1x10 Marco

When I wrote about RICO, I talked about how much of what makes this show great is its commitment to a "show, don't tell" ethos in its storytelling. The show generally takes care not to lay its points on too thick, or be too obvious with its points and themes, preferring to let them emerge from its characters' interactions and the performances of its superb cast.

That's why I felt let down by "Marco". It's not a bad episode--it's hard to imagine any show in the Breaking Bad/Better Call Saul pantheon sinking that low--but it's not nearly so subtle or deft in how it communicates Jimmy's internal struggle after the revelation that the brother he loved, and sacrificed for, and emulated, doesn't respect him and actually resents his attempts at self-improvement.

At the end of the episode, when Jimmy rolls up to Mike's tollbooth, asks him why they didn't take the money stolen by the Kettlemans for themselves, you get hints at what Mike started in "Pimento", both his falling in as a regular enforcer for the bumbling pill-dealer, but also his code--that he may be a criminal, but he's also a good guy, who's just out to do the job he's hired to do. And yet when Jimmy declares that he's never going to worry about doing the right thing again, it's so on the nose that the moment meant to cap off the entire season feels like it warrants a response of "duh." Let us see what your characters are feeling about their circumstances through how they behave, or even through dialogue; but don't just have them announce the shift you've already spent the entire episode setting up.

It doesn't give me great faith in Peter Gould, who both wrote and directed the episode and, with his Executive Producer credit, would appear to be the main creative force in the show beyond Vince Gilligan. Too many scenes in the episode that are supposed to put a bow on the events we've witnessed for nine episodes feel clumsy, awkward, without any of the flair, in either dialogue or direction, that the franchise is known for.

It comes through in the Bingo scene, where Jimmy's breakdown at a Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead level of recurring Bs sets him off into a semi-stream of consciousness rant about the foolish act that set him on this whole path. It's a strange, disjointed sequence that tries to lean into Bob Odenkirk's great skill as an actor, but makes so much explicit that has otherwise been subtle but palpable subtext that it just seems like an odd outburst that's tonally inconsistent with the rest of the show rather than the moment of great emotional weight and character development it's meant to play as.

The same goes for the montage of Jimmy and his old pal Marco getting back into the grifting game. The flying signs and reds and blues have the characteristics of an old cop show (it's the same kind of montage The Simpsons has parodied time and time again), and it's kind of fun in the attempt at stylized filmmaking Better Call Saul and its forebear regularly traffic in, but the sequence itself still comes off oddly flat, and the recurring lines about telling secrets and swirling images descend into the cheese rather than transcend it.

To the point, the entire storyline feels kind of rote. The idea of Jimmy learning his brother is a false idol, that the backstop that kept him from sliding back into a life of flim-flamming rubes at the local bar, that motivated him to achieve all he has since Chuck helped him out of that jam in Chicago, was predicated on a falsehood, is a good one. But the consequences feel too easy, the following events and conflicts too convenient, even cliche.

Jimmy attempting to restart his old life and finding that regardless of his brother, he feels a pull to be good, to help his clients and the people he's made commitments to, is hokey enough on its own, but kind of works. It's believable enough that in the throes of lamenting what he gave up at the behest of an implacable sibling would send him back into that familiar cesspool to blow off the steam he'd been holding in for so long, and yet eventually find that once that's out of the system, his old life doesn't have the same allure it once did. Sure, that's a pretty conventional story in a show that's made its bones from being more than conventional, but it's enough, even if it's not superb.

Then, of course, Marco wants to pull off one last con. And, of course, his trademark Hollywood cough early in the episode, pays off in a by-the-book Hollywood Death to Teach the Protagonist a Lesson™, that this is the most exciting thing Marco's life and it's a sad and pathetic thing to hang your hat on as you're dying. It's set up well enough with the audience having seen Jimmy and Marco pull off the same con episodes earlier, but again, it feels like laying the stakes of Jimmy's internal conflict on too thick. We already know he's struggling with whether to, as Mike puts it in "Pimento", be a good guy or a bad guy. We already know that his moral compass it out of whack after what happened with Chuck. And thanks to his scene in Marco's basement, we already know he's feeling the pull of the changed man he's become.

Perhaps this is all supposed to build to the subversion at the end of the episode. After all of these fairly weak and typical lessons and reminders about living right, Jimmy's still so miffed at what he gave up for his brother, or so bound to what may be his true nature, that he can't bother to follow up on Kim and Hamlin's help and make good on going straight. There's something to that, but the hamfisted way in which the episode hammers that point home in Jimmy's exchange with Mike sucks all the power from the twist.

When Better Call Saul began, there was no way to know if it would have a Season 2. Maybe the rushed nature, the flimsy finality of that this episode tries to impart is a symptom of that. If there were never another episode of Better Call Saul after this, there's more than enough for the audience to fill in the gaps and understand the trajectory for Jimmy and Mike between here and Breaking Bad, and anything more ambiguous might fail in that regard. As Season 1 of the show draws to a close, there's a clear explanation for how small-time lawyer Jimmy McGill could turn from the scrappy-if-underhanded guy we meet in episode 1 to talented huckster Saul Goodman, and how Philadelphia policeman Mike Ehrmentraut finds himself as the go-to-guy in the company of criminals. But something about that tidiness, about that blatant declaration to that effect, feels too simple in a show that thrives on complexity, and it sends a tremendous season of television out on a disappointing note.