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Over the break I found myself at a comic book shop called the Forbidden Planet in New York City. It is right next to The Strand, a bookstore located just south of Union Square Park along Broadway. Unlike the famed bookstore, the comic shop doesn’t have an eye catching bright red sign, or banners hanging from the upper floors, flowing downwards along the façade facing Broadway. Instead, along with the simple sign hanging above the front door, the nerdy merchandise lining the large front window tells you exactly what kind of store it is, without the use of words. Now that I think about it, how very appropriate for a place that sells comic books.

I haven’t been to many comic book shops (there was The Comic Shop in Vancouver, the Forbidden Planet, and, of course, the Vault of Midnight, right here in Ann Arbor) so I cannot really say much about the establishments themselves. However, while I was there, I picked up a book called Emitown as a Christmas present for myself. It’s a collected volume of the homonymous web comic written by Emi Lenox, an artist I talked about last year on my article about Plutona. I think it is obvious that I’m a fan.

The comic features daily entries, or almost daily, that cover an array of topics, from her getting angry at a new scanner, wanting to eat, romance, paying the bill, seeing friends, and etc. A great bulk of the pages is filled with extraordinarily mundane things. Yet, it’s still interesting.

The comic is acclaimed to be a unique way in the memoir comic genre, or rather, diary comics, something that I’m not all qualified to weight in on. But I do feel it to be captivating for reasons I can’t explain. Is it the use of just inks and a pastel blue as the singular use of color? Is it the honesty of her words and opinions? Is it the way she draws expressions with a cartoonish aplomb and infectious spirit? Is it how relatable a lot of her entries are? Or perhaps it is all the dogs and cats (or the occasional llama?) that sometimes interject into her loose panels. I’m sure I don’t know.

 
During a break where I just wanted to huddle up and do nothing, this was the perfect comic to get into. I didn’t want to be transported to a new world, filled with fantastical creatures, or in the middle of nebulous space, or in some different time. I wanted to read about other people who are into comics; I wanted to read about a comic creator I admired.

It’s nice to slow down once in a while, and read something that is not “serious” but still artistically and narratively interesting. I hesitate to use that word though, “serious”. Honestly, it’s a word that doesn’t mean anything to me anymore when applied to works of art. It doesn’t serve any real purpose that benefits anybody. Just a label – an empty label.

I’m having a hard time bringing this together. But I would like to conclude this with a thank you to the Vault of Midnight. While I was at the other two comic book shops I mentioned, I noticed that they shelved their single issues without any protection, ie, without a bag and board. It kind of bothered me, not because I collect comics with the intent of keeping them in pristine condition only to sell them in the future. But because after experiencing the luxury of already bagged and boarded comics at the Vault, I really did miss it. Who doesn’t like their comics to be packaged nicely when they buy them? Seriously though…who?

I’ve always had very particular beliefs about what makes a romance movie work. The problem with many romantic arcs, both in movies and on TV, is that the characters are given no time to breathe, to authentically develop their chemistry and learn why they are in love with each other. My favorite romances tend to feature lots of dialogue, lots of cutesy flirting and just normal conversation. My favorite romance movie ever is “Before Sunrise,” a movie completely turned over to one long conversation. I want to see the characters get to know each other. I don’t want the show to just assume we’re invested in the romance because we’re supposed to be.

But “Carol” violates most of my notions of what a romance should be, and it’s still a great romance film. There isn’t much dialogue; Carol and Therese’s connection isn’t completely obvious based on what they say to each other. Most of my favorite romance movies are rom-coms, because when the characters are funny—especially with each other—it becomes so much easier to be invested in them. But “Carol” is very low on laughs, not quite dour, but serious.

Everything plays out with little visual and auditory hints. A hand brushing another, lingering briefly before dropping. Many, many long stares, full of unspeakable passion. All the sound in the room being sucked away, only silence and another woman’s face, smiling in slow motion. As A.O. Scott said, it’s “a symphony of angles and glances, of colors and shadows.”

Film critic Ignatiy Vishnevetsky, when talking about “Carol,” said that it’s easier for him to intellectually appreciate director Todd Haynes’s movies than to really love them, really feel for the characters. I can empathize with this point of view; while I really enjoyed “Carol,” I’m not sure I’d say I love it. It never really reaches the emotional highs for me that “Brooklyn” did this year, for example. There is a certain muted quality to it that created a slight distance for me—I never really came close to crying, for example. I got the sense that this was a movie concerned more with immersive details than go-for-broke melodramatic tear-jerking moments. In fact, I suspect it might be more affecting upon a second watch, when you can really sink into the immersive scenes even more. Still, I think it’s way too far to call the film ‘cold’ or ‘clinical,’ two words I’ve seen thrown around a bit.

Because “Carol” is so restrained, though, it results in some really powerful moments once the characters really express their feelings. In a movie with little dialogue that blatantly states the character’s feelings, Carol’s early musing that Therese is “flung from space” is surprisingly honest, concisely illustrating the awe and surprise Carol feels at this strange, beautiful new woman in her life.

And the visual aesthetic makes it possible for the few truly affecting scenes to sneak up on you and hit you hard. The grainy film fits with the period setting perfectly, and it seems to suit whatever emotion the characters are feeling; when Therese is sad, the shimmering film feels unstable, almost suggesting the blur of tears, but when she feels happy and horny and enamored, the lights seem to glow warm and the grain seems to simulate the dizzy fervor of falling in love. The escalation of Therese and Carol’s sexual tension is tangible; by the time they’re trying on makeup together, it’s almost unbearable.

It must be said that much of the success of the movie, aside from Haynes’s perfect direction, lies in the performances of Rooney Mara and Cate Blanchett. Blanchett has proven her talent countless times by now, but it really is difficult to see anyone else in the role. She just brings this instant captivatingly seductive quality to the screen. Mara, too, is amazing—she probably won’t get as much attention (I hate the idea that they’re campaigning for a Supporting Actress nomination for the Oscars), but she’s so perfect at achieving this very specific kind of balance. On the one hand, she’s kind of the inactive protagonist character—not a bland role, per se, but the one with less of a dominating, flashy personality. She’s awkward and embarrassed and still figuring out herself. She pulls the role off great with adorable little touches. The whole scene in at lunch, you can see Therese so nervous and desperate to impress Carol, and Mara’s expressions are perfect. She balances that more traditional role, though, with a very specific kind of attractiveness that naturally appeals to Carol; Mara’s face has this mysterious elfin quality that recalls that same alien image mentioned earlier (maybe the same reason she was chosen for “The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo” and “Side Effects”).

In the hands of Blanchett and Mara, the inevitable sex scene feels truly cathartic, erotic and dreamlike in a way that feels different from most movies, even with Blanchett’s lack of nudity and the relatively short length. It’s magical from the very beginning, when Carol slowly unravels her robe while standing behind Therese, another moment that seems huge just because of how understated the film is. And the sex scene itself has a quality of relief to it, charged with passion and sexiness but layered over with that same silky, warm, borderline-surreal quality that the grainy film has helped create throughout the movie. The upside-down shots of them kissing only underscore that feeling.

Finally, there’s the last sequence, when the narrative returns to its starting point: Therese and Carol eating dinner together. At first, I was a little skeptical of the use of a framing device in this type of understated romantic drama, but I began to appreciate it once I realized its use. The first time we saw the scene, it didn’t seem like a very critical scene; Therese and Carol were eating dinner together, then Carol left early so Therese could hang out with her friends. You could tell there were some conflicted feelings going on, but it didn’t feel crucial. Now we watch again, with Therese and Carol seeing each other for the first time in a long time, and we see how far the dynamics have shifted. Carol is the vulnerable one here, obliviously asking Therese to move in with her despite all that has changed between them. And Therese, though this clearly means a lot to her, is hardened to it all. Carol was such an enigmatic figure of power at the beginning, instantly commanding the attention of both Therese and the audience, but now, Therese stares right back at her, full of hurt but more confident, resolved to do what’s best for herself.

And then Carol says, “I love you.”

It’s possibly the most powerful moment in the whole film, what all this was building towards. What struck me the most, though, weren’t the words, though they were clearly essential to the scene, essential the sense of catharsis after two hours of searching for the words and failing. What struck me the most was the moment that lingered after. Silence. It stretches on, maybe only a couple seconds, but it feels like infinity. I wish I could re-watch the scene, because I might be remembering something that wasn’t there, but everything felt like it was shimmering—once again, everything else disappears but Carol, the only sound this kind of entrancing, subtle vibration.

And then the man from the opening scene calls, “Therese?” And you know it’s coming, because you remember that first scene, but it still feels like everything is suddenly vaporized and gone, like you’re lying in a bed with your eyes closed and listening to your iPod playing your favorite song and filling you up from every angle of the universe, and then someone yanks your earphones out. Startling. Shattering.

The scenes that follow maintain that power. Therese goes to a party, but she’s distracted. And then, of course, she goes to meet Carol, like she must. She crosses the room towards Carol’s table, and once again there’s that woozy dreamlike feeling. The camera is showing you Therese’s point of view, like the very first time she looked across the department store and saw Carol. You’re moving through the restaurant as if in a daze, with people all around you but all equally insignificant. Your vision is blurred, focused only on the one thing that you need on the other side, and you feel both like you’re moving far too fast, approaching this terrifying and beautiful thing at an alarming rate, and like you’re moving through molasses, never able to get there quick enough.

But then Carol raises her head, just an inch, only just enough to catch your eye. She looks up at you, and her eyes slowly, slowly, slowly crinkle, her lips slowly, slowly, slowly curl into a smile.

It’s subtle. It’s restrained. It’s a little withholding. But it’s beautiful. It’s “Carol.”

This episode contains a relatively simple mystery, but with a complex twist ending that some may find to be too coincidental. The real stars of this episode, though, is the further development of Ned’s and Chuck’s relationship and the continuing adventures of Olive with Chuck’s secret.

Summary:

We start another episode with a flashback to Ned’s childhood at the boarding school. This trend is becoming interesting as we are learning that this season is really focused on Ned’s life and his development as a character (as well as Chuck’s since we often flashback to her life as well). This will be in contrast to season two (when we get there) as that season seems much more broad with its on characters and closer to Olives journey, rather than Ned’s. I wonder how the show would’ve progressed and if each character would’ve gotten their own season (Emerson’s probably being the third season’s character arc).

Back to the flashback, we see Ned alone at school and Digby back at the house, also alone. This prompts Digby to run away to attempt to find Ned, which he eventually does. The meeting is bittersweet, though, as both remember that they can’t touch. This scene mirrors the present day as Digby’s vow to never leave Ned’s side, even with the drawbacks, represents the various relationships in the show. This is in direct reference to Olive’s dedication to Ned, Ned’s dedication to Chuck, and Chuck’s dedication to her aunts.

We then transition to the Pie Hole where Ned nearly catches Chuck making her mood-enhancing pies for her aunts. This leads to Chuck to ponder “the little things” like if her recently more extravagant dreams are due to her status as formerly dead, or if bee’s honey will taste different if they were also brought back to life. At this point, Ned reveals a gift to Chuck. On the rooftop, Ned has created a new bee hive for Chuck to care for, knowing that she missed her life back home.

We also see Olive’s internal thoughts in a new scene as she ponders about her feelings towards Ned and wonders what she should do now that she know’s Chuck’s secret. While grabbing Chuck’s pie to deliver to the aunts, a pigeon flies into the window, distracting all of our main characters. While arguing outside, Ned accidentally reawakens the bird, and is unable to touch it again. This causes another bird to fall out of the sky. The group (Ned, Chuck, Olive, and Emerson) look towards the sky, just as a cropduster flies into a nearby apartment complex.

Emerson, looking for another opportunity for cash, and Ned and Chuck go to the apartment complex to assess the situation. Here, Chuck shows off her law knowledge by explaining to Ned that there could be a lot of money involved in the accident. During this time, she trips and, Ned being unable to catch, she falls into the arms of Conrad Finch, the strapping owner of the apartment. Chuck stays behind with Conrad, while Ned and Emerson head to the morgue.

At the morgue, we run into the body of pilot and learn of his past through narration. We also get to see Ned’s jealous side as he is concerned about not being able to catch Chuck and her staying behind with Conrad. Ned reawakens the pilot and learns that he was actually hijacked by an escaped convict. He reassures the wife of the pilot that it was not a suicide.

After this, we cut back to Olive and her delivery of the pie to Chuck’s aunts, along with the pigeon that flew into the window, hoping that the aunts could help. We learn that the pigeon is actually a carrier pigeon with a message and Olive becomes determined to fix up the pigeon so that it could deliver the message. She also tries to convince the aunts to go to the Pie Hole afterwards to try and expose Chuck’s secret.

Emerson and Ned arrive back at the apartment, with Ned immediately noticing an off-putting smell. He moves over to the trunk serving as a coffee table and open it. Inside is a dead body, who we come to learn in the actual Conrad Finch. The impersonator was the hijacker.

We travel back to the Pie Hole, where Chuck is sharing Pie with the unknown hijacker. During their conversation, Chuck reveals that she finds a kind of thrill in her new life. She can discard the parts of herself that she did not like and maintain the parts that she did. While revealing this part of herself, the fake Conrad takes her hand. Chuck, enamored with the new physical intimacy, asks him to continue. She closes her eyes and pretend it is Ned’s hand that she is holding.

Chuck is reawakened by a slam on the window and finds Ned there, glaring at them. Conrad makes a break for it through the kitchen. Ned almost catches him, but loses him after his prosthetic arm comes off in his hands. After this ordeal, Emerson comes back with knowledge about the hijacker. We learn that he is actually a whit-collar crook who was arrested for insider trading. He shared a cell with a diamond thief who nicknamed him Lefty Lem (for his missing left arm). Lem’s cellmate died with his treasure still hidden and the trio goes to his grave site to find more information.

At the graveyard, the trio digs up the dead body of Lem’s cell mate. We learn that the diamonds are still under the stairs of a retired windmill. The trio decides to go investigate, believing that Lem is also looking for these missing diamonds.

Back at the aunt’s house, Olive helps Lily and Vivien to create a prosthetic wing for the bird, which they have affectionately nicknamed Pidge. The aunts continue to lament to Olive about how much they miss Chuck and this only furthers Olive’s determination to reveal her secret to them. During an aside, Olive tries to convince Vivien to open Pidge’s message and read it, but she refuses, alluding to an event in their past where Vivien read a message she shouldn’t have and Lily never forgave her for it.

After the production of the prosthetic wing, Pidge flies out the window without its message. The aunts and Olive chase after it trying to deliver the message. We find that they are actually heading to the same windmill as Lem and the trio of investigators. We cut to the car containing Ned, Chuck, Emerson while Ned and Chuck are discussing their relationship problems. Chuck find Ned to be too jealous and misses the physical intimacy that usually comes with a relationship, whereas Ned is concerned about Chuck’s romantic interaction with Lem.

Unfortunately, Lem makes it to the windmill before either of the two cars and finds a woman there. Bored, she allows the stranger into her house and becomes his hostage. The two share some romantic banter (while she is tied to a chair) before the car containing Olive and the aunts arrives with Pidge.

During an unusually cordial tea time, we learn that Pidge has actually been sending messages between Lem and the woman in the windmill all along. We then flashback to learn how this is true. We learn that Lem’s old cellmate actually met the original owner of the windmill while hiding his jewels and the two fell in love at first sight. After getting captured, the two sent messages to eachother through the carrier pigeon. Both of them died and they ensured that the other would continue to get messages so as to not break their partners hearts. Lem was trusted to keep sending messages to the owner of the windmill and the owner asked her daughter to keep sending messages to the convict. After the flashback we learn that the woman actually had the diamonds hidden in her prosthetic leg the entire time.

The group suddenly gets interrupted by a knock at the door. Olive looks through the peephole and finds Chuck, along with the others there. She goes to open the door to reveal the secret, but think backs on her time with the aunts. She realizes that they shouldn’t go through more trauma and warns Chuck so that she can remain hidden. Olive sneaks the aunts out the back and drive off, though Lily catches a glimpse of Chuck through the rear-view mirror.

In the end, the trio catch Lem and turn him over to the police. Lem and the windmill lady continue to write and Olive tries to console the dead pilots wife their new found information.

Pros:

-There is some much needed depth added to the relationship between Ned and Chuck

-Olive’s softening to Chuck at the end helps to make the character more likable. We get to see a more compassionate side to her and her relationship with the aunts is touching.

-The relationship between Lem and the woman in the windmill is well executed and well acted, if a bit coincidental.

-Aunt Vivien’s allusion to a mysterious note helps to create a larger, overarching plot thread that helps to keep the audience invested and eager for more episodes.

-Every character is imbued with the right amount of humor, especially Jayma Mays’ windmill woman.

Cons:

-The mystery was a bit lackluster, but this helped to keep the audience more focused on the character relationships.

-The pigeon plot thread seems like too big of a coincidence and may break a few watchers’ suspension of disbelief.

Overall:

This episode is a bit disappointing when compared to other episodes in the series. The mystery in not very engaging and the twisting plot thread can be a bit exhausting to watch. Especially since we are still getting necessary exposition at the very end of the episode. What saves the episode, though, is the relationships between Ned and Chuck, and Olive and the aunts. It’s great to see negative aspects to Ned and Chuck’s relationships, when in the past, any problems were solved by the end of the episode. And it is especially great to see more empathetic emotions shown by Olive. Her adventures were really the best part of the episode, from her quirky relationship to the aunts, to the wonder we see on Chuck’s face when she learns the aunts are at the windmill too. The episode was good, but could have definitely been delivered better with a deeper mystery, more delving into Olive’s plot, and better use of all of the characters.

Rating:

7/10 Daisies