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"Boy," you think, every time you catch a re-airing of Silence of the Lambs on basic cable. "While that's certainly an enjoyable yarn, what I really want to see is Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling having a series of adventures tracking down bad guys. Oh, and maybe Hannibal Lecter could be played by that nice Robert California fellow."
NBC has heard your prayer, citizen. And they have responded with The Blacklist.
Robert California – which is to say, James Spader – plays Red Reddington, one of the FBI's 10 Most Wanted, who shows up one day at FBI headquarters. But this is no mere strategic blunder – he wants to turn himself in on the condition that he talk exclusively to Elizabeth Keen, an FBI profiler on her first day on the job. She would be what Liz Lemon was like if Liz Lemon were a bad-ass crime-busting criminal profiler with a dodgy upbringing.
Anyhow, there's this Bosnian terrorist, Reddington tells Keen, and he's going to kidnap a general's daughter and use her as patient zero in a chemical attack on the good people of Washington D.C. So Keen and the rest of the FBI set out to foil this Bosnian madman's plot, and they do a bang-up job of it, too, if you define "bang-up job" as "always being one step behind the bad guy."
Fortunately, James Spader is on the case and through the time-proven crime-fighting technique of verbal jousting, he's able to lead Keen to the girl and provide a nice Ukranian man to help diffuse the bomb as part of the bargain. What he is not able to do is prevent the Bosnian terrorist from slicing a few ventilation holes in Keen's husband. (In fact, he might have given the Bosnian the idea to go and get stabby.) However, Keen discovers a secret stash of cash, weaponry, and passports bearing her husband's picture on her own when trying to clean up those pesky bloodstains.
So, case closed, right? Well, there is the small matter of a blacklist, which is a list of the worst of the worst in the criminal world. Reddington offers his help in tracking down people on this list, but only if he continues to work exclusively with Elizabeth Keen. Presumably, the FBI agrees to this demand, because otherwise we've spent all that money on banner ads for The Blacklist for nothing.
Do you still hear the lambs screaming, Clarice? Probably not, what with the loud sound of James Spader chewing all that scenery.
Want more? The full recap starts right below!Our story begins outside what looks like an officious government building, as a man with unfortunate skin hands over a briefcase to another man dressed like a black-clad Truman Capote. "It must be good to be home again, sir," the before shot in the Stridex ad says to black-clad Truman Capote, who half-heartedly agrees. "Well, we’ll see about that," he says, as he heads into the building, which just so happens to be FBI headquarters. Truman Capote Noire identifies himself as Raymond Reddington, though savvy TV viewers like you and me will recognize him as James Spader; he asks to meet with Assistant Director Harold Cooper, though he does not have an appointment. I suspect Mr. Cooper will clear out his calendar, though, as a cursory check of the Web reveals that Raymond "Red" Reddington is on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted List. A multitude of armed guards soon have Reddington surrounded, which is a shame, as the tour of the FBI building was one of my favorite parts of my eighth grade class’s trip to Washington.
Because it’s easier just to tell us these things as opposed to showing them, Ressler -- the FBI agent working the Reddington case -- exposits that Reddington graduated top of his class at the Naval Academy and was being groomed to be an admiral when in 1990, he disappeared on his way home to visit his wife and daughter. Four years later, he became a dirty tattletale, selling intelligence to whomever handed him the largest check. His nickname is The Concierge of Crime, which, as far as crime nicknames go, is no Teflon Don or Pretty Boy Floyd. Anyhow, the FBI has Reddington safely stashed in a high-tech warehouse, where he’s been fitted with a tracking chip and chained up with the kind of restraints normally reserved for our most monstrous criminals or our most ingenious magicians. Or for our monstrous criminal magicians, for that matter. Anyhow, Reddington is offering the FBI information on notorious terrorist and nogoodnik Ranko Zamani, whom the FBI assumed was dead but who turns out to be very much alive and arriving at Dulles International, which is only sort of like death. Reddington will help the FBI find Zamani, but only if he gets to talk to Elizabeth Keen.
And who is Elizabeth Keen, you might ask? Well, she’s an FBI profiler and right now, she’s overslept for her first day at work as a criminal profiler for the FBI in Washington. Anyhow, there’s a lot of frantic hustling between her and her almost too-tweedy husband to get out of bed and out the door and a timely and sensible fashion, but they needn’t have bothered, really, because about five dozen black SUVs pull up in front of their flat, with Ressler leading the charge. The FBI does not fuck around with its "Show Up to Work On Time Policy," people.
And there will apparently be much crime to fight. As Reddington inform his FBI captors, Zamani was just the first name on his list. "It’s called The Blacklist," Reddington says, pausing so we can all take a drink at the mention of the show’s title. "That sounds exciting. That’s why we’re all here, of course. My wishlist. A list I’ve been cultivating for over 20 years. Politicians, mobsters, hackers, spies… I’m talking about the criminals who matter, the ones you can’t find because you don’t even know they exist. Zamani was a small fish. I’m Ahab. And if you want the whales on my list, you have to play by my rules." You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say that someone just outlined the entire premise of this whole show.
There is one last piece of business to take care of, and I’m afraid it’s slightly tedious. Keen is still trying to clean up her apartment -- good god, will somebody get her a Bed, Bath & Beyond gift certificate? -- when she finally decides just to rip out the blood-stained rug. It’s then that she notices her home’s not-very-attractive hardwood floors have a trapdoor. And within that trapdoor she finds a box containing a series of passports for her heretofore uninteresting husband, along with a huge stack of go money and an automatic weapon or two. Looks like someone has something to talk about in couples therapy week.
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