I’ve been watching the HBO
series Boardwalk Empire (2010-Present)
over the past few weeks and a question emerged for me – is this the most tragic
show ever on television? There are, of course, thousands of shows I’ve never
seen, but among the much smaller subsection I have, nothing compares to the moribund
existentialism the show seems to encapsulate each week. There are failed
relationships, abuse, rape, prostitution, victims of war and endless,
repetitive and graphic death. The Wire and
The Sopranos both come to mind as potential
competitors, but while the former did show little compunction to eliminate central
characters haphazardly, its general tone allowed for shimmers of hope among its
rather cynical core. The Sopranos changed
television with its riveting look into the heart of a psychopath, though it too
offered moments of joy and hope amidst Tony’s struggle to come to grips with
his demons. Maybe not surprisingly, the creator of Boardwalk Empire is the very same Terence Winter who was a writer
for The Sopranos.
All three series deal with
crime, though only Boardwalk Empire takes
place in the past. And it is this element of the series that seems most
compelling, as a veneer of historical costume drama cloaks the deeper tragedy
within. Not only does it capture the music, fashion and popular culture of the
time but is based on real characters and historical events, including major
political scandals and elections. On a second level, the series is yet the
latest example of what I like to call lifestyle porn – essentially shows and
movies that feed male desire for power, sex and true friendship (often peppered
with gratuitous violence) together with the realization of love in the end. And
while those two levels are theoretically compelling, I thought about quitting
on it early on. But suddenly, around episode 4 or 5 of the first season, I
noticed a deeper statement on existence that existed at that deeper third
level. And it is here where the true tragedy of the show exists. For with every
glimmer of hope or triumph, every ephemeral moment of happiness a character
might find, there is the looming turn that will take that joy away. In some
ways, the show becomes a visual instantiation of Jacques Lacan’s warning that
we only want something until the moment we get it, at which point we realize it
was simply part of the imaginary’s constructed desire and thus unable to make
us feel complete.
For those who have never seen
the show, it centers around the true-life Atlantic City gangster Enoch “Nucky”
Thompson (played by the excellent Steve Buscemi, who finally gets his chance to
shine as the star) and a supporting cast of characters including his brother
Eli (Shea Whigham), estranged wife Margaret (Kelly MacDonald), gangster
associates Al Capone (Stephen Graham), Lucky Luciano (Vincent Piazza) and
Arnold Rothstein (Michael Stuhlbarg) and a series of compatriots and enemies.
Three main side narratives involve a Prohibition Agent turned gangster, Nelson
Van Alden (Michael Shannon, in the perfect role for this great character
actor), a prostitute and showgirl mother Gillian Darmody (Gretchen Mol) and a
World War I sniper who lost half his face in the war, Richard Harrow (played
with incredible empathetic power by Jack Huston). Throughout the four seasons,
Nucky always appears on the edge of disaster or death, from the early challenge
to his power from Gillian’s son Jimmy (Michael Pitt), to a case mounted by the
government, to gang warfare with various competitors to a plot to unseat him
that involves his own brother. In the end, Nucky, of course, survives – and generally
flourishes.
The big enigma is what to
think of this figure, who starts out as a likable though corrupt politicians
(the treasurer of Atlantic City) but ends up as a cold-hearted killer and
gangster that can rival the biggest mafia bosses of his era. He seems to be
hungry for love, friendship and family, but then spurns it whenever the chance
arrives. Sometimes he loses that love tragically, as with his showgirl actress
or the wife and child he lost before the series even begins (we learn of it in
backstory), and sometimes it walks away, as Margaret does on at least one
occasion. He turns his back on his own brother and kills a man he essentially
raised, but then shows moments of real compassion and humanity. And the same
can be said of many of the other characters, who are all shown as flawed and,
ultimately, corruptible, but with a desire to give their lives meaning.
And this brings me back to my
original question. Because for all the death, destruction and sexual
enticements, even the most callous and disaffected person generally turns to
dramatic art for some meaning below all the human wreckage. We want to believe
that there is more to life than the glimmers of hope and joy we are
occasionally provided, that love does conquer all and good does sometimes win
out over evil. None of that seems to ever appear in the show. Again, we have
characters like Richard that can’t help but elicit the compassion and
allegiance of the audience, but he is a cold-hearted killer himself and his
deeper ethics almost always misaligned with his actions. Gillian might show
moments of care for her son and grandson, but they are too intertwined with her
own solipsism and survival instinct. Al Capone might be likable and show his
human side with his deaf son, but it is hard to ignore the beast within. And
the same can be said of Nucky, who seems to love Margaret and her children and
care for his brother and closest allies, but then turns on them whenever it is
to his advantage. With all the death, destruction and unhappiness that 48
episodes have provided, it is hard to argue against its position at the top of
the perch of tragic TV drama.
No comments:
Post a Comment