234. Hands full

Right after Wade Garrett establishes that Dr. Elizabeth Clay has a level of intelligence too lofty to support a kiester of such magnificence, he slides back to a full upright and locked position and says to Dalton, “You’ve got your hands full, kid.” In any other movie I might not assume this was a deliberate double entendre, but in any other movie I wouldn’t have heard the phrase “balls big enough to come in a dump truck.” At the very least Wade is speaking both metaphorically and literally about what Dalton’s hands are full of.

So let us assume this is crude wordplay. What does Wade mean by connecting the mind with the body in this fashion? Might not the meaning of the phrase derive from implication rather than connection? Somewhere in the combination of the Doc’s sparkling intelligence and surpassing beauty there lies what we might call her soul, her chi, her life force, the thing that makes her her. More than being outwitted or banged into oblivion, Dalton is at risk of being trampled by the wild horse energy Wade himself has been attempting to gentle all night. In his own macho way he’s saying the whole is greater than the sum of her parts.

“Mindhunter” thoughts, Season 2, Episode 4

Even as Bill investigates a series of child murderers, the investigation of the child murder that was discovered in his wife Nancy’s real-estate listing takes a disturbing turn. Their son Brian, it seems, was part of a group of children who killed their toddler playmate; it was he who found the key to the vacant house, and he who suggested arranging the boy’s body on a makeshift crucifix. The episode ends almost the moment the disconsolate Nancy reveals this information to her husband, as it probably should. Nothing more can be said.

Except that the real-life Bill Tench, Robert K. Ressler, never went through this with his own son. By all accounts, the show made this storyline up from scratch.

The question is whether this large a leap from the reality of the situation is worth the effort. It wasn’t on, for example, Masters of Sex, a similarly high-minded period piece about cutting-edge research on human behavior. Michael Sheen and Lizzy Caplan’s Masters & Johnson had their family lives changed around to give them obnoxious teenagers with screentime-devouring personal problems, an infamous prestige-TV pitfall the show actually went out of its way to create for itself.

We’ve already sat through a season-plus of Dr. Wendy Carr, Lesbian, with minimal difficulty. Her queerness is a solid method for establishing her as different from the straight and narrow (in every sense of the words) FBI world, and the pathologization of homosexuality commonplace at the time is a way of demonstrating the blowback bad research can have on innocent people; both of these are important aspects of the BSU for the show to tackle. Plus, it simply gives Wendy, and actor Anna Torv, a bit more to do than show up and be smarter than everyone else—nice work if you can get it, but hardly enough to make a character out of.

The situation with Bill’s son strikes me as very different, and potentially very detrimental. If it turned out that one of the founders of the serial-killer concept had a child murderer for a son—well, that would come up in virtually everything every written about the study of serial killers, right? America’s Most Wanted founder John Walsh’s son fell victim to serial killer Ottis Toole, and that gets talked about every time Walsh and his program are discussed, to cite a comparable situation. There will be a marked drop-off in verisimilitude unless this is made central to the saga of the BSU going forward.

Perhaps even more crucially, it has to be central to the show as drama. Maybe this is just me repeating my oft-cited principle, via Mad Men‘s Matthew Weiner, that when you kill a child on your show, your show must then be about that death, since life itself would be, too. This has to go double if the child is killed by another child, triple if that child is the son of your main character, quadruple if your main character studies killers. Anything less would throw off the emotional machinery of the entire show.

A good procedural needs to be taught, tight, and relentlessly logical in how its characters think and act. Is Mindhunter Mach 2 a good procedural? We’re about to find out.

I reviewed the fourth episode of Mindhunter Season 2 for Decider. This is an unusually long excerpt because I think everything it discusses is vitally important.

“Mindhunter” thoughts, Season 2, Episode 3

This isn’t wisdom from on high, doled out to us in the audience by mad-genius investigators. It’s more like seeing Bill and Holden and Wendy slowly clean out a messy room until only the important things remain. Watching the hard work and leaps of intuition that go into what we now take as common sense is what sets Mindhunter apart from the rest of the procedural pack.

I reviewed episode 3 of Mindhunter for Decider.

233. Yee-haw!

As if he’s conducting a stress test of his own sexiness in order to locate the precise point at which he goes from “Ooh, who’s that guy?” to “Ugh, it’s that guy,” Wade Garrett lets out a teensy little “Yee-haw!” while dancing with Dr. Elizabeth Clay. They’re doing a country-western two-step (the actors took lessons of their own volition), and Wade is singing along to the chorus of George Strait’s throwback classic “All My Ex’s Live in Texas,” and then out it comes, an airy falsetto version of the signature yokel yodel. It sounds like the kind of voice you use when you make one of your pets talk. It sounds like Mr. Hanky from South Park. It sounds like the polar opposite of the gravelly baritone we’ve come to know and love from Mr. Sam Elliott, everybody’s cowboy daddy. But note the reaction from the Doc: a breathy laugh, probably imperceptible if you’re more than a couple feet away from her, but eminently perceptible if you’re her gentleman dance partner. Congratulations: You’ve done the dorkiest thing imaginable, and made a woman laugh the way she might if she were particularly delighted by the way you kiss her neck. The Way of Wade Garrett is circuitous, but you can bet there’s a cold beer and a satisfied woman at the end of it every time.

232. Brains/Ass

“That gal’s got entirely too many brains to have an ass like that.” That would be Wade Garrett speaking, developing the science of the brains/ass ratio before our very eyes, and behind Dr. Elizabeth Clay’s ahem let’s say behind her back. He’s hardly being subtle about it either, tilting his head almost 90 degrees to get a better look at whatever’s swishing around under that loose-fitting floral-print skirt. Just, ogling her right out there in the open, the diner staff and the diner patrons and Dalton can all get a good long look at Wade getting a good long look at the Doc’s impeccable hinder. And I don’t understand why he’s checking her ass out with his head tilted sideways anyway, unless asses work radically differently in Jasper, which we know having seen two of them including Doc’s they do not.

Crude? Yes, but knowing Wade we’re lucky he didn’t say it right to her face. What’s a little good-natured objectification from a guy who’s already shown you his pubic hair? Look, I won’t pretend to understand the Way of Wade Garrett in every particular—the Dalton Path is more my field—but the bottom line (wink so hard my eyelids fuse) is that he is a man who enjoys brains, and ass, and the to him unlikely combination of the two. He’s saying Elizabeth is as good as it gets, and based on that metric it’s a hard point to argue with.

231. The Dance

It’s morning, and Dalton, Wade, and Elizabeth are drinking beer and coffee at their second dive of the…night? Because they’ve stayed up drinking till dawn at at least two establishments that we know of, three if you count Dalton and Wade’s initial meeting at the Double Deuce. None of these three dives, it should be noted, are the dive to which Dalton took Doc on their earlier date. Jasper is a town consisting solely of auto dealerships and greasy spoons. I wonder what their Chamber of Commerce meetings are like.

Anyway it’s morning, because seconds after exposing his bush to Elizabeth, Wade insists on going someplace “more romantic” to dance, and everyone likes dancing up and down the aisle at a diner, ordering beers at like 7am amid the breakfast crowd, right?

Wade and Elizabeth do, that’s for goddamn sure. They do a jaunty two-step to George Strait’s “All My Ex’s Live in Texas,” complete with a reedy little singalong of the title phrase from Wade. He spends pretty much the entire time purring at the Doc. No, he won’t be telling her how great a guy Dalton is, he’ll tell her “how I want you for myself” instead. He’ll make fun of his yawning protégé’s staying power: “He’s great comin’ out of the gate, but not much for stamina.” He’ll put his hand in Doc’s golden hair, the other on her back, and they’re real close together now, no room for the Holy Spirit between these two. And in the end they press their hips together, hips being used euphemistically here, as he dips her so low she’s upside down, and they look at Dalton and they laugh, because it’s funny, isn’t it? It’s funny to just really really really clearly want to fuck your best friend’s girlfriend, and funnier still that she clearly wants to fuck you, and funniest of all that neither of you give a fuck that your best friend/boyfriend sees it all. You have to make your own fun in this town.

“Mindhunter” thoughts, Season Two, Episode Two

In Mindhunter Season 2 Episode 2, we pay a visit to a Mr. David Berkowitz. This enterprising young man brought the largest city in America to its knees and sent cryptic communiqués to the press and police before finally getting caught over a parking ticket. He’s one of the most famous serial killers of all time, known to one and all as the Son of Sam. And he’s damn lucky that’s the self-applied nickname that stuck, as opposed to alternate choices like “The Wicked King of Wicker” or—well, let’s hear it from Bill Tench.

MINDHUNTER 202 CHUBBY BEHEMOTH

Oliver Cooper guest stars as Berkowitz in the latest of Mindhunter‘s series of serial-killer cameos. His waxen features and schlubby, slouching posture in the role are perfect for illustrating the disconnect from these creeps’ delusions of grandeur and their often pathetic reality. Indeed, by fluffing up his ego, FBI Agents Bill Tench and Holden Ford are able to gain insight not only into their current quarry, Son of Sam wannabe BTK, but into Sam himself, getting him to admit that his demonic-possession story is bullshit. With a smirk, even!

It’s enough to make you fantasize about a version of Mindhunter that’s just these sit-down face-to-face interviews, like In Treatment with the Boston Strangler.

I reviewed the second episode of Mindhunter for Decider. This is a much better show than it used to be.

“Succession” thoughts, Season Two, Episode Two: “Vaulter”

Never let it be said that Succession doesn’t know its audience. Effusively chattered about by New York’s downwardly mobile professional media chatterers, the series this week served up an inside look at its fictional BuzzFeed/Gawker equivalent, “Vaulter.” (The company name doubled as the episode title.)

The fake headlines generated in the storyline about the gutting of a once-promising new media company display the kind of laser-focused contempt that the phrase “it takes one to know one” is meant to cover; whoever came up with “Meet the World’s Richest People Trafficker (He’s a Surprisingly Nice Guy),” “5 Reasons Why Drinking Milk on the Toilet Is Kind of a Game-Changer,” and “Is Every Taylor Swift Song Secretly Marxist?” has a devotée’s, or perhaps even a veteran’s, familiarity with the milieu.

[…]

The thing about the Vaulter storyline is that all the jokes are the obvious ones if you follow the media business at all. Clickbait, SEO, Facebook algorithm changes, unionization, almond milk in the cafeteria, a lot of good-looking twentysomethings with glasses, pivot to video, middle-class marxism, union busting … yes yes, we all get it.

What I don’t get is why jokes so accurate they barely qualify as jokes require such a slovenly wind-up. The looseness of Succession—the improvisatory stop-start feel of the dialogue with all its repetitions and “um”s and “yeah”s, the amount of time spent watching people just walk into rooms, the handheld shakicam and its innate inability to stay steady for long—better befits more nuanced material, where giving the audience the time and freedom to interpret and focus as they will is a necessary component to the filmmaking. Here it just feels…lazy. Like, all this just to say that rich people fuck over the poor(er) people who work for them, especially in digital news media? Billions would do this in a two-sentence exchange between Wags and Dollar Bill and have plenty of room left over for Paul Giamatti in a bondage harness. (Billions is also way too tightly written a show to generate joke headlines like the above, which as funny as they are undercut the vital-to-the-story notion that this might be a business worth saving.)

I wrote about Succession‘s pander-fest of an episode this week for Decider.

“Mindhunter” thoughts, Season Two, Episode One

The killer is already inside the house. The woman doesn’t know it yet. She puts down her groceries and calls out, but only the sinister sound of Roxy Music’s nightmarish song “In Every Dream Home a Heartache” can be heard in response.

That, and the sound of a door shaking under the strain of a rope tied to the knob.

She makes her way down the hall, calling out “Honey?” She sees the door shake. She opens it, and a man collapses forward—rope around his throat, a cheap kewpie-doll mask on his face, a woman’s slip on his body.

She runs away, gasping, in slow motion. He calls after her, saying he was just playing around. He’s not her killer, then. He’s her husband.

This is how Mindhunter returns after nearly two years—though only a week has passed in the world of the show. Right away we see the series, created by Joe Penhall and directed here by David Fincher, is leaning into its strengths.

Season One was an aggressively mixed bag, its deeply compelling serial-killer scenes interspersed with interpersonal drama that you’d need a Behavior Science Unit to try and make sense of. So opening things up with a visit to the BTK Killer, who for the first time is brought to the attention of the pioneering agents of the BSU later in the episode, makes sense.

What’s exciting is how the interpersonal stuff seems to have played catch-up during the time off. For the first time, Holt McAllany’s Agent Bill Tench, Jonathan Groff’s Agent Holden Ford, and Anna Torv’s Dr. Wendy Carr all feel like thoughtfully drawn characters whose problems, and responses to those problems, are those of real people, not just styrofoam packing peanuts shoved into the story at random to pad out the time between visits to psychopaths.

I’m covering Mindhunter again for Decider this season, starting with my review of the season premiere. It’s a step in the right direction.

230. Sam Elliott’s pubic hair

It takes a bold film to remake the Jaws scar comparison/USS Indianapolis story scene as an excuse for Sam Elliott to expose his pubic hair to the viewing public. Road House is a bold film. We’re less than a minute into Wade Garrett reminiscing about a time in Albuquerque, New Mexico, 1975, when he and Dalton got jumped by a guy with a bottle of Jack Daniels aimed at their heads. All it takes is for Dalton to mention the word “scar,” and before you can say Jack Robinson Wade is unbuttoning his jeans. “Oh, I’ll show you a scar,” he says, looking at Dr. Elizabeth Clay, whom he met a couple of hours ago. “I’ll show you one I’m real sentimental about, Doc.” Pop, zip, pull, push push in the bush. It happens as fast as a throat rip. Now even that bottle of Miller seems lewd.

What does the good Doctor think of all this?

You tell me.

I mean Jesus, her attraction to this man could not be more obvious if she stood up and unbuttoned her jeans. If I were Dalton I would not leave these two alone for a minute. If I were Dalton I’d reconsider introducing the two of them in the first place. Even when she asks about the origin of the scar—Her: “A woman?” Him: “Boy, was she.”—her mind is clearly and necessarily on the thought of a woman touching him mere inches away from his penis. Something tells me she’s mentally covered that gap once or twice already.

Kelly Lynch has spoken sweetly about her romantic chemistry with both Patrick Swayze and Sam Elliott in this film, and the highest compliment I can pay her is that I didn’t need to hear her explain it. It’s right there on the screen. She looks at Sam Elliott’s pubic hair the same way most women I’ve watched this movie with do. A man? Boy, was he.

229. When Wade Met Doc

DOC: Hi.

DALTON: Hey.

ALL THREE: [giddy nervous laughter]

Never before and never since has so much sexual energy been packed into two syllables as in this moment. Dalton, driving with his windshield busted, has told Wade there’s someone he wants him to meet, and assured him he really isn’t in trouble. The moment Wade sees a woman walking toward their car outside the Jasper Community Hospital, he says “I fuckin’ knew it.” Women are trouble, the evidence is carved into his body. But it’s the kind of trouble ol’ Wade doesn’t mind getting himself into. The way he looks at Dr. Elizabeth Clay—and the way she looks at him, and at Dalton, and the way Dalton looks at them looking at each other, and the way all three of them laugh as if sharing some delicious and delightful unspoken secret—sure makes it seem like he wants to literally get himself into this particular trouble. And he’s not alone: There are more volumes of smut in Doc’s “Hi” and in Dalton’s responsorial “Hey” than in the Vatican’s Black Library.

What I’m trying to say here is that just as Kevin Tighe’s performance at the start of the film leaves you with zero doubt he’s the villain of the piece, however quickly the film disabuses you of that notion, the performances of Kelly Lynch, Sam Elliott, and Patrick Swayze in this scene leave no doubt in your mind whatsoever that there’s an MMF threesome in the offing and that they’re all as pleased as punch and as randy as goats about it. I triple dog dare you to watch this scene and gainsay me. It can’t be done. The sexual tension in the air is so thick you could get together with your girlfriend and your best friend and fuck it.

228. “Gentlemen, Wade Garrett”

The staff of the Double Deuce react to the Coming of Wade in a variety of ways. Tilghman leers, of course. The Nameless Bartender’s eyes get a little wide, his mouth goes a little slack. Jack, baffled, asks “Who is this guy?” Hank mutters an awestruck “Holy shit.” “Exactly right,” Wade replies, as if his name were in fact Holy Shit.

In the middle of it all there’s Cody, who whether by the rasp of his voice or the scent of his musk recognizes who the mysterious stranger is and fills in Jack and the assembled gawkers accordingly. “Gentlemen,” he says, “Wade Garrett.” This is a callback to the moment he told the patrons of the Double Deuce that “The name…is Dalton,” obviously; It is Cody’s fate to be the standard bearer for the coolers of the world, the voice announcing their presence.

But does he have to be such a damn sexist about it? He was led out the back door to the scene of the fight by Carrie Ann. When he tells everyone it’s Wade, Stella literally has her hand on his shoulder. “Gentlemen” is what they get in response? “Ladies and gentlemen” and people of every gender identity deserve to know they are in the presence of Wade Garrett when this is in fact so. If Cody has the time to spill the tea on Doc and Brad Wesley, he can throw in a few extra syllables for the sake of inclusivity. They deserve it. Wade deserves it.

227. “I sure ain’t gonna show you my dick.”

MOUNTAIN: Are you gonna fight, dickless?

WADE GARRETT: I sure ain’t gonna show you my dick.

MIKE NELSON, RIFFTRAX: I don’t think that was even on the table! I…It wasn’t one of the options!

This brief exchange between Mountain (Tiny Ron) and Wade Garrett (Sam Elliott), and the response to it by Michael J. Nelson (Mystery Science Theater 3000), can’t be improved upon. In two lines you have all the hallmarks of Road House‘s bad-good writing style: hostility so severe it reads as a non sequitur, pointlessly escalated profanity, disconnected logic, attempted aphorisms that have never before or since been uttered by human beings. This exchange is Road House.

But to boil it down to dialogue is to miss what makes it even more Road House. Immediately after telling Mountain he is not going to show him his penis, Wade Garrett punches Mountain, you guessed it, right in the nuts. He then kicks him hard in his right knee, sending the giant tumbling to the ground with an oddly subdued “Oh, shit!””Goddamn, that hurts, dudn’t it?” Wade asks rhetorically, smirking while running his hand back over his hair. He’s not going to prove he isn’t dickless, but he’s sure as hell gonna make Mountain wish he was.

But wait, there’s more! Remember earlier in the film when Dalton told Jack “Gimme the biggest guy in the world: You smash his knee, he’ll drop like a stone?” QE motherfucking D.

So: needless profanity, needless hostility, gibberish idiom, illogic, dick joke, violence, cooler technique. Truly, this moment has it all.

226. “Take out the trash.”

DALTON: I want you to be nice…until it’s time to not be nice.

YOUNGER: Well, how are we supposed to know when that is?

DALTON: You won’t. I’ll let you know. You are the bouncers. I am the cooler. All you have to do is watch my back—and each other’s…Take out the trash.

Submitted for your approval: O’Connor, beaten senseless by Wade Garrett, collapsing unconscious into a dumpster full of garbage. Essentially literally, Wade and Dalton watched each other’s backs and took out the trash. No more evidence of the efficacy of the Dalton Path’s Three Simple Rules need be presented. Everything is proceeding as he has foreseen.

 

225. “MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS, DAD!”

When Wade Garrett walks—actually it’s more of a mosey/saunter hybrid—through the back door of the Double Deuce, he’s greeted by quite a scene. On a concrete loading area surrounded by smashed cases of liquor, he finds two large men holding Dalton still so a third large man can pound his stomach like a punching bag with intestines inside, overseen by the largest (and at this point bloodiest) man of all. “How’s it goin’, mijo?” he asks with characteristic cool. Then Morgan, the fellow doing the punching, turns to him and absolutely snarls “MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS, DAD!

As my partner Julia Gfrörer once put it, “You know he’s been working up to that line for a few decades.”

That really is the only way to interpret the ferocious hostility with which Morgan imbues that paternal sobriquet, and the alacrity with which he selects it as the proper label for the older gentleman who’s just made his presence known to him. Hearing “Dad” used as an insult by a teenager is one thing, like “What are you, my dad?” when a friend objects to you trying to huff Pequa drain opener or something. From an adult, to another slightly but not really significantly older adult, it’s just…well, it raises certain questions, is what it does.

For the record, actor Terry Funk is actually a month older than actor Sam Elliott; they were both born in the summer of 1944, Terry on June 30, Sam on August 9. Perhaps, then, Dadness is merely a state of mind. A miscreant like Morgan would naturally chafe at the suggestion of supervision, as indeed he did when Dalton fired him. And a cooler like Wade Garrett, whatever his aversion to living a normal rule-bound life might be, sometimes needs must embrace his role as the enforcer, the stickler, the cooler head that must prevail. The kind of people who tell dads to mind their own business? They are his business. Morgan will soon learn this, to his dismay.

“The Terror: Infamy” thoughts, Season Two, Episode One: “A Swallow in a Sparrow’s Nest”

Setting a ghost story against the backdrop of a major historical atrocity is a high-risk, high-reward proposition. As to the risk, no one can fault the filmmakers for a failure to take this troubling subject seriously, even personally. Promotional materials for the show indicate that lead actor Derek Mio’s grandfather was imprisoned at Manzanar, as was director Lily Mariye’s. Her grandfather died there, while her father’s family was killed by the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima; director Josef Kubota Wladyka’s grandfather survived the blast. And supporting actor George Takei, who also serves as a consultant to the show, was interned in two camps himself. So I believe the show is interested in chronicling and decrying this historical crime in and of itself, not merely as a backdrop for J-horror shenanigans, nor even as an easy allegory for the present-day horrors of the Trump Administration’s immigrant gulags.

But good intentions only get you so far. As a work of horror filmmaking, this doesn’t go very far at all.

I’m covering the new season of the anthology show The Terror, titled The Terror: Infamy, for the AV Club, starting with my review of the premiere. It’s not promising.

“Succession” thoughts, Season Two, Episode One: “The Summer Palace”

Ah yes, television, that escapist medium we turn to for respite from the real world. Instead of watching the rich and powerful loot everyone else and getting sad about it, we can switch on Succession to watch the rich and powerful loot everyone else and have a few laughs!

Or try to, anyway. After a buzzworthy first season (the reach of which far exceeded its grasp), Succession returns for another look at the life of Rupert Murdoch stand-in Logan Roy (Brian Cox), his chief failson and would-be successor Kendall (Jeremy Strong), and the rest of their relatives and retinue. The premiere, titled “The Summer Palace” after the very smelly mansion in which much of it takes place (we’ll get to that), is the kind of thing you’ll like a lot if you liked this kind of thing the last time around. Skeptics, and I’ll cop to being one, will find the same frustrations.

I’m covering Succession for Decider again this year, starting with my review of the season premiere.

224. Is that Wade Garrett in your bar or are you just happy to see me?

People have been placed on FBI watchlists for less than the way Frank Tilghman greets Wade Garrett upon the aging cooler’s entrance into the Double Deuce. “I know you,” he says, wielding the words like a tongue across Wade’s stubble, like Ramsay Bolton bidding farewell to Sansa Stark before she feeds him to his own dogs, like a flea leaping from a rat to the roughspun tunic of a fourteenth-century European peasant. If I were Wade Garrett I’d have turned around, gotten on my motorcycle, and driven right back to the topless joint with the “DON’T EAT THE BIG WHITE MINT” sign above the urinal. Fortunately for Dalton (busy getting pounded into hamburger out back) and Tilghman (Cui bono) and unfortunately for Wade Garrett himself (“IT WAS TAILS”), Wade Garrett is a braver man than I. He decides that helping his mijo out of a jam is worth braving whatever Gary Heidnik chamber of horrors Tilghman has hidden in the Double Deuce’s expensive redesign and heads to the service entrance to whip the shit out of some goons, and the rest is Road History.

What this makes me wonder, as did Tilghman’s thoroughly sinister introduction of himself to Dalton way back at the beginning of the film a couple hundred days ago, is how many coolers Tilghman went through before finding people who could stand to look and listen to him long enough even to entertain an offer. Maybe at some other bar in New York there’s some other NYU-graduate warrior-poet with some other grizzled graybeard of a mentor, who took one look at the corpse rictus Tilghman calls a smile and had him ejected from the premises immediately. Los Angeles, Chicago, New Orleans, who knows, there could be master-and-apprentice pairs of coolers scattered across these United States, all of whom told Tilghman “My eyes are up here, pal” and then sent him on his creepy way.

As with so much about Tilghman, we’ll never know the rest of the story. Perhaps that’s for the best. In elementary school my gifted class went to see an assembly on UFO encounters in which the speaker wondered if the sudden movements and disappearances attributed to alien spacecraft were not unlike what our own trips to the grocery store must read like to our housepets: We know where we went, but they don’t. I’ve seen this basic phenomenon described also with the metaphor of trying to describe a fork stuck through a paper plate from the perspective of one who can only see the tines poking out of one side, not the whole fork jammed into the other, let alone the human being holding it on the other. Tilghman is as Tilghman does, and any speculation as to what else he might be and do beyond the four walls of this movie must remain speculation. Wovon man nicht sprechen kann, darüber muss man schweigen; whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent.

223. Quality Goonsmanship

I kid, I kid the goons, and why not—they’re constantly getting their asses kicked. But look at our man Mountain here. Mountain knows that he and his comrades-in-arms have been sent to the Double Deuce with a very specific mission: Stop any and all liquor shipments. Mountain does not abandon this mission the moment Dalton throws hands. No, Mountain picks up a case of Tia Maria, throws it to the ground, turns, picks up a second case of Tia Maria, and throws it to the ground. Then and only then, after Dalton has rung the bells of Morgan and Tinker and O’Connor singlehandedly, does he turn his attention to Dalton.

Granted, once you’ve see what happens to him when he does attack Dalton—he lifts him clean off the ground in a bear hug, only to have his face bashed in by a pair of reverse headbutts—you’ll start wondering if maybe there wasn’t a third case of Tia Maria that wanted smashing. And if you pay close attention you’ll notice that by decking Morgan right into the back of the truck, toppling pretty much every remaining case of booze it contains, Dalton himself did more damage to the shipment than Mountain. But I’d consider that last bit a loss leader. Better to lose a few bottles in the process of leveling men who’d present a constant threat than to spare them but also spare the saboteurs. To flip that logic around, perhaps Mountain should have worried about the cooler first and the wine coolers second.

Be that as it may. Brad Wesley so rarely gets his money’s worth out of his “boys,” not that this dissuades him from sending the same clowns out to get got over and over again. This is Mountain’s one and only mission, and I think he acquits himself admirably, to a point. A good goon is hard to find, and he would have been a good goon, if it had been somebody there to beat the shit out of him and his buddies every minute of his life.

222. The Gentle Art of Being Nice

Look at this beautiful shot of Wade Garrett and Dalton, embracing after a long separation. The late afternoon light gleaming off Wade’s silver hair and hugging the sculpted contours of Dalton’s grinning face. Smiles as wide as the day is long. Each with one approving hand on the other’s shoulders, their other hands clasped in merry meeting.

From the looks of them you’d never know they just beat four men unconscious.

But that is the Dalton Path, that is the Way of Wade Garrett, that is the tao of all coolers. The Time to Not Be Nice passed when their last enemy collapsed to the ground in a bloody heap. The Time to Be Nice has come, and they welcome this as readily and naturally as they responded to an attack with superior force of their own.

A crowd of Double Deuce employees has gathered at this point, to gaze in wide-eyed wonder on these two knights errant, these sworn swords, and on those they cut down. To walk the Dalton Path, a gray ribbon that runs to either horizon, the lines on the road alternating streaks of white and red.