When we meet Anna Bullock in this episode, she is a grieving mother who wants to get as far away from this place as possible. She is understandably distraught by all that's happened, and sees Deadwood as the locus of her son's death. Who wouldn't want to put miles between themselves and the site of such tragedy? Who wouldn't want to make the funeral as brief as possible so that they could run away and make the last couple of weeks of their life seem like a mere bad dream in the rear view mirror?
But then, a funny thing happens. When it comes time for William's funeral, essentially the whole town comes out to mourn him. From the regal Mrs. Garrett to the collection of prostitutes, to the hatchetmen and hangers-on, and humdrum regulars of this frontier village, everyone joins together in the Bullocks' hour of need. They express a solidarity, a sense of community, that brings them all together despite the fact that they occupy different stations in life and often different sides of the various conflicts that divide up the town into various factions and alliances. In a change of heart, Martha Bullock tells Seth to let them all see William in repose. It is, symbolically, Martha welcoming this community, one that she's been on the edges of since she came to Deadwood, into her heart.
Grief is one of those things that cuts through pretense and prejudice. It creates special circumstances that allow for fences to be mended, fissures to be healed, and groups of people to come together when it's needed. There's a supreme bit of heart to that moment, one that reveals the humanity beneath the rough edges of Deadwood's denizens, but that horrible event leads to other bits of sunlight and humanity revealed.
Alma shares an intimate moment with Sofia, expressing both the sense that she too is devastated by these horrible events, but that by being together, they may weather it more easily. Jane, still holed up with Joanie, deigns to take a bath (in a hilarious scene), literally and figuratively exposing her frailties to another human and allowing herself another human connection beyond dear departed Bill and Charlie Utter. And Alma finally responds to Elsworth's proposal, accepting him, and the warmth and security that further binding oneself with those close can provide.
The notable exception is Al. Al refuses to attend the funeral, either because it'd be too sentimental for him, or because he simply doesn't care, or because there's business to transact. But he is not above using that halting power of grief for his own purposes. He negotiates with Commissioner Jarry, using the solemnity of the day to hint that he's angling for local elections rather than additional bribery from Yankton's representative. He uses it as an excuse to tell Mr. Lee (Hearst's brutal envoy to the Chinese community) not to start anything with Wu so that Al can buy a little more time before he can converse with Hearst himself about it. Even when he expresses sorrow for Bullock's loss directly (in a heart-wrenching scene where you see Bullock finishing his son's coffin), he shifts his interaction to make sure Bullock will play ball on fooling the interlopers from the Dakotas. Again, Al seems fueled by a strong dose of self-interest, but he's also interested in preserving this community, in keeping a place that offers solace and comfort when it gathers around corpses rather than just burning them intact.
Perhaps, as Martha Bullock seems to conclude, that's something worth holding onto. Nothing can take back the tragedy of a parent outliving their child; nothing can wipe away the horrors witnessed by a young girl whose family was murdered before her eyes; nothing can ameliorate the pain borne in such horrible circumstances. But when these people come together, to cry, to laugh, to curse, and to share in every other sundry emotion that these events provoke, it's all a little easier, a little better, a little more able to be overcome. Martha comes to understand that, and Swearengen cold and craven as he seems here, aims to ensure that can keep happening.
EDIT 5/15/2019: On rewatch this is definitely in the 10 out of 10 range. Sure, some the Cy Tolliver stuff is interminable as usual, but man, the way this young boy's death affects anyone and everyone in camp, and brings almost all of them together in one of their own's moment of need is just heartbreaking and heartening at the same time. And somehow this episode still manages to be hilarious all the while! One of Deadwood's finest hours, and that's saying something.
Review by Andrew BloomVIP 9BlockedParentSpoilers2016-07-25T20:36:31Z— updated 2019-05-16T01:55:58Z
When we meet Anna Bullock in this episode, she is a grieving mother who wants to get as far away from this place as possible. She is understandably distraught by all that's happened, and sees Deadwood as the locus of her son's death. Who wouldn't want to put miles between themselves and the site of such tragedy? Who wouldn't want to make the funeral as brief as possible so that they could run away and make the last couple of weeks of their life seem like a mere bad dream in the rear view mirror?
But then, a funny thing happens. When it comes time for William's funeral, essentially the whole town comes out to mourn him. From the regal Mrs. Garrett to the collection of prostitutes, to the hatchetmen and hangers-on, and humdrum regulars of this frontier village, everyone joins together in the Bullocks' hour of need. They express a solidarity, a sense of community, that brings them all together despite the fact that they occupy different stations in life and often different sides of the various conflicts that divide up the town into various factions and alliances. In a change of heart, Martha Bullock tells Seth to let them all see William in repose. It is, symbolically, Martha welcoming this community, one that she's been on the edges of since she came to Deadwood, into her heart.
Grief is one of those things that cuts through pretense and prejudice. It creates special circumstances that allow for fences to be mended, fissures to be healed, and groups of people to come together when it's needed. There's a supreme bit of heart to that moment, one that reveals the humanity beneath the rough edges of Deadwood's denizens, but that horrible event leads to other bits of sunlight and humanity revealed.
Alma shares an intimate moment with Sofia, expressing both the sense that she too is devastated by these horrible events, but that by being together, they may weather it more easily. Jane, still holed up with Joanie, deigns to take a bath (in a hilarious scene), literally and figuratively exposing her frailties to another human and allowing herself another human connection beyond dear departed Bill and Charlie Utter. And Alma finally responds to Elsworth's proposal, accepting him, and the warmth and security that further binding oneself with those close can provide.
The notable exception is Al. Al refuses to attend the funeral, either because it'd be too sentimental for him, or because he simply doesn't care, or because there's business to transact. But he is not above using that halting power of grief for his own purposes. He negotiates with Commissioner Jarry, using the solemnity of the day to hint that he's angling for local elections rather than additional bribery from Yankton's representative. He uses it as an excuse to tell Mr. Lee (Hearst's brutal envoy to the Chinese community) not to start anything with Wu so that Al can buy a little more time before he can converse with Hearst himself about it. Even when he expresses sorrow for Bullock's loss directly (in a heart-wrenching scene where you see Bullock finishing his son's coffin), he shifts his interaction to make sure Bullock will play ball on fooling the interlopers from the Dakotas. Again, Al seems fueled by a strong dose of self-interest, but he's also interested in preserving this community, in keeping a place that offers solace and comfort when it gathers around corpses rather than just burning them intact.
Perhaps, as Martha Bullock seems to conclude, that's something worth holding onto. Nothing can take back the tragedy of a parent outliving their child; nothing can wipe away the horrors witnessed by a young girl whose family was murdered before her eyes; nothing can ameliorate the pain borne in such horrible circumstances. But when these people come together, to cry, to laugh, to curse, and to share in every other sundry emotion that these events provoke, it's all a little easier, a little better, a little more able to be overcome. Martha comes to understand that, and Swearengen cold and craven as he seems here, aims to ensure that can keep happening.
EDIT 5/15/2019: On rewatch this is definitely in the 10 out of 10 range. Sure, some the Cy Tolliver stuff is interminable as usual, but man, the way this young boy's death affects anyone and everyone in camp, and brings almost all of them together in one of their own's moment of need is just heartbreaking and heartening at the same time. And somehow this episode still manages to be hilarious all the while! One of Deadwood's finest hours, and that's saying something.