvious, I know all y’all will correct me). Which means that story
might still be coming. The question was, when Jeff Kober and his guys were in
the house with Rick… was Daryl already with them? Is it possible that happened
after the scene with Daryl joining them at the train tracks? We saw one guy
take the bed, another guy knock him unconscious to get the bed, and a guy that
Rick killed in the bathroom, and Kober’s character on the porch, eating. But
there were other voices in the house… was Daryl one of them, or are they coming
from the house when they meet up with Daryl?
Only two
episodes left after this week’s devastatingly beautiful outing. One where we
probably need to get Glenn back in the vicinity and perhaps get some clues
about the whereabouts of Rick/Michonne/Carl (who we haven’t seen in three
consecutive episodes now) and Beth/Daryl, and the last one, where presumably
they’ll meet up again at Terminus. I know we’ve grumbled a lot in previous
seasons about the show not having any shape, but if there’s one thing the
second half of season four has shown us, it’s that the writers are bringing
their A game now. I haven’t been this affected by an episode of television
since the Red Wedding on Game of Thrones.
Rest in peace,
Lizzie, Mika, and whatever little person once filled those tiny baby shoes.
Love,
Nikki
