“The Catbird Seat” (S3, Ep 11)
Whitney Ellsworth. Let’s take a moment. Here was a man. Here was a good man, a decent man. And in an instant, he is gone. The first time I saw “The Catbird Seat,” I actually had to rewind and rewatch the moment where Jim Beaver is shot through the head, because I simply did not believe it had happened. I couldn’t. He was the closest thing to a ray of light in the town of Deadwood. He was going to rally beside Bullock and help Alma fight George Hearst with Al and the rest of the gang. Right? How naive I was. Ellsworth’s blink and you’ll miss it murdering was the most truly tragic gut-punch of the series, aside from William’s death (no disrespect to the innocent victim at the end of the upcoming finale). We all knew Wild Bill’s death was coming, but no one expected the innocent, warm-hearted gentleman who married a woman out of protective kindness to be killed off the way he was. You can argue the tactic is cruel, but really, it’s just honest – that’s what makes it sting. And truth and lies are what “Deadwood” do best. Part of me feels guilty for only including 2 episodes of “Deadwood’s final season, but the simple fact of the matter is, the third and fourth volumes of Milch’s series were intended to play together, not in isolation, and as we never got that second batch of episodes, its storytelling still feels unfinished (the upcoming movie has most certainly alleviated that, though). The George Hearst plotline (which the finale film most certainly plays off) is completely compelling, but there is still one seeded story left hanging. While some felt Hearst was an unnecessary villain the show never needed, I vehemently disagree. My issue is the Brian Cox thread, wonderful in theory, but meandering in practice, and without proper payoff. “Deadwood’s third season simply feels like an amazingly ambitious set-up to an idea that would never fully materialize. Don’t get me wrong, “Deadwood: The Movie,” is as satisfying an ending as could possibly be pulled off in just under two hours, but one wonder’s just what kind of narrative threading Cox’s theatre troupe subplot would have sewn, had that fourth season come to fruition. Let’s take another moment.
When discussing “Deadwood’s impact, there is, frankly, too much to discuss. This piece hasn’t even mentioned half of the show’s characters, the series is so damn dense. There is the blossoming relationship between Calamity Jane (Robin Weigert) and Joanie Stubbs (Kim Dickens), the outright desperate performance delivered by Brad Dourif as Deadwood’s lone doctor, and the always amusing back and forth between hotelier E.B. Farnum and Al’s inner circle of confidants (W. Earl Brown, Sean Bridgers & Titus Welliver). The show spotlighted actors such as Kristen Bell (“The Good Place”) and Sarah Paulson (“American Horror Story”) before they would go on to becomes TV stars, each playing a powerful woman skilled in manipulating those around them, masking their true intentions from all the men who see them as just eye candy. But, in a fashion, not being able to talk about everything that made the show so great feels somewhat appropriate, as regret and remorse are two of the most timely themes of a reflective series about revision.
We’re all responsible for the course of history, but we like to forget this. So we spin a story as to why we should be excused. Americans, in particular, have gotten quite good at that. “After constructing some semblance of order out of utter chaos, what’s next?” “Deadwood” asks. Will we continue to make up lies to convince ourselves we are still civilized? We might believe different things, be pushed and pulled in various directions, but we’re all the same really, deep down, no matter where we hail from. We’re all just trying to find a place in the world, to discover a sense of belonging. “Deadwood” is a series that understands this commonality, the power, and importance of communal acceptance and diverse company, ideas to remember now more than ever, most especially in the olden tales we continue to tell ourselves.
