Them Episode 2 Recap: American Pie

The Coen Brothers love pitting two men against one another. Not in combat, at least not for the most part, No Country for Old Men notwithstanding. Picture the Dude in the office of the Big Lebowski, or Barton Fink getting talked at by studio boss Jack Lipnick, or Larry Gopnick trying to get a word

The Coen Brothers love pitting two men against one another. Not in combat, at least not for the most part, No Country for Old Men notwithstanding. Picture the Dude in the office of the Big Lebowski, or Barton Fink getting talked at by studio boss Jack Lipnick, or Larry Gopnick trying to get a word in edgewise against Sy Ableman, the man his wife is leaving him for, in A Serious Man. (Sy is, in fact, the titular man.) In each case the two men are so different from one another they may as well be speaking different languages—but one of these men holds the other’s livelihood in his hands, and it’s up to the man in the subordinate position to make the conversation work or die trying.

The excellent, harrowing second episode of Them (“Day 3”) features a scene much like this Coen Brothers hallmark. It’s Henry Emory’s first day on the job, a fact he’s finding it hard to concentrate on given that he found his family’s beloved dog dead in their basement, perpetrator unknown, and that the cops were subsequently called on his family, not for them, after his wife Livia ran outside with a gun to yell at their monstrously racist neighbors. Suddenly he’s called in—summoned, really—to the office of his boss, a Mr. Berks (P.J Byrne). During the course of their brief meeting, Berks both reprimands and encourages Henry. He both commiserates with him and tells him to suck it up. Quite literally, he both laughs and cries.

Through it all, Henry sits, trying as hard as he can to maintain his composure in the face of this mercurial display. He knows that if he somehow fails to play by the arbitrary and ever-shifting rules of the conversation, it could cost him his job, and his home, and everything his family has fought so hard for since his return from World War II, where instead of being sent to the front, he was used by the United States government as a guinea pig for chemical-warfare testing. Such is the power of Berks as his employer, and more to the point, as a white man. For all intents and purposes he is an insane man, and it is up to Henry, sane, to keep up with the crazy or lose everything.

So, after the meeting, tasked with transporting a folder from Berks to another part of the factory, Henry takes a bathroom break. He grabs paper towel after paper towel from the dispenser. He enters a stall, closes the door, sits down. He stuffs the paper towels in his mouth to muffle the sound. And he screams, and screams, and screams some more.

This moment isn’t the worst part of Henry’s day, not by a long shot—not with burying the dead dog, or the Nazi-looking cops who point guns at his wife and daughters, or even the “good” cop who reacts with irritation to the overt racism of his subordinates and of Henry’s neighbors but who still offers little more than condescension by way of help for the family. It’s not even the worst part of his work day: That would be the moment when, walking down the hallway, everything goes yellow, and a window into a nearby office reveals a gas chamber in which a man is screaming and suffering.

Even his family life begins crumbling, when Livia—who feels, correctly, that Henry is ignoring her assertion that something is wrong in their very obviously haunted house—pointedly serves him a delicious pie, knowing that he associates sweet smells with the mustard gas Uncle Sam pumped into his lungs. But by god, he chokes that pie down.

This is the story being told by Them. This is what creator/co-writer Little Marvin, co-writer David Matthews, director Nelson Cragg (previously the cinematographer for Ryan Murphy’s masterpiece American Crime Story), director of photography Xavier Grobet, and editor David Kashevaroff (not to mention executive producer Lena Waithe) convey with every tool at their disposal—the relentlessly downbeat script, the breathtaking use of every camera trick in the book from Dutch tilts to split screens to Vertigo shots, the disorienting staccato editing, and the uniformly thoughtful and precise performances of both the Emory family and their enemies up the block, led by the increasingly unhinged Betty. Them is a ghost story, yes, and the specter of Miss Vera and the blood pouring from the poor dog’s grave at the end of the episode promise more in store along those lines. But in terms of where the atmosphere of terror and dread this show maintains actually come from, it is about being sane in an insane land, never knowing whether, say, the kindly old white man at the hardware store is going to reveal himself to be an inveterate racist (he doesn’t, though in Livia’s mind he encourages her to buy an axe off the wall display just in case she has further trouble with the neighbors), or whether the teacher at your school will punish you when your classmates make monkey noises at you because you answered a question. It’s about putting your best foot forward in a world intent on cutting you off at the knees. It’s about choking down that goddamn pie, choking down every last bite.

Sean T. Collins (@theseantcollins) writes about TV for Rolling Stone, Vulture, The New York Times, and anyplace that will have him, really. He and his family live on Long Island.

Watch Them Episode 2 (“Day 3”) on Amazon Prime

This post first appeared on Nypost.com

ncG1vNJzZmhqZGy7psPSmqmorZ6Zwamx1qippZxemLyue82erqxnpJ2yrnnEqaCsp5SaenN50Z6amqhdlrqmvsicmKdloJ6ycA%3D%3D

 Share!