One TV character who haunts me is Kim Wexler, and I'm grateful to the critic Alan Sepinwall for shedding light on Kim's place in the landscape.
Sepinwall argues that the antihero trend reached its climax with "Breaking Bad." That particular story--the story of the difficult man, sinking and sinking--couldn't really be improved upon. We'd seen Walter White, Al Swearengen, Dexter, Don Draper, Tony Soprano, Omar Little. Enough already! (Sepinwall fails to explain the role of Philip Jennings or Shiv Roy in TV history. Oh, well.)
In Sepinwall's (initial) reading, "Better Call Saul" is *not* centered on an antihero. An antihero wants to do bad things (even if the world, NM-with-Walter-White-style, insists on misreading the antihero as decent). But Jimmy McGill generally does not want to do bad things. He wants to do good; the world, fixated on Jimmy's past, demands that Jimmy be seen as bad.
But wait. Sepinwall later back-pedals. "Better Call Saul" does feature an antihero--and the antihero is Kim Wexler. Like Walter White, Wexler is generally seen as good. Like Walter White, Wexler decides that she wants to perform evil acts, and she rationalizes her decision by saying that the proceeds will go to charity (i.e., Wexler's pro bono efforts).
What makes "Saul" special is that Kim stops, mid-descent, notices what she is doing, and corrects course. She atones. In the moving final episodes, she drills down to the truth; she makes confessions. No one holds a gun to her head; she changes only so that she can find a way to live with herself. The show's interest in morality feels old-school; you suddenly feel that you're reading a novel by Dostoyevsky. The sixth season is riveting.
The best characters are at war with themselves. That's the human condition. In the famous clip I'm pasting here, Kim lives through a one-act play in which she is her own antagonist; the "bus" scene keeps you on the edge of your seat, even though there isn't a word of dialogue. I'm also including the slightly cartoonish but delightful interlude during which Kim bakes goodies for an FSU party. We're meant to note just how furiously Kim is engaged in dimming her own light. The details are priceless: a long discussion about mayonnaise, an anguished speech about garnet-hued food coloring, an announcement about a new Outback Steakhouse, a bit of intrigue with regard to a wine cooler. I just can't think of another show like this.
Rhea Seehorn deserved the Emmy win for her most recent nomination. I'm a fan of Jennifer Coolidge, but enough is enough. I still think about Seehorn's loss.
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