I Am Not the Fine Man You Take Me For



Now ain’t that a fine fuckin’ portrait of the artist at work? Alas, after the drink-throwin’ and throat-slittin’, our man Swearengen would find himself in unfamiliar territory and learn first-hand (ouch) that he was no longer the biggest fish in the muddy Deadwood pond.

It was quite a week in our favorite western town, with developments that need interpretatin’ on every front. (And with that, I will now forego further attempts at writing in the dialect, although it’s mighty addicting.) The stage was set with a theatrical flourish when a drunk launched into a pre-dawn monologue from the platform outside the Gem, orating how his life had gone to hell in Deadwood, then stumbled and broke his neck for good measure. Call me Sherlock, but somehow this struck me as a harbinger of sorts.

The emergence of Hearst as a major threat to Swearengen’s power is not so much unexpected, but Major Dad is well on his way to claiming the Who Knew He Had It In Him? award for his performance as a worthy adversary. Being an actual historical figure and all, Hearst adds an unusual element of suspense to the proceedings; unless David Milch takes some mighty big liberties, it’s clear he isn’t going to end up as dinner for Wu’s pigs (here’s the wikipedia entry on the real George Hearst). Has Al’s time passed, or can he muster some sort of victory consistent with the historical record? His alliance with Bullock, which could have played like Captain Kirk and Karl Klingon teaming up to take on a greater threat from the Whiffenpoof dimension, instead feels completely earned and right for the story.

On the other hand, aside from the not-since-Abbott-and-Costello comedy stylings of Leon and Con Stapleton, I have little interest in the goings on at the Bella Union these days. It seems extraneous now, and Bible Cy is flirting dangerously with “Ben Horne in the Civil War” territory (the other six of you who stuck with Twin Peaks through the second season know of which I speak). Of course, I don’t know what’s coming and there may be a payoff, but I wonder if Cy should have gone ahead and died of his gut wound (like I often wish Janice Soprano had left Jersey for good after Livia’s funeral).

Otherwise, the episode was an embarrassment of riches: Farnum’s “vote for me, I’m not a Jew” campaign speech; Jane’s sober and profanity free Custer lecture; some more delightful frontier medicine; Bullock and I discovering simultaneously that his wife is a hot schoolmarm, especially when she’s angry. And can we all get together and take poor Ellsworth out for a beer? I bet he wishes he was still beholden to no human cocksucker.