Directed by Michael Uppendahl from a script by showrunner Sarah Burgess, the finale of ACS Impeachment, “The Wilderness,” is a brutal denouement for an excellent season of television. It entertains the idea that repulsive people can have repulsive enemies, who do the right things for the wrong reasons. It maintains a studied agnosticism about the worst of Bill Clinton’s crimes, while suggesting that their failure to be brought to light and punished in an efficacious manner is due to the puritanical nature of his enemies. It allows Linda Tripp to be seen as she wished to be seen, and demonstrates that this does her no real good at all. It gives Monica Lewinsky the last word, which does her no good at all either. For all the president’s women, it essentially offers their choice of patriarchal poison. It’s an escape room with no way out. If that escape room comes in the shape of the Oval Office, it is no less inescapable for that.

I reviewed the finale of ACS Impeachment for Decider. This was a hell of a show. I don’t know how Ryan Murphy managed to bottle lightning three times with three different teams on the same anthology, but he sure did.

Still, it’s Monica’s ordeal that centers the episode. It’s the enumeration of every encounter she had with the president, the details of every sexual liaison, the painstaking descriptions of who touched which body part with which body part or outside implement, the idea of who did what to whom with the intent to arouse and gratify. After spending an entire season largely hiding the actual sexual connection between Bill and Monica from view, ACS Impeachment suddenly rubs our faces in it, making us a party to Monica’s protracted public humiliation. It’s an excruciating choice on the part of showrunner and writer Sarah Burgess—and a smart one. An entire nation hungered for the salacious details of the Clinton-Lewinsky affair. Impeachment serves them to us until we can’t stand it any longer, then serves us more, and more, and more, until choking it down becomes all but unbearable. And even then, Monica is still human and humane, asking her interrogator if she’s expecting a boy or a girl. What did we do to this woman? And what does it say about ourselves that we did it?

I reviewed last night’s episode of ACS Impeachment for Decider.

If you’re to the right of the Clintons politically, I assume you have no sympathy for these people. If you’re to their left, as I am personally, I’m guessing your sympathies ran dry a long time ago—when Hillary lost a layup election against a game-show fascist at the latest. But again, it comes down to the question of whether you can frame a guilty man—whether the “vast right-wing conspiracy,” accurately labeled as such by Hillary, has a point.

In his address to the American people, Clinton ultimately argues that this is a private matter, between his daughter, his wife, “and our God.” Is he correct in stating that these are the people to whom he owes answers, rather than a prosecutorial office initially conceived of to investigate what Hillary calls a failed land deal? Does his lawyerly bullshit—“It depends on what the meaning of the word ‘is’ is,” that sort of shit—neutralize the allegations against him? Was his attempt to kill Osama bin Laden a “wag the dog” situation, or a legit attempt to defend the nation? Is that a distinction without a difference, in terms of the president’s virtually unfettered ability to call down death upon his enemies? Can you sympathize with the devil? About the best thing I can say regarding this episode of Impeachment, and the entire series in general, is that it asks these questions without providing any easy answers.

I reviewed last night’s fascinating episode of ACS Impeachment for Decider.

My God, where to begin.

ACS Impeachment Episode 7, “The Assassination of Monica Lewinsky,” is primarily about just that—the character assassination of the young woman at the heart of the whole network of Bill Clinton scandals. It’s about the way a hungry press, an overeager right-wing prosecutor, and a gleeful entertainment industry took a vulnerable young woman and tore her to shreds, hour after hour, day after day, for month after month. It’s also about how a president lied to almost everyone he knew about the nature of his relationship with that woman. It’s also about how the friend who exposed and betrayed her was ridiculed in turn, nearly as badly as Monica Lewinsky herself.

It’s difficult to watch. It’s riveting to watch.

I reviewed this week’s episode of ACS Impeachment for Decider.

Many of Monica’s concerns are hard to listen to, because they ring so true as something a young woman in her position would be concerned about. “My grandma’s going to be so disappointed in me,” she tells Emmick in a Crate & Barrel. In what looks like a TGI Friday’s, she continues: “I’ll never have kids. No one’s ever gonna marry me.” In this, at least, her prediction has been borne out. All her life plans, tossed out the window because a man in power abused his authority and a woman who was supposed to be her friend sold her out to feed her own delusions of grandeur. In the end, she’s left sobbing in her shower, as her mother crumples to the floor outside the bathroom, brought low by the sounds of her daughter’s pain. It’s brutal stuff.

I reviewed episode six of ACS Impeachment for Decider.

Impeachment’s studied agnosticism regarding the motives, trustworthiness, and guilt or innocence of its characters is its most fascinating trait. The anger Clinton feels when he’s questioned about his commitment to the advancement of women, for example, is (to my eyes anyway) painted as completely legit; certainly the makeup of his Cabinet is an argument in his favor here, as he’s quick to point out to his legal team. But of course, this doesn’t preclude him from being a cad, a creep, and/or a predator in his personal life; his behavior with Monica, an unpaid employee fresh out of college, is proof of that.

Then there are figures like his accusers Paula Jones and (appearing here for the first time) Juanita Broaddrick. There’s no reason to believe, in the show’s construction of these characters, that they’re being anything but truthful in their allegations against the president; Jones is too naive to dissemble and seems completely aghast at being asked explicit sexual questions during her meeting with Clinton’s lawyers, and Broaddrick tries like hell to get the right-wing private investigators who come sniffing after her story to leave, so averse is she to getting mixed up in all this. What reason would such women have to lie about what Clinton did to them?

I reviewed this week’s episode of ACS Impeachment for Decider.

The second matter involves Vernon Jordan, the longtime Clinton ally played by famously handsome man Blair Underwood. Clinton sends Monica his way in order to placate her demands for a job, and—friendly and avuncular and full of Southern charm—he’s quick to promise her an interview, at the very least, for a PR job at Revlon up in New York City. But as he says goodbye to her after their meeting, he pats her ass. He does it seemingly without thinking about it, before or afterwards. Monica herself is momentarily taken aback, but from that point out all she cares about is whether his Revlon recommendation pans out. The workaday sexual harassment doesn’t even seem to register.

Which makes sense, given what we learn about Monica in this episode. In a painful slumber party with Linda—painful because we already know Linda has “made my peace” with losing Monica as a friend once her tape recordings are made public as part of a potential book deal or as evidence in the Paula Jones suit, a connection Tripp herself makes—Monica reveals her dating history. It consists exclusively of “dating” inappropriately older men in positions of authority over her, from a camp counselor who penetrated her until she said “no” at age 14 to a teacher who took her virginity in high school, then literally relocated his entire family to be closer to her when she went to college in another town. Boys her own age, she says, have always ignored her. Why wouldn’t she gravitate to the most powerful man in the world once he revealed his openness to their flirtation? For that matter, why wouldn’t she accept Vernon Jordan’s ass-slaps as the cost of doing business? The question the show itself asks, I think, is why do we tolerate any of this shit at all?

I reviewed this week’s of ACS Impeachment for Decider.

Camp icon Matt Drudge? That’s certainly one takeaway from the third episode of Impeachment: American Crime Story (“Not to Be Believed”). As played by comedian Billy Eichner, the enfant terrible of Internet muckraking is painted as a poseur, a (euphemistcally) flamboyant, self-consciously self-styled hardboiled reporter whose persona stems as much from a love of the Golden Age of Hollywood and its chief gossip Walter Winchell as it does from his right-leaning politics or any actual affinity for journalism. Here, he’s the forerunner of a million online dorks in fedoras, settling grudges and talking shit. He just so happens to be a major figure in a plot to take down the President of the United States, is all.

I reviewed the third episode of ACS Impeachment, which I enjoy more with each new installment, for Decider.

Martin Scorsese’s Taxi Driver is most famous for the scene in which Robert De Niro’s rapidly disintegrating title character, Travis Bickle, looks at his reflection in the mirror and asks “Are you talkin’ to me?”, but this isn’t the only pane of glass into which Bickle gazes. During his disintegration, he also watches television. He stares at the tube, gun in hand, as young couples slow dance on American Bandstand. He slowly tips the TV set over with his foot while watching another young couple address their star-crossed affair on a soap opera, until the TV falls and explodes. He knows he has reacted inappropriately to these displays of romance, but he’s powerless to stop the poisonous feelings they engender in his mind. 

“Damn,” he whispers to himself as he cradles his head in his hands, one of them still clutching a gun. “God damn.” 

I thought about these scenes a lot during this episode of Impeachment: American Crime Story (“The President Kissed Me”), because of a similarly staged scene involving its central character, Linda Tripp. (More on her centrality later.) On Inauguration Day, 1997, she’s at home, while her young friend Monica Lewinsky is dressed to the nines in a stunning red gown, attending the Inaugural Ball. Her teenage daughter gives her shit and mocks her job. Her dinner is some joyless diet concoction, nuked in the microwave. And there on the television are two people she casually loathes, Bill and Hillary Clinton, celebrating their second historic victory. As they dance to Nat “King” Cole’s posthumous duet with his daughter Natalie, the 1990s remix of “Unforgettable,” they beam lovingly into each other’s eyes.

Linda knows this is a sham, knows Bill is having an affair, knows that he habitually can’t keep his hands or other parts to himself. She knows things that can bring the whole Clintonian edifice down. Yet there she is, alone, eating a TV dinner, dodging the insults of her own children, while the world moves on without her. Director Michael Uppendahl, working from a script by showrunner Sarah Burgess, cuts from closeups on Linda to closeups on Bill on the screen, arranging them so it almost looks as if Clinton is staring right into her eyes, teasing her, taunting her. In this moment, you can feel the years of roiling resentment that have built up inside Linda threaten to burst free, as we know they will eventually do, destroying the life of her friend and nearly destroying a president. But for now, like Bickle, all she can do is sit and stare at a world that holds better things than what she’s been given by it. 

Damn, you can all but hear her think. God damn.

I reviewed last night’s episode of ACS Impeachment for Decider.

How do you follow two masterpieces? This is undoubtedly what The Wire would refer to as “one of them good problems,” but for Impeachment: American Crime Story, it’s a problem nonetheless. The first two iterations of superproducer Ryan Murphy’s anthology series, The People v. O.J. Simpson and The Assassination of Gianni Versace, grabbed every third rail of American life they could get ahold of—race, class, gender, sexuality, celebrity, media culture, the nature of truth itself—and welded together near-peerless true-crime dramas out of what they found. (Versace ranks up there on the TV horror scale too, thanks to its central character Andrew Cunanan’s metamorphosis into a serial killer.) Operating under showrunners Scott Alexander & Larry Karaszewski for O.J. and Tom Rob Smith for Versace, the results were head and shoulders above anything else Murphy has produced. Could another quintessentially ’90s crime saga help Murphy capture lightning in the bottle a third time?

I’m covering Impeachment: American Crime Story for Decider, starting with my review of the premiere.