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So, irony alert: Nucky Thompson hates St. Patrick's Day, with all its public drunkenness and crying. Is he a self-hating Irish, like Eli and his (loud, rude, maybe senile) Dad think? Well, maybe. Answer me this: would a self-hating Irish hire out the local little people community to dress up as leprechauns and entertain the drunken boyos? Eh?
Meanwhile, Eli gets it in his head that he wants to make a speech at the Celtic dinner. Nucky is annoyed by his little brother's me-too-ism, and everybody else pretty much laughs at him. But at the dinner, just as he's getting some good response for his anti-English invective, in-fighting between native and American-born Irish leads Nucky to stop the speech short. Oh, and then they get raided. Whaa? Let's back up...
Perhaps afraid of his feelings, perhaps seeing her as a political liability, Nucky starts cold-shouldering Margaret something fierce. And it's not a great time to be doing that, what with local bootleggers noisily unloading barrels in the alley behind her house, and the Temperance Union peer-pressuring her into blowing the whistle on them. After Nucky blows her off AGAIN, Margaret goes to see Van Alden. After getting a pious (natch) lecture from him on the ills of bootlegging, she gives up the name of local ward boss James Neri, who was supervising the barrel-unloading behind her house. So Van Alden raids the dinner, throws his giant metaphorical cock of authority, and arrests Neri. It's a terribly embarrassing day for the Irish, and for Nucky. So naturally he heads right over to Margaret's place ... and kisses her.
Meanwhile, in Chicago, Pearl is having a rough recovery from her slashing. She's only brightened up by her love for Jimmy and her even bigger love of laudanum. Torrio wants her gone by the end of the week, though, as she's no good as a hooker anymore (what, no Cronenberg-style fetish creeps in Chi-Town?), and that's BEFORE she shuffles into the main room, showing off her wicked face scar. Jimmy's super sweet to her, though. He reads her stories. She tells him her real name. There is just no way she doesn't die of an opium overdose. But wait! A complete swerve! She dies of a self-inflicted gunshot. Your recapper is devastated, but not as devastated as Jimmy, who takes the opportunity to patronize an opium den.
All this, plus the sporting press starts pointing fingers at Arnold Rothstein for fixing the World Series, and Angela -- after harshly rebuffing Gillian's offer to raise Tommy while Angela takes off to live her '20s in bohemian freedom -- swings by the photo shop for what certainly seems like the kind of illicit rendezvous we all thought Jimmy was crazy for suspecting a few weeks ago. Uh, sorry, Jimmy.
Want more? The full recap starts right below!It's twilight in Atlantic City, and Margaret Schroeder's little house could use thicker curtains, because the light is all up in there. Also she can hear the bootleggers unloading barrels full of hooch like they were right in the kitchen. She looks dismayed, then sets about her morning routine. Are those ... are those pancakes she's making. Destitute my ass.
Nucky and Eli are taking the elevator down to the lobby of the Ritz, and Nucky is complaining about the upcoming St. Patrick's day. Which, yes, is rather odd since he's getting rich off of the same public drunkenness he hates in the holiday. Eli says their dad thinks this attitude is because Nucky hates being Irish. Nucky denies it and says it's more that he hates the "crying and arguing" that always happens. "Centuries of loss," Eli intones gravely. "We're a sorrowful people." Ah, so it's sorrow that's led them to dropping a shot of Jameson's into a pint of Guinness and calling it a "car bomb." Eli takes a break from rhapsodizing about Kilarney to bristle at the waiter asking Nucky (but not Eli) if he'd like any breakfast. Gee, Eli doesn't do much to hide his bald-faced envy of Nucky's position in town. He tells Nucky he was thinking about saying a few words at the Celtic Dinner tonight, boost his reelection cause. Nucky really doesn't like this idea, for one because Eli is a terrible public speaker, and also because he'll have their dad to worry about tonight, he doesn't want to have to worry about Eli too. Eli is adamant, though, about wanting to say his peace. He's even been taking public speaking lessons. He produces a book by "Dale Carnagey," the famous orator. Note the non-traditional spelling of his name -- this was before he changed it to "Carnegie" in order to co-opt the wealth and social standing of Andrew Carnegie. Eli could tell him even being born with the name doesn't always help. Anyway, Nucky grumpily acquiesces: "Daniel fucking Webster."
Across the room, Eli spots "the widow Schroeder" coming towards them. Smiling, she's brought Nucky some homemade soda bread (which is what she must've been making rather than the pancakes I originally thought). But for whatever reason -- self-conscious around Eli; too much on his mind -- Nucky is super cold to Margaret, telling her she can leave the bread with a bellhop, then says he's late for a meeting. As Margaret retreats, dejected, Eli gives Nucky a look. "Life's complicated enough," Nucky says. And I have to say ... I don't buy this. I mean yes, obviously he's only saying that when he means something completely different, but I don't think anything that happened between last week (when they danced) and this week tracks with Nucky's current attitude. If anything, it's Margaret who should be blowing off Nucky, because of the whole Lucy/cake thing. Anyway, Margaret watches him pass from afar, then dumps the bread in the trash.
And now we're off to the Atlantic City Little Person's Benevolent Association. Or ... more likely the locker room at the midget boxing arena. In any case, the gathered little folk are bitching about the shabby condition of the leprechaun costumes they're going to have to wear at the Celtic Dinner. Not to mention the drunken attendants with their manhandling and generally dehumanizing behavior. Two of the boxers come back inside, and the one, Carl, appears to be the midget rep who talks to Nucky, because the other ones are all over him. They don't want any more of the leprechaun gigs, or dressing up like Cupid or goddamned elves. Carl notes that they're fine with the boxing, but understandably, they find a bit of a difference between athletic competition and being tossed from one drunken oaf stinking of Hennessey to another. Carl, looking to keep order as well as likely hold on to his ever-so-slightly elevated position, says what if he can get Nucky to bump the pay rate up to $10. Well in that case, as one puts it, "Where's my fookin' shillelagh?"
In Chicago, Jimmy is taking care of Pearl, squeezing her some orange juice and talking about happier times, when they go to California. She's got her face bandaged up severely, with one thick, gauzy strip extending from her head, diagonal across her face, down to her neck. She woozily tells Jimmy she loves him, then jumps at the sound of a door slamming. She's in rough shape. He hands her the O.J., but she wants some laudanum in it. He sees an empty bottle on top of the sheets, which Pearl has already plowed right through. Jimmy reluctantly produces another bottle and pours Pearl a nip. She wants more, but he says "it's opium, not a milkshake." You guys! Perfect idea for a specialty restaurant! Call me! Anyway, she sips her new, improved orange juice and almost immediately begins to check out. "It's like the sun's just come out," she breathes. Jimmy is happy to oblige by blowing a cool Pacific breeze on her face.
Back at the Ritz, Nucky's counting his money with some of the other ward chiefs and toasting to the political machine. Jimmy Neri, the guy supervising the barrel-unloading behind Margaret's house, toasts to the Irish, who "drink when they're happy [and] drink when they're sad." Nucky asks him how the green beer is coming, and Neri says food coloring came in today, now they mix it. Nucky says it's a good thing, because he's gonna have to "keep those poor Celts lubricated if they're gonna be subjected to Eli's reelection speech." Nucky has a good laugh at his brother's expense and once again calls him Daniel Webster. (Eli calls him on the joke recycling -- hey, maybe Nucky's just working on a tight set, huh?) Eli gives the room a grumpy "fuck you" as they laugh at him. Nucky jokes, "The Irish, they're a surly lot." Yeah, I guess Nucky can't afford to be too proud of his Irish heritage when his inner circle here keeps talking about his people paying for their booze "through their pug Irish noses" and singing a mocking chorus of "Danny Boy."
Across town, we're once again treated to the stern, lecturing intonations of Dana Ivey at another Temperance League rally. Sadly, no poetry this time. You'll notice, too, that since the passage of the Volstead Act, the attendance at these meetings has gone way down. Dana Ivey makes a point of welcoming Margaret, one of those "haven't seen you around much" greetings that don't feel very welcome at all. The women start passing around stories from around town about how the prohibition laws are being flouted pretty much everywhere. One woman reads a letter from someone out in the Midwest who heard tale around town of a widow mixing bathtub gin to make ends meet, only she left it unattended and her toddler got into it and poisoned herself dead. Which, okay, first of all, Nancy Botwin wasn't even alive in the 1920s, so I'm not sure who this lady reading the letter is fooling. Second, it's impressive to note that nosy gossip and apocryphal horror stories about drugs traveled pretty well in the pre-internet age.
Anyway, everybody's got a story about how bad it is -- Dana wants to hear some suggestions about how they can stop the flow of liquor. At this, Margaret pipes up and tells about the barrel-unloading behind her house. She suggests they maybe talk to Mr. Thompson about it. The fact that they all assume she's talking about Eli is one thing -- he's the sheriff after all. But when she corrects them and says she means "Enoch," and they all look at her sideways -- come on, show. This very Temperance League had Nucky speaking in support of their cause not five episodes ago. But the real story is how all the hens turn around and start clucking when she reveals that she and Mr. Thompson are "close." She endures the judgy stares and pledges to try and arrange a meeting.
In New York, Arnold Rothstein is getting a haircut while he reads a newspaper article alleging that the World Series may have been fixed at the behest of a "well-known New York gambler." His lawyer, Fallon, sits across from him and tries to soothe his nerves, saying the article doesn't mention him by name. Arnold grouses that it might as well have. Fallon calmly calls it a "steaming pile of horseshit," though Rothstein tells him that the incriminating meeting took place over a very public dinner at the Astor Hotel. Regardless, Fallon tells him the smart play is to do nothing right now. "You get a little mud on your trousers --" (or horseshit, as Arnold notes) -- "You don't rub it off right. You let it dry. Let it settle. Then, you just brush it off, nice and easy." Arnold doesn't mention that in the interim, he's going to smell like shit. Shit and corruption.
Eddie lingers in Nucky's doorway until he's forced to ask him what he wants. Eddie says Carl Healy's here to see him. "Who?" Nucky asks. Eddie places his hand palm-downward about three feet off the ground. HA! Oh, Eddie, you can stay. Carl comes in right behind him and starts off with some pleasantries for Nucky. But Nucky's especially busy today, so he tells Carl he'd be doing him a favor if he'd just get to the part about what he wants. Carl relays the little folks' grievances with the leprechaun stuff, to which Nucky isn't exactly sympathetic. And he completely refuses the $10 fee. Instead he proposes that he give Carl $12 to go back to the midgets and offer $7, giving Carl himself $2 more than he asked for but letting Nucky pay $12 less than what Carl was demanding. Sure, Carl is selling out his own people but hey, he keeps in good with the top dog in the county. Boy, what a corrupt and bygone era this was!
Carl shuffles out and passes Dana Ivey and Margaret. Nucky greets them with excessive courtesy, as is the case when he deals with Temperance folk. Margaret asks him if he enjoyed the soda bread, because Margaret Schroeder ain't playin' no games this week! It takes a moment before Nucky remembers, then he lies that he did. And Margaret officially goes all eye of the tiger. She tells him about the unloading of beer barrels behind her house. She says she saw "a man who looked familiar... though I couldn't really place him," making sure her eyes are telling Nucky that if he makes her really displeased, she might finally click to his identity. Then there's the following rapid-fire and utterly deadpan exchange:
Nucky: "Why that's outrageous."
Margaret: "I saw it with my own two eyes."
Nucky: "I'm sure you must've been appalled."
Margaret: "I was. Quite."
Nucky: "Are you as turned on as I am right now?"
Margaret: "More!"
Anyway, before they start pawing at each other atop Nucky's desk, Nucky smoothly and deliberately mentions seeing Margaret at his birthday party. At Babette's night club. Amid all those boozers. Obviously, this is meant to scandalize Dana Ivey as to what Margaret's been up to, but since a) Margaret clarifies that she was there on a work errand, and b) Dana Ivey is certain that Nucky's "class of people" only drink in moderation, it doesn't come to much. Though it does make me think that the Temperance movement, like most anti-drug crusades in this country, is more about class conflicts than the public good. Anyway, Nucky assures the women he'll take care of it, but when Margaret thanks him, he makes sure she knows this is not a "personal favor." In other words, don't come around my speakeasy no more.
Chicago. Jimmy is feeding Pearl some soup, but she refuses. "You can't live on laudanum," he says. "Watch me," she slurs. Johnny Torrio comes knocking at the door with a smile for Pearl, whose own smile is both sardonic and opium-drenched. Torrio pulls Jimmy into the hallway, then laments her condition. Jimmy says she's not that bad, but Torrio says, "If she was a filly, they'd shoot her." He says this is a cathouse, not a hotel -- "she don't earn, I don't earn." Jimmy offers to comp her, but Torrio says she's a hundred dollars a day. Jimmy's shocked that that's how much she'd earn. Torrio tells him he's got til Friday to either pay up or get her out. Back inside, Jimmy lies about the nature of Torrio's visit. Pearl's looped, but not so looped she can't tell Jimmy is covering and upset. Wanting to make him feel better, she offers to eat the soup. Wow, a hooker who is sweet and beautiful and with big dreams of California and a drug addiction? Who's to say how this story will end? (And no, I don't want to hear about Richard Gere on any fire escapes.)
Margaret's sleeping in her bed with the kids when she's once again awoken by the clambering of the bootleggers. This time, she wraps herself in a blanket and heads out to complain. The first guy she talks to oafishly explains that this is the beer they'll be dyeing green. When he realizes that this admission might be a problem with a woman who's already come out to complain, he calls his boss, Mr. Neri, over. He and Margaret recognize each other, and he tries to butter her up with talk of her Irish homeland. She's not budging, though. He gives a lip-service-y admonishment to the rest of the workers to keep it down, then, because as you recall, he thinks the Irish are easily placated with booze, he offers to pour Margaret a taste of the old country, but she turns heel back to her house.
The morning, she takes great effort to pick a dynamite dress -- I really hope she's not complaining too loudly about mean Madame Jeunet, because her wardrobe has been DYNAMITE since she's started working at Oh! Mon Dieu!. This one's a gorgeous lavender dress with embroidered beading and a plum hat to match it. Cut to Margaret waiting outside of Nucky's office with a few other undesirables. From Margaret's posture, you can tell she's been waiting a while. Neri gets off the elevator and doesn't so much as acknowledge Margaret as he breezes past and into the office. When he opens the door, sounds of boisterous laughter and carousing can be heard. Eddie finally exits the office and announces that Mr. Thompson is not available today. Margaret looks up expectantly and asks if he knows she's been waiting. Eddie only says Nucky's got important business to tend to. And... not like Nucky's being a prince by blowing her off like this -- and he'll certainly suffer for it later -- but I'm not sure where Margaret gets the stones to be offended that she didn't get ushered to the front of the line again after trying to blow the whistle on Nucky to the Temperance League. Cut to Margaret at home, back in one of her dowdier ensembles, as she gets angry and rips her silky green slip apart. It's quite a tantrum and a real regression after the complexity we saw in her last week.
At the Bureau's ad-hoc Post Office digs, Van Alden is instructing the agent I call Squeak to place pins in known bootlegging sites across a map. Sounds like the kind of non-stop fun one must have when hanging with Nelson Van Alden. You know, on the 29 days a month he's not squeezing internal organs between his fingers. Margaret enters, and Van Alden is all politeness and smiles, introducing Squeak as Agent Sepso. ...Oh, fine. After a moment, Margaret says, "You said I should come to you if I had any information." Immediately, Van Alden turns to Sepso and says, "Roll down your sleeves, put your jacket on, get Mrs. Schroeder a chair, and go outside and make sure nobody comes in." It's the "roll down your sleeves" part that I love, and the fact that Sepso can't do it fast enough. Once he does, Margaret gets right to telling Van Alden about the bootlegging garage behind her home. She gives him the address, and Van Alden walks over to place a pin on the map. "You will close it down, won't you?" Margaret asks. Van Alden, not quite as gung-ho to make a raid as she might have hope, asks her when exactly she'd like him to do that. "Immediately," she replies, with all the self-righteousness and entitlement of a true Temperance Leaguer. Van Alden tells her there are now 117 pins in the map, and he doesn't have the resources to close even 10% of them.
But the pins are nothing compared to the overseas booze trade that comes in on the boats every day. "It is watered down, mixed with poisons, and sold illicitly by a growing class of criminals for whom murder is another means of doing business," he says. "Some of the victims are no better than killers themselves. Others are just unlucky. They are shopkeepers, schoolteachers, one was a baker's apprentice. " Margaret asks if he means to be cruel with that dig, but he's just sayin'. "And what of the law that creates the criminal?" Margaret asks, going all Nader on his ass. "That's the law you've just asked me to enforce," Van Alden volleys back at her. "For the safety of your children." Not willing to be outdone by self-righteousness, Margaret declares, "I've been lectured to a great deal today by men who speak boldly and do nothing." Oh HAVE you, Margaret? Hypocrisy is suddenly an issue for you? Sensing a weak spot, Van Alden asks who she's referring to. And he's not letting Sepso open the door for her either, to add a little "Van Alden is a creepy freak" vibe to it. Clearly, he's hoping she'll say Nucky, but when she tells him it's James Neri, who owns the bottlegging garage of which she's speaking, he quickly looks him up and confirms he's the alderman from the 4th ward. If he works for Nucky, that's close enough.
Back in Chicago, Jimmy and Capone are hanging in the speakeasy portion of the brothel, and Al is complaining about the too-little-too-lateness of their frisking policy, mangling the phrase about horses and the barn door in the process. He also wants to retaliate against "those mick bastards" while their defenses are down on St. Paddy's Day. Jimmy quietly asks if that's what Torrio wants, but it's becoming increasingly clear that Capone's not interested in what Torrio wants. Across the room, Pearl wobbles across the threshold, barely conscious from the laudanum and without her bandages. "Which one of you boys wants to buy me a drink?" she asks, while her wicked facial scar freaks everybody out. Jimmy goes to her, as she says she's trying to work. The madam calls to her and says she doesn't have to work today, while Capone more bluntly yells at Jimmy to get her outta here. Typically sensitive comment from the jerkoff whose actions led to her getting slashed up in the first place. As Jimmy walks her back to her room, she can hear laughter in the room behind her. Jimmy says someone must've told a joke. Pearl asks for more of her juice.
At the Darmody shack in A.C., we see young Tommy is assed out on the floor, the apparent recipient of Gillian's tried-and-true cocktail of whiskey and milk. Angela seems aloof at best when it comes to Gillian's parenting quirks, while Gillian at least pretends not to notice and instead asks if the actress on the magazine cover is attractive. Angela -- who never seemed quite so dull before she started sharing scenes with Gillian -- says she doesn't have time for movies, which Gillian relates to. 'Course, she always had "the girls" to watch Jimmy for her. Angela's heading out to meet "a friend." Gillian, with just a hint of snarkiness, suggests they go see a movie. Angela's like, "Nah, we're just gonna get some air on the Boardwalk." Gillian, not picking her head up from her magazine, warns of the "lower element" out on the night before St. Patrick's, but Angela says they'll be careful.
Gillian finally turns toward Angela and tells her, "You could be free, you know." Attractive, single girl with artistic leanings, waiting for a man she's not married to who may never come home. Angela brings up the fact that she does, in fact, have a kid, but Gillian's got an answer for that too: "I'll raise him." Like she's offering to feed the cat. Angela is shocked at such a notion, but Gillian tells her to think about it. "Talk it over with your friend." The first time this scene played, I failed to notice everything that was going on behind Gillian's eyes. She's been around the block. She knows some things. Anyway, Angela sharply turns down the "bohemian" arrangement Gillian's offering, then looks down at the slumbering Tommy and feels ... guilt? For maybe wanting to? Whatever it is, Gillian hasn't averted her hawk's gaze from Angela for a minute. The voice is sweet and friendly, but the eyes have something to say. They're keeping quiet for now. What is it about cable shows that turn heretofore bland actresses like Jeanne Tripplehorn and Elizabeth Perkins into total dynamos? Gretchen Mol, welcome to the club.
At the Celtic Dinner we've heard so much about, an Irish tenor sings of the song that gives this episode its title -- a gorgeously melodic tune about dying of alcohol poisoning. It's somewhat miraculous that he can be heard over the deaf bellowing of Nucky's father (who is played by Tom Aldredge, aka Uncle Pete on Damages and Carmela's father on The Sopranos), not to mention the commotion of Eli showing up late. Nucky looks to be anticipating the sweet relief of alcohol poisoning at this point. From the other side of the dais, the Commodore looks over at Nucky with a half-pitying, half-scornful expression. Nucky is introduced to speak, and at Eli's wheedling, Nucky presents his brother, the sheriff, for a few words. Both the Commodore (via a sidelong glance) and Pa Thompson (via a bellowed "...THIS one") express their incredulity at this. Eli's clearly nervous, and by all rights, his doozy of an opening line -- "Friends, Romans, Irishmen, lend me your beers" -- should make him even more nervous, but he manages to power through, and he even hits something of a stride when his speech quickly veers into firebrand invective against the English for their aggressions against the homeland.
But he gets one of the names of the martyrs wrong, causing one of the elders to correct him, and then another to scoff, "What does he know? He was born in the States!" This sets off a round of internecine squabbling between "native" Irishmen and watered-down Americans, totally drowning out whatever was left of Eli's speech and threatening to turn a gathering of Irishmen into a drunken brawl for the first time ever. Nucky has to act quickly before it gets to that point, so he stands up, tells a few self-deprecating Irish jokes, then quickly introduces the bagpipers. Classic. He then calls out the "leprechauns," in whose "pots of gold" they carry bottles of whiskey for the gathered revelers. It's notable, though not entirely surprising, to see that Nucky's glad-handing, make-em-happy school of politics trumps Eli's sincere (if clumsily rabble-rousing) attempt to talk of substance. Though it's not a complete triumph for Nucky, as he has to explain that the Feds found their stash, so no green beer this year. Like the Irish needed even more suffering.
Back at the brothel, Jimmy is telling Pearl to go easy on this latest laudanum screwdriver, while Pearl thinks they should head to Chinatown to smoke a bowl of it. These worldviews seem to be in conflict. She asks him to tell her a story -- something pretty. Just like all beautiful-but-damaged souls who are about to be put out of their misery want to hear. Jimmy tells her a story from his childhood, when a Mr. Lancaster, one of his mother's suitors, took both mother and son on a boat trip, to a secluded island where they ate lobster, where they planted the flag that Lancaster's father had run up at Gettysburg, and where it sure sounds like Jimmy felt the best he's felt in his whole life. And likely where his desire to serve in combat stemmed from. The story is so sweet and elegiac, Pearl sheds a tear. She asks Jimmy to tell her his mother married that man. Jimmy looks away, his reverie broken. Sure, Jimmy lies. "Happily ever after."
He spills some of the opium cocktail on himself, and Pearl asks him to kiss her. Wary of her wounds -- more out of concern for her than being weirded out, though I could be wrong, and it's certainly possible Pearl interpreted his reticence differently -- he kisses her check. Her good check. But she pulls him in for a kiss on the lips, then sends him to get cleaned up. He's in the bathroom down the hall, washing his shirt, when the gunshot goes off. Now, I don't think this counts as a surprise when I was so sure Pearl would OD on the laudanum and she ends up shooting herself, right? We all still saw the end result coming a mile away. Still, it's heartbreaking to watch Jimmy find her on the floor. And to remember how over the moon I was about her only last week. One of the damned whores keeps SCREAMING like she's in her own personal James Whale movie. QUIET, YOU! Can't you see Jimmy wants to mourn in peace?
At the Celtic Dinner, Nucky is trying to smooth over Eli's hurt feelings, while Eli gets drunker and drunker. He scoffs at his brother's people-pleasing obsequiousness, but Nucky tells him these people judge you every minute of the day, and they remember. Eli, rather than take in any advice, simply slurs that "it's all a game," and it comes so easy to Nucky. I have to say, this is an awfully broad characterization of Eli so far. The petty, jealous, underachieving younger brother? You don't say! Tell me more about this rare archetype! Anyway, Eli continues to pout that maybe "One day I'll lie as good as you." Nucky: "It's lie as well as me, you dolt. Seriously, learn how to fuckin' speak." I will say, having knocked Eli's 2-D character, I get a real kick of out Nucky's intellectual streak, and of how little patience he has for morons.
At another table, Neri is telling some dirty joke or another to the Commodore and Pa Thompson when Van Alden and the Feds bust in. It's a raid! At a Celtic dinner on St. Patrick's Day? Well, no points for degree of difficulty to Van Alden. One bearded, brogue reveler approaches Van Alden, grandstanding about how this is a private event, and the mere consumption of alcohol isn't illegal, and he's an attorney, and the Volstead Act ... well, he doesn't get to continue, because Van Alden socks him right in the jaw. Which is easy to do when you've got a dozen lawmen with shotguns backing you up. Eli -- a lawman himself, NO REALLY -- stirs in his seat like he's going to do something. Okay, a) he's not going to do anything; he's both piss drunk and too scared, and b) Nucky tells his brethren to stand down. Van Alden, who has somehow managed to make his jaw even more square, instructs his men to shoot anyone who tries to run, then he marches up to the dais. We're all supposed to think he's going to arrest Nucky, but we know the score. It's episode 5. It's Neri who's going down for this. The G-men yank Neri to his feet and cuff him, while Nucky and Van Alden have a bit of a staredown. As they march out, Van Alden orders this gathering to be disbanded and everyone to leave in an orderly fashion.
Outside, the Temperance League is singing its hymns of judgy protest as Neri is hauled into a car and press photographers take his picture ("What a scoop!" they say. Probably.) The drunken Irish kings and kingmakers stumble out into the cold, greeted by this awful song and the assaultive camera flashes. "Go home to your families!" one of the Temperance busybodies shouts. "Bugger off, you harridans!" shouts one of the Irish. Nucky turns to the gathered women and spots Margaret on the front line. She doesn't exactly look regretful. After Neri is carted away and the Temperance harridans disperse, Eli stumbles up to Nucky in order to somehow put this turn of events on his brother's shoulders. "I'm sure you made quite an impression on your Republican friends." Nucky tells him to go home to his wife. Eli says he will ... "Where are you goin'." Eli then winds up and takes the drunkest, slowest, most off-target swing at someone I've ever seen. The "punch" misses Nucky by a mile, though the sentiment at least must swing. "The fuck was that for?!" Nucky exclaims, as Eli is led away. In his festive little skirt.
As "Nights in Ballygran" plays again, we get a montage of sad desperation worthy of a glum Irish ballad. Jimmy visits that opium den in Chinatown that Pearl kept going on about. Angela walks the Boardwalk alone, winding up at the door to the photographer's shop, certainly looking like she's awfully fond of whoever's opening the door there for her. Eli in fact has gone home to his wife, who rubs his back while he pukes into the toilet. Gillian inspects her flawless but inevitably aging face in the mirror. The Feds destroy the barrels of green beer.
And Margaret Schroeder lies awake in her bed, restless from the day's events. In truth, she did a lot of running around before she ultimately shoved a knife in Nucky's back. And here Nucky is now, knocking on her door in the middle of the night. She lets him in, so clearly she's not worried about him being angry at her, despite her not-so-rosy history with angry men. But her faith proves warranted. He simply tells her he has no time for games -- and as she notices, he calls her "Margaret" and not "Mrs. Schroeder." That kind of familiarity can only mean one thing: it's kissin' time! Like, serious, up against the wall, hands under the nightgown kind of kissing. I guess Nucky figured the cold-shoulder approach was getting him nowhere. I guess we'll see what taking the path of unbridled passion brings him.
Joe R does have a weakness for cry-into-your-beer Irish ballads like the ones in this episode. He can be reached for lavish praise and nothing but at joseph.reid21@gmail.com.
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