What makes the opening sequence so devastating—beyond the performances by Cranston, Banks, Plemons, and Paul, and the wise decision to accompany the dismantling of the bike solely with a musical score—is how it builds on work the show has previously done. We’ve seen Walt and Jesse get rid of enough bodies this way that it can now be used as a joke (Jesse’s first line in “Box Cutter” [S4E1]), but here, the process prepares us for absolute heartbreak. Because we now know the procedure intimately, we watch them break down the dirt bike piece by piece, knowing know exactly why they’re doing it—and knowing, with stomach-churning horror, what’s going to come next. Perhaps the worst detail the show only implies here is that this a boy is so small they won’t even need to break him down into his component parts to fit him into a plastic drum.
Jesse is the only one of the team who refuses to participate in this sick affair. You could argue that we’ve already seen Jesse go into a multi-episode funk over the death of a relative innocent several times before, and that it would have felt repetitive to do it again here. Yet because we know what makes Jesse Pinkman tick, and because his rage at Todd is so palpable at the end of the opening scene that he punches him in the face, it doesn’t feel right to see him being relatively calm and well-adjusted (if still seeking retirement) midway through the episode. Even more than that, he’s cast in an Eddie Haskell-esque role (“You have a lovely home”) during his second-ever encounter with Mrs. White. I laughed during the uneasy dinner, but I found myself wishing that I wasn’t—and not just because Aaron Paul excels when Jesse is drowning in guilt, confirmed here again by the shot of him staring at the TV set after he sees the news report about the search for Drew.
The best passages of “Buyout” are the ones that are grounded in and build on how well we know these characters and how they operate: not just the opener, but the scene of Walt going into much more detail about what he sacrificed when he walked away from Gretchen and Elliott; or the sequence of Mike sitting on the park bench, feeling the weight of his life while his granddaughter plays in a tree; or the moment where Skyler tries very hard not to laugh or yell when she realizes what Walt has told Marie about Beneke.
All of those segments click because the show has taken a whole lot of time to get us to understand these characters. Even though each individual scene of the episode doesn’t feel especially fast-paced, they add up to a whole that seems like its racing to get from Point A (cleaning up the murder of Drew Sharp) to Point B (Walt stealing the methylamine out from under Mike, promising some insane but profitable new plan) so that we can have proper time for the endgame of the first half of season five. There’s not enough time spent for the action in between those points, and the episode suffers for it.
SEASON 5 / EPISODE 7
“Say My Name”
Written and directed by Thomas Schnauz
This Whole Thing Could Have Been Avoided
“Shut the fuck up, and let me die in peace.” —Mike
Much of season five has been spent showing Walter White grow ever more confident and ever more reckless in the wake of his improbable murder of Gus Fring. His every action, word, and dismissal of very legitimate concerns about his latest plan seem to be driven by the same thought: If I can kill the Chicken Man on a million-to-one shot, I can do anything. That arrogance is fully on display in the sensational opening scene of “Say My Name,” where Walt invokes that very deed in convincing Mike’s buddy Declan (Louis Ferreira) to go into business with him. Walt is one part Muhammad Ali, one part John Shaft when he demands Declan announce him as Heisenberg. To which a smug Walt replies, “You’re goddamn right.”
But Walt isn’t as bulletproof as he thinks, as we see when he botches Mike’s murder. The expression on his face in this moment, when he realizes how this could have easily been avoided, is pure Walter White, with nary a trace of Heisenberg to be seen.
Walter White getting cocky and making mistakes is completely in keeping with everything we know about the character. But what’s troubling about this particular stretch of episodes is that at times the writers of the show seem to be doing the same. Having pulled off the staggering death-of-Gus arc, they seem compelled to keep reaching for those highs, but in the process they disregard some of the transparent, step-by-step plotting that had been the show’s hallmark up until this season.
This leads to shaky plot logic that causes problems in this episode. Because on the one hand, the death of Mike Ehrmantraut is a gorgeous, haunting scene, and a fitting end to Jonathan Banks’s tenure on the show. And on the other, it makes no damn sense at all.
Why does Mike, pro of pros, sage of sages, exemplar of all that is wise and patient and level-headed on this show, repeatedly shoot down offers of help from Jesse, a man he likes and trusts, but then readily accept the aid of Walt, a man he has every reason in the world to dislike and distrust?
Because the show needs him dead, and because the script couldn’t be finessed in such a way as to make Walt literally Mike’s only option or have Walt con Jesse into letting him be the delivery man without Mike knowing.
It doesn’t feel plausible that, given the choice between the two meth cooks for this errand, Mike would ever choose Walter goddamn White over Jesse,1 or even Saul. Not even the extreme stress and devastation of losing his money, his access to his granddaughter, and his life as he knows it could force the Mike we know and love to do that. And because I didn’t believe in the emotional veracity of Mike’s choice, the horribly beautiful final scene is not quite as impactful as it should have been. I should have been focusing on the fact that Mike’s own pride leads to his downfall when he insults Walt and tells him he should have known his place (which is just about the last assessment you should ever deliver to Walt, but one I believe Mike would have expressed at this point in his relationship with the man). I should have been focusing on the unmasking of super-cool Heisenberg when he slips back into overmatched Walter White, the latter of whom even apologizes to Mike once he remembers the existence of Lydia. I should have been admiring the gorgeous shot of the sun reflecting on the creek as Mike sat on a rock, waiting to die. I should have been appreciating just how stupendous Banks was in that scene, as he had been all episode, as he had been since we first met Mike late in season two.
While I could appreciate all of those things on some level, I didn’t feel as fully immersed as I should have, because I was busy thinking of all the contrivances necessary to set up the scene. When you add that to Mike’s improbable decision in the previous episode to leave one of Walt’s hands uncuffed, you have a character who’s been treated as James Bond from the moment we met him who’s suddenly, implausibly, acting like Austin Powers, because the story demanded that Mike be removed from it by any means necessary.
It’s such a shame, because there are so many great moments throughout this episode. Look at Banks’s face in the scene where the cops are closing in on him at the playground. This is the first time we’ve ever seen Mike Ehrmantraut really sweat, the first time we’ve seen him look defeated. He has just lost everything, and as he looks at the cops, and then looks at his carefree granddaughter on the swing, he knows it. That realization crossing his face is remarkable to watch.
Or take the latest Walt/Jesse breakup scene. These two have had their splits before, and this one leaves open the possibility of yet another reconciliation, but it’s always nice to see Jesse call Mr. White on his lies and hypocrisy—and, in this case, to see him resist the one hold Walt thought he still had on him by giving up all claim to the money.
Or look at that beautiful shot of Skyler standing in shadow at the car wash, turning to look back at Walt and Jesse, completely out of the loop and yet unsure of how much she wants to know, hating every word that comes out of her husband’s mouth.
No, this is a mostly tremendous episode of a drama series that ranks among the best television shows that have ever aired. It’s perhaps because of the overall quality of the show that this episode feels problematic; Breaking Bad has set such
a high standard for itself—in the same way that Walt prides himself on the purity of the blue meth—that it becomes obvious when the show starts taking shortcuts—in the same way that the first batch Walt cooks with Todd almost certainly won’t be as good as the stuff he used to cook with Jesse.
If you want me to supplicate myself before you and say your name, you better bring it to 99.1 percent or more. No shortcuts. Or, to borrow a phrase from the late, great Mike Ehrmantraut: no half measures.
1 Yes, part of Mike’s motivation is to protect Jesse in the event that his car is somehow being watched, but 1. Mike’s life is on the line at this point, and 2. Even if he absolutely doesn’t want to risk Jesse’s freedom, it still doesn’t track that he would entrust this task to Walt—not even after Walt calls to warn him about the cops. There’s too much bad blood between them, and too many examples of Walter White being given an inch and stealing a mile. (For what it’s worth, Jonathan Banks disagrees, up to a point, telling me after the episode aired, “I think he would have allowed Walter to bring him the bag, but he would have made damn sure he was armed when they had any kind of conversation.”)
SEASON 5 / EPISODE 8
“Gliding Over All”
Written by Moira Walley-Beckett
Directed by Michelle MacLaren
An Honor Working with You
“Gliding o’er all, through all, Through Nature, Time, and Space, As a ship on the waters advancing, The voyage of the soul—not life alone, Death, many deaths I’ll sing.”—Walt Whitman, “Gliding O’er All”
“Gliding Over All” takes us nearly a quarter of the way to Walt celebrating his fifty-second birthday with a free Denny’s breakfast and a machine gun, but more importantly, it shows us the first big step that leads to that moment.
There wasn’t enough time in this half-season to plausibly build to a violent showdown like the ones we got at the end of seasons three or four. There was, on the other hand, enough time to plausibly show Walt believing he’s achieved his ultimate victory—wealth, power, respect, love, fear—right before a man in need of bathroom reading1 learns he can snatch it all away from him.
Suddenly, Walt’s Icarus speech to Jesse seems to be inadvertently alluding to Mr. White himself. He flew close to the sun, got to bask in its warmth and light and majesty, and now he’s going to come crashing down to earth.
Whatever issues there were with the pacing in past episodes of this season, “Gliding Over All” helps you forget all about them. It is an absolutely gorgeous piece of work, both visually and narratively.
Let’s talk pretty pictures first. Director Michelle MacLaren was previously behind the camera for the series’ most exciting action sequence (the shootout at the end of “One Minute” [S3E7]), and arguably its most visually stunning episode (“4 Days Out” [S2E9]), but with “Gliding Over All,” she tops the latter. Every frame of the hour couldn’t have been more beautifully assembled, as one image slides seamlessly into the next, from the many shots of the back of Walt’s bald, evil skull, to the quick and efficient violence of the skinhead2 assault on Mike’s guys, to the relentless, giddy montage3 of the meth business turning into the efficient, bloodless, and wildly lucrative empire Walt dreamed it could be. Even by the standards of this technically brilliant show, this is something to behold.
Despite the stunning visuals, Moira Walley-Beckett’s script turns “Gliding Over All” into a strange kind of series-finale-that-wasn’t. Not only does Walt think he’s getting his (sort of twisted) happily-ever-after, but it also comes in an episode overflowing with callbacks to important moments in his journey. Walt again tries to distract himself from the weight of his life by fixating on an ordinary fly. The painting in the motel is the same one he had in his hospital room. The dented paper towel dispenser hasn’t been replaced since he beat the hell out of it following an unexpectedly good diagnosis. Even when Walt and Jesse reunite briefly, the only thing that eases the obvious tension is their talk of all their misadventures in the RV that Jesse nicknamed “the Crystal Ship.”
It’s an hour so aware of the past, and yet so focused on the ending Walt thinks he’s getting, that if we didn’t know about the remaining eight episodes, it would be easy to look at the penultimate scene by the White family pool as some sort of ironic conclusion to the series. Walt leaves a trail of bodies behind, but ultimately doesn’t suffer for his sins of violence or hubris; he simply gets to enjoy it all. It’s only because we know there are eight hours more to go—and because we have seen Mr. Lambert make his bacon spell out fifty-two—that the scene puts us on edge. This is too happy, too peaceful. Something horrible has to happen in that moment. More than that, Walt deserves something horrible happening. Where will the plot go now? Would Walter Jr. leave Holly too close to the pool while getting the sunscreen? Would some previously unheard-from pair of Salamanca relatives (the Second Cousins, perhaps) suddenly enter the backyard, guns blazing? Would Jesse pick the wrong moment to swing by and thank Skyler for telling him about the splendor and majesty of the Albertsons deli counter?
No, it’s much simpler and more effective than that. Like the ricin capsule that Walt doesn’t wind up using on Lydia,4 doom isn’t coming for Walt in an obvious, instantaneous way, but in a slower, more painful fashion. Hank has had the evidence in front of him all this time, but he couldn’t see it. Walter White just wasn’t “that guy” to him. Now he is. Now Hank knows. He may not know it all yet, but he knows a lot—including Jesse Pinkman’s past association with both Walt and Heisenberg. We’ve known for many seasons how fixated Hank is on catching the man in the black hat, and we’re reminded here just how disappointed Hank has been in his own inability to stop this guy and the violence he causes. We also know how Hank cares (almost paradoxically now) about his in-laws, since he just finished a three-month stint of playing daddy to Holly.
What’s he going to do now?
Whatever it is, we know it will in some way lead Walt to go on the run under another identity, before leading him back to Albuquerque in search of heavy artillery. The show hasn’t told us yet against whom the gun will be deployed, but we know where this man has been, and the many deaths he’s sung. All that remains now is to see who will glide through it all to survive.
1 Vince Gilligan would come to describe Hank figuring out Heisenberg’s secret identity while on the toilet as “A literal ‘oh shit’ moment.”
2 After Mike’s death and Jesse’s retirement, Walt seems to be associating with a much lower class of bald gentlemen: Todd’s uncle Jack (played by Michael Bowen), and Jack’s sidekick Kenny (played by Kevin Rankin—like Jesse Plemons, a Friday Night Lights alum, though the two never shared any scenes together on that show).
3 The song playing over the montage—which accomplishes the impressive feat of rendering Nat King Cole’s “Pick Yourself Up” during the prison slaughter montage as the second best music cue in this episode—is “Crystal Blue Persuasion” by Tommy James and the Shondells. Gilligan heard the song throughout his childhood on local rock stations, but had forgotten about it long before Breaking Bad was created. He explains: “Sometime in the early going of season five, I was driving to work and it came on the oldies station, and I thought to myself, ‘Oh, yeah, this song. Oh man, listen to these words! Of course! We’ve gotta use it in the show.’”
4 Jesse flinging the unneeded pistol across the floor nicely echoes the earlier reveal that Walt had the ricin capsule with him for the meeting with Lydia, and was prepared to dump it in her tea if she hadn’t given him a reason to keep her alive. It’s not paranoia if they’re out to get you, right? So Chekhov’s Ricin lives another day.
SEASON 5 / EPISODE 9
“Blood Money”
Written by Peter Gould
Directed by Bryan Cranston
The Beginning of the End
“It was you! All along, it was YOU!” —Hank
Vince Gilligan liked to talk about “showmanship” as one of the watchwords of the Breaking Bad writing staff. They were traci
ng a complicated character arc—several of them, in fact—and they always wanted to stay true to what Walter White, Jesse Pinkman, and everyone else was going through at a particular moment in the narrative. But they also wanted to dazzle the viewer with surprising plot twists, unexpected bursts of humor, gorgeous cinematography, show-stopping action sequences, and more. We love Breaking Bad because Walter White is a complex character played by a brilliant actor, but we also love it because, for all the darkness of Walt’s descent, the show is an absurd amount of fun to watch, most of the time.
Though contractually part of season five—after the flash forward in the teaser, we pick up only seconds after Hank’s Walt Whitman epiphany—“Blood Money” is structured like a season premiere in the same way “Gliding Over All” (S5E8) was structured as a season finale,1 and it’s a piece of showmanship on par with “Box Cutter” (S4E1), “No Más” (S3E1), or even the series pilot.
With only eight episodes to go before the end of Walt’s story, the series has no more time for the in-between moments, and Peter Gould’s script does an impressive job of flipping over cards the viewer might not have expected the show to play for another few hours. The flash-forward to Walt in his Mr. Lambert guise reveals far more than the similar sequence in “Live Free Or Die” (S5E1) did: We know that Walt’s criminal identity has become incredibly public, to the point where his neighbor Carol (Cheryl Ford-Mente) is terrified of him and a graffiti artist has sprayed “HEISENBERG” in giant yellow letters in the Whites’ abandoned living room. The entire house, in fact, has been emptied out, presumably by law enforcement looking for any evidence of Walt’s criminal activities. (They even took the kitchen island!) We know that Walt won’t be using Chekhov’s Ricin between the present story and this future moment, though, like his new machine gun, we don’t know exactly why he goes to retrieve it.
Breaking Bad 101 Page 20