Dropped right into the credits, complete with distorted, kaleidoscopic images, abrupt cuts from color to black-and-white, and a warbly electronic theme song. We've got perspective shifts, we've got blurring, we've got doubling, we've got insinuating music; setting the stage for an incisive look into the minds of the mentally disturbed, or an edgy Gap commercial?
It's time for "Group," according to the title screen, where Dr. Neil Harrison (Martin Donovan) is leading a handful of patients in a discussion of "behavior that would confuse or frighten your loved ones." Confusing and frightening loved ones is, of course, a bad and naughty thing to do, and repeated indulgence in one of the two is sure to land one in the booby hatch. One patient reveals, "Sometimes I'll slap at someone, or stomp on their heads or something with my foot if I'm angry." In my book, stomping on someone's head would likely do more than confuse or frighten; I think we've moved well beyond that to "severely damage or maybe kill." Wow, crazy people are dangerous. Dr. Neil here employs years of crack medical education to opine that yes, in fact, violent behavior would be confusing or frightening to loved ones. Thanks for clarifying. "Anybody else?" asks level-headed Dr. Neil. "Bernard, what do you think?" Bernard, an older African-American gentleman, doesn't think much, apparently; after a few tormented stutters from Bernard, another patient breaks in, informing the gang, "I love my wife. You should never hurt, frighten, hit anybody. Be kind." Aha! Wife beater in Chair Four. Taking Wife-Beater's remarks as a personal attack, Head-Stomper blurts, "I am kind," and then proceeds to explain that part of sanity is listening to other people (of course, that's what drives many perfectly normal people round the bend in the first place). Predictably, Group then devolves into a shouting match, with Head-Stomper ranting about "tweety birds," "butt smacking," and "very bad manners" while Wife-Beater admonishes him for being "sensitive" and the rest of the patients sit around looking amused or, umm, disturbed. Dr. Neil, looking calm, cool, and collected (and just a little superior), observes this loopy microcosm of society, complete with conflict, miscommunication, and loud, annoying, opinionated people.
Now, says the title screen, it is "Morning." New York City, 7 AM. Kids sleeping. Older guy ambles into the bathroom and looks in the mirror, perturbed. Cut to young couple making sweet, sweet love. Cut to woman stepping on bathroom scale. Cut to sweet, sweet love. Cut to dog making whiny, panty noises in time with sweet, sweet love. Cut to scale and woman gasping, hand over mouth, as it hits 140. Cut to apparent culmination of sweet, sweet love. Cut to Staten Island Ferry. Enough with the jump cuts -- this morning sucks.
Still morning, and time to check in at the hospital. Wife-Beater does a bit of yoga -- and "Namaste" to you, too. (The credits are still rolling. Method Man is a guest star. Very hip, very now.) Oh, hell -- more jump cuts: weight-distressed woman still holding hand over mouth; male half of fornicating couple enjoying a post-orgasm cry in the mirror; woman kicking scale (bad, bad scale!) under bed; older guy gazing fondly at still-sleeping children, who, based on the last sixty seconds, can evidently doze through anything. Weight-distressed woman is pregnant; we see her in full now, and her swollen belly provides sudden insight into her scale-induced tantrum.
Moments into the show, this "drop the viewer into the middle of the action, as though we've all been watching for weeks" is fast becoming tedious. Yes, it conveys motion (and I'm getting sickness). Yes, it subtly puts us in the disoriented position of our the characters, breaking that pesky fourth wall and inviting us to participate, not just spectate; to feel, not just to watch. And, yes, it's a most annoying plot device: one-element, 2-D personality-building masquerading as edgy, "make them think" subtle character introduction. Ack. To clear things up: older guy is Dr. Robert "Bobby" Banger (Ted Levine, beloved by millions as the flesh-dressed serial killer from Silence of the Lambs). Pregnant lady is Dr. Lyla Garrity (married to Dr. Neil Harrison, who we met in Group, and played by feisty Michelle Forbes, from Kalifornia and Homicide, Life on the Street). Libido boy is Dr. Abe Matthews (puffy-haired Billy Burke, from nothing noteworthy).
More morning shots -- parallels between home and hospital. Guns? Hospital only. Tooth-brushing? Both places. Orange juice? Both places. Placing pieces of food individually on one's fork before eating? Hospital only. Pancakes? Home only. So different, yet so much alike. (And still more credits. Oh, good gravy, the theme song is by Madonna and William Orbit. Is Peter Berg doing penance for past indiscretions?)
We're in Dr. Bobby's kitchen, as he grills his two sons on the importance of discipline (or, the reason that Coach Parcells is a genius). Kid One interprets discipline as "When you have to go to your room for a time out," or "When you have to sit on your bed." Dad doesn't agree, but it sounds okay to me. Wait, isn't that the youngest kid from Malcolm in the Middle? Are there not enough child actors to go around these days? And what's with the dye job? Kid Two, bypassing the discipline debate altogether, whips out the non sequitur and announces, "I want one ear bigger then the other." Referring, we now see, to the Mickey Mouse pancake Daddy is gamely creating. Big kiss, corporate parent! Talk of big ears, more talk of Bill Parcells (I smell a manly sports fan); it's family time. The phone rings -- the estranged wife calling to discuss schedules. She: "Listen, I'm running fifteen minutes late. Can you please have the kids downstairs waiting for me?" Dr. Bobby: "Good morning." She: "Is that a yes, Robert?" Dr. Bobby: "Yes." She: Click. She's abrupt. She's icy. She must be a working mother.
Back to pregnant Dr. Lyla, checking herself out in the mirror. "Neil, do I, um . . . ?" "There's not one inch of your body that's anything less than perfect. You're a goddess and I love you." Brownie points for Dr. Neil as supportive husband. Too bad his remark sounds so canned. She worries she's lost her body; he calls it "add-on beauty." Lyla worries about the disappearance of her collar bones, while Neil shushes her into a kiss and a rather forced, "OKAY, well, thank you." And then a more heartfelt one, as she realizes that her caring, collected husband is at least trying.
As the camera pans along the firm backside of the female lovemaker, Dr. Abe says, "Hang out? I don't know what 'hang out' means." Turns out the lusty lady wants to "chill, go back to sleep maybe." Taken aback that she wants to do such a thing in his apartment, Dr. Abe tells her that if she wants to stay, that's cool, but "just for a little while, okay?" After informing the good doctor that she doesn't feel like a stray dog he picked up off the street since they've been doing it for a month, he cooks up a lame excuse about how it's not him, it's that his roommate, Court, has to be alone when he writes. She stands firm in her intent to loiter. To Abe's dismay, she goes for a cigarette. The smoke, combined with lolling about while watching monster trucks on TV (is it still 7 AM?) as Dr. Abe obviously tries to lose her and flits about getting ready for his busy, important day as a medical professional, pretty much hollers incompatibility. Silly woman, Dr. Abe has intimacy issues. At least he let you stay the night.
Dr. Bobby, hugging his two sons, waits on the curb for the wife. Mirth and tickling segues into a discussion of "what's going on today." Today there's a custody battle in progress and, according to pure, innocent Kid One, "The man's gonna tell us who's gonna win us." This kid is definitely edging out his brother in terms of lines. Pained look from Dr. Bobby. "No, not win. We're gonna try to figure out where you guys are gonna live. Are you gonna live with me or with Mommy." And they're still hugging. Probing for bias, Dr. Bobby haltingly asks if they want to live with him. Neither child sinks to answering this ploy for validation. Conveniently, Mommy arrives (in her Volvo station wagon, of course). It's Patricia Clarkson, looking only slightly less disheveled than she did as a German junkie in High Art. The hug finally ends, and Dr. Bobby herds the kids in the car, planting kisses on each. Dr. Bobby loves his children. He is a good father.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch, Dr. Abe shakes roommate Court, looking for an ally to help fix the "situation in my bedroom." Court couldn't care less, because he's sleeping. While Court may be a bit of a troll, he's got the right attitude, and suggests that Abe simply tell her to get out. Choosing instead to employ some non-strategic passive aggressive tactics, Abe instructs Court, "Do not be nice to her, okay. Don't be mean, just don't do anything that encourages her to do anything but leave." Wuss.
Finally escaping from the doctors' homes, we happen upon Lyla and Neil breakfasting in a coffee shop, discussing which nanny to hire. Lyla favors Patricia, the girl from Mexico City with "the cute little scar." Exactly what goes into interviewing a nanny these days? Neil disagrees, saying that she was "extremely inappropriately dressed." Lyla didn't notice; she thought the girl was confident. Neil takes issue with "the tube top. Breasts and thighs." Lyla senses attraction, Neil maintains that Patricia was silly. This could all be resolved if we knew where to find that little scar. Lyla wants a sip of coffee, but Neil, in his role as protective husband/father, gently takes away the mug. Impressed with Patricia's decision "not to have kids like all of her friends by the time she was eighteen," Lyla reminds Neil that she was instead "dead-set on getting an education." Brains, contraception and a tube top! The universally-acknowledged perfect skill set for wannabe nannies! Body-conscious Lyla advises Neil to "get your head out of the girl's breasts," maintains that the dress code is completely cultural (pardon me?), and reaffirms her confidence in trusting her spawn to a young woman with the presence of mind not to become "a teenage baby factory." Meow. Again, she wants more coffee, he takes away the mug. Kind, patronizing Neil. You know, I like Martin Donovan as much as the person, and he excels at playing milquetoast guys with hints of depth (no departure here, yet), but for the past several scenes he's been wearing the slightly surprised, slightly repulsed facial expression of someone who just smelled manure. What gives?
Oh, great. Back to Dr. Abe, in a session with his own therapist, discussing, I presume, his intimacy issues, since he seems to have no other qualities. Therapist tells him to "describe the feeling inside," Abe asks "Before or after?" and therapist tells him both. Inside what? That's what I'd like to know. Before, says honest Abe, is "deep, hot burning. It's some kind of brain hi-jack, control loss. It's pure caveman. I just want to bite and chew and consume." Very pretty. Then we move on to "the panic," which consists of "double-dates, 'honey, I'm home,' double-teamed answering machines," and blah blah blah babies and blah blah blah Wet Ones are the smell of death. Oh, don't get him wrong, Dr. Abe understands that kids are rewarding, but he "can't stomach the slow rot." As if undergoing a sudden epiphany, Abe says, "Mick Jagger was asked why he always slept with models. Because I can. Because I can." Dr. Abe is rapidly establishing himself as a complete idiot. And what's the big deal if he doesn't want to get hitched or have kids? Who cares? Work that Warren Beatty vibe for the rest of your life, buddy, just do us a favor and shut up about it.
Traffic. Land Rover. Dr. Bobby (there's a vehicle theme in the Banger family) rehearsing a rebuttal to potential statements from his wife concerning an inability to separate work and family. He plans to call for eliminating emotion and looking at the situation objectively. Back at the hospital, a lazy-eyed patient sits on a bed, staring at a fetching pair of plastic sandals, as a small rhinoceros slowly emerges from behind one of them. It shuffles along the floor, providing our very first peek at the hallucinations of the mentally disturbed. A mini-rhino? What a letdown.
As the music swells, people bustle to work, Abe's albatross sits smoking in bed, and Wendell Rickle introduces himself. Obviously bonkers (thanks! to the shaky-cam), wandering the city streets at quite a clip, he discusses his problem with "eyeball pressure." He can tell, he says, "because the burning up inside of my shoulders, both of the hot spots where my transmitter and receiver are packed in." Wendell is losing it fast (he's riding the Tram from Roosevelt Island, which explains a lot) as he launches into a dandy spoken-word riff on the psycho's alphabet -- addiction, beta blockers, compulsion, delusions, electro convulsive therapy, and so on, all the way through Y (yellow-bellied head shrinkers) to Z, which is for, of course, Atlas. Because Wendell is crazy and backwards is forwards and if I have to sit through forty-five more minutes of this heavy-handed symbolism, I'll combust. Anyway, Z is for Atlas because, like Wendell, Atlas must bear the weight of the entire world because he sided with the Titans in their battle against Zeus. So maybe Z is really for Zeus. Whatever. While Wendell practices for his SAG card, everyone else is walking to work, and Wendell is walking among them (this is an inner monologue, you see), and somehow all of the people we've been watching in all these different slice-of-life vignettes suddenly converge on the sidewalk and they're all walking to work together, which is really funny since that exact same thing happens to me almost every day. It's a breathtaking urban moment. Or a weird flashback to It's A Living.
In another breathtaking urban moment, Wendell pulls out a pistol and starts shooting in Times Square. And then, finally, mercifully, comes the first commercial break.
What the hell is Prilosec? Can you advertise a pill on TV without saying anything about what it does?
Civilians down, police and paramedics on the scene. Bobby strides into work (where it's all about beige and cell-like bars) and is greeted by a little round ball of a woman, who turns out to be the mother of one Mr. LaPinta, and she wants her son back at Rikers. This must be one crappy hospital. Nope, says Dr. Bobby, we need to determine his competency. Why? "Because, Mrs. LaPinta, your son bit off your finger. He bit it off and he ate it." Oh, well, there you go. Dr. Lecter in the house! It was an accident, claims Mom, and raises her voice and starts speaking Spanish, so you know she's pissed, but Bobby walks out of the room and flags down Dr. Neil, asking if he can take his 1:30 competency ("the guy that cut his grandmother years ago" -- do they have a special matricide division?). Bobby has to go to another "competency thing," where he will endure the humiliation of playing with his kids under the observation of a court-appointed psychiatrist to determine if he gets the prize. Oh, the irony. Mrs. LaPinta refuses mollification; she keeps yelling while Bobby assures her that her son -- who he calls "mucho finger bandito" (I wonder if this Latin bandito wears tube tops as well) -- will get his meds but that he will not go anywhere. Turning to a small black boy inexplicably perched on a chair, Bobby asks, "Why aren't you in school?" "Shut up, Banger," shoots back the wise urchin, to which Bobby manages, "That's Dr. Banger to you." Do they hand that one out with the diplomas? Mrs. LaPinta continues her fruitless tirade as Bobby steps into his office, closes the door, and sighs.
In the admissions area, a nurse in latex gloves combs through a bag while explaining to a frightened-looking guy that he is being admitted into Rivervue Hospital's Comprehensive Psychiatric Emergency Program (CPEC -- the first acronym!) and that she needs to ask him a few questions. Name? Ronald Reagan McDonald Giuliani, says he. What brio! The cops reveal they found him in the Lincoln Tunnel -- he must have been down there trying to steal cars from drunk drivers.
Now Abe is babbling to Lyla about "going soft," "pushing in," and being "in the cooker." She justifiably asks him to speak English and tells him to get his yummalicious coffee out from under her nose, because it smells way too good, and presumably because her teetotalling husband might show up at any second to ruin everybody's fun.
Back to Mr. Giuliani, apparently upset at being dropped like a hot potato by Lloyd's of London and looking for recommendations for "a reputable liability carrier with a reliable cash flow." Something tells me he's barking up the wrong tree. The nurse continues her routine as another patient starts banging on the glass.
And back to Abe, exhibiting his now-unbearable single-mindedness and prying Lyla for post-marital sex gossip. It was better when he wasn't speaking English. She assures him that "the sex doesn't dry up," which he doesn't believe because, according a sassy bystander of the nurse persuasion, "You got issues with too much wiener thinking." Touché -- a novel idea, eloquently expressed. Giggles all around. But seriously, folks, it's down to business, as Lyla picks up a binder and puts on her authoritative voice. New patient. Came in last night. Cut himself. She tells Abe to take it and hands him the file.
Admitting Nurse pulls a doll's head from the bag and asks Mr. Giuliani if he's got any needles or knives or anything that might cut her, any dead animals, any weapons. She must see quite a bit in the course of a day. "Do you like reading the Bible?" she asks, removing said volume from the duffel. "Yes, Mrs. Brown," says he. "Me too," says she, eliciting a surprised look from the mayor. Well, amen, sister.
Lyla and Abe continue to discuss his all-consuming obsession. Lyla explains that marriage is wicked hot, because time spent together leads to intimacy, trust, and "a variety of endorphin releases, more blood flowing to the hot zones," wink wink, nudge nudge. Lyla picks up another binder, moving effortlessly from oversexed wife to no-nonsense doctor, and announces with dread that "Elizabeth's back." Whoa, here comes Wifey again, asserting that she has "more powerful, longer-lasting, earth-shattering orgasms, if you must know. Even five months pregnant, I can assure you, Abe, that I get it better than you give it." Imagine what might happen if her husband exhibited a pulse. Lyla rises, leaving Abe a quivering mess of envious insecurity.
Wendell, strapped to a gurney, being loaded into an ambulance in Times Square. Lunky guy with receding hairline and wrist bandages claiming, "This is really just a big mistake. I want to go home." Woman tells him she's just a resident and that she has to ask him some questions and then he can see a doctor. So she's really a receptionist. This angers the lunky guy, who continues to protest, but the resident firmly tells him that he's been ordered to undergo a psychiatric evaluation. He starts making noises about the Third Reich and how he can't be ordered around, but he really starts to freak when he heads for door and it's locked from the outside, as the resident says, "It would be better for you if you sat down."
Bobby and Neil pass through a series of jail gates. Morning rounds. Neil greets stuttering Bernard and moves on to interview a patient whose name sounds like "Mr. Diavex" (a.k.a. Wife-Beater), while Bobby demonstrates his compassion for his patients by bantering with Bernard about what key he's in today -- Bernard chooses C Sharp and B Natural, of course. Patient Mr. Minardi pops by, proving that three is, in fact, a crowd; Wife-Beater becomes distraught because he can't find his monkey; Bernard whines about how Wife-Beater wouldn't shut up about said monkey all damn night, and suddenly, it's Group all over again as everyone starts to talk at once. Neil fondles his chin while Bobby tries to reinstate calm by reminding everyone that they, too, would be upset if it was their monkey that disappeared.
In the superfluous scene, Lyla checks in with Elizabeth, an older woman who looks (and sounds) like Carol Kane on a rough day. Elizabeth left her shelter and asks Lyla to help her find a new residence. Lyla says sure, Elizabeth tells Lyla her eyes look very sparkly, and then they ascertain that they're both working pretty good love today. A nurse comes in, mumbles some hospital jargon and Lyla, as though receiving a command from the mother ship, says she'll be right there.
Abe greets Mr. Butowski (the pissed-off lunky guy), and asks if it's cool if they have a little chat. Thankfully, Abe refrains from grilling Mr. B about sex after marriage, instead assuring him that the hospital doesn't want to hold him against his wishes. Abe just needs to ask a few questions, and then they "can take it from there." Ever the sly literalist, Mr. B asks, "Take what from where?" which sends Abe scurrying to explain his colloquialism. During this exciting grammatical deconstruction, a nearby patient starts making noise, sending Mr. B's anxiety level even higher (this looks like Method Man's cameo, and I swear he just said "Wu Tang") as Abe basically tells Mr. B, in very doctor-like tones, that they need to figure out if he's a fruitcake. "I'm not sick," says Mr. B as Method Man starts dropping some science, refers to a strategically-placed older woman as "my DJ," and provides the perfect background noise to send Mr. B through the roof. Teeth clenched, veins bulging, Mr. B tells Abe to "let me out of your little world," which strikes me as a very astute assessment of Abe's internal landscape, considering how little time these two men have spent together. Abe threatens to leave Mr. B with "Puff Daddy," an ultimatum that finally convinces Mr. B that he better do what the good doctor says. "You've got fish sticks," says Puff Daddy to Mr. B. How right he is.
Neil asks Mr. LaPinta (a.k.a. the Finger Bandito, a.k.a. Head-Stomper) if he's still feeling anxious, while Bobby says his Mom stopped by and asks if he wants to go back to Riker's. El Bandito recommends checking his beloved mother for TB, which he probably should have done before eating her finger, as a nurse mentions that Mr. LaPinta "tried to shove his head through that thing on the wall." Another bit player kindly reminds the nurse that the "thing on the wall" is actually known as "Plexiglas." Mr. LaPinta asks for a cigarette, is informed about the hospital's no-smoking policy (while Bobby plays with his pen like it's a smoke, chuckle chuckle) and begins to babble about population control as Bobby rolls up his sleeve, removes his own nicotine patch, and slaps it right in the middle of Mr. LaPinta's forehead. Bullseye! "I don't want the patch! I want a cigarette!" screams Mr. LaPinta. Same here. Fade to commercial.
Wendell and his victims have arrived at the hospital, and a swarm of doctors, cops and paramedics scramble to treat the injured. Wendell, fully conscious, looks over at the guy to him and says to the team working on him, "He's going to die, isn't he? You should just let him go." He talks about how he got the guy in the brain, how he saw a small hole behind the guy's ear, and reiterates his diagnosis about letting the guy die -- "Quit wasting your time with me! Go over there and help that man die!" -- but his plea falls on deaf ears.
Outside, a hospital spokesperson delivers a statement about the victims -- four male, one female, all gunshot wounds. Lyla catches up with him in the hall, where he debriefs her and reveals that there may be casualties. As she processes the information, a woman appears and announces she'd like to put a camera on Wendell to see if she can get a statement. "Who?" asks Lyla, turning to see Wendell for the first time. Turns out Lyla thinks she knows Wendell. "Not professionally," says the hospital spokesman, which flusters Lyla. She dodges the question, asks for the guy's name, and recognizes "Rickle." She introduces herself to Wendell and asks if he remembers her. He replies that the cops should have taken him out when they had the chance and tells Lyla, "I want my money back." He repeats this mantra as medics attend to his very bloody leg wound and Lyla gasps at the sight of another shooting victim. Quick shots of the other victims drive home the seriousness of the situation, and Lyla looks very unhappy.
Bobby arrives for the kid-playing session and sees his wife sitting on a bench. She's antsy, surprised by a pre-interview with just the kids, because -- surprise! -- she's running late. She tells Bobby she has to play first since she has to be in Westchester by six, and as she starts to justify herself, Bobby says, "It's not a problem." Bobby suddenly remembers he has a package for his wife, which turns out to be son Tucker's tooth. (Tucker Banger? That's a pretty sucky -- and almost obscene -- name.) Mom's got tooth fairy duty; Bobby informs her that Tucker isn't interested in money (because money isn't everything, you know). Banter, banter, smile; Tucker would really be into a yo-yo, which is convenient since Bobby has one in his briefcase. Mom, looking sassy in knee-high suede boots and a short coat, starts playing with the yo-yo. Not her husband, the toy.
Mr. B has calmed down enough for Abe to begin the interview, and he discovers that Mr. B is an account manager at Morgan Stanley, which thoroughly explains Mr. B's high level of agitation. As patients mill about outside the interrogation room, Abe asks if Mr. B's depression can be directly linked to his divorce. Mr. B can't say. "Hearing any voices, seeing things that nobody else is seeing, receiving any secret messages from the television or radio." Nope. "Has anyone or anything instructed you or encouraged you to harm yourself or cause harm to anybody else." Negative. "Did you try to kill yourself last night?" "NO!" Now Mr. B really wants to go home.
Camera lady has made it over to Wendell; she's Ruth Strickler, she's an assistant district attorney, and she's on a mission. After inquiring into Wendell's current state, which includes a potential need to pee, she cuts to the chase, determining if he knows where he is and why he's there (sure, says Wendell, "I shot a cop.") and starting on the Miranda warning. He's complaining about the noise, but Ruth gets him to focus, and then he helps out by reciting the Miranda with her, which he apparently learned from watching educational programming or NYPD Blue. Ruth introduces her camera idea, Wendell is all for it, and Lyla watches, perturbed, from the sidelines.
Abe delves into his encyclopedic knowledge of the science of suicide, and explains to Mr. B the popularity/success ratio of various methods (pills: very popular, not very effective; hanging: low penetration rate but very efficient). Golden Gate Bridge is the country's number one jump spot, and "Men attempt more than women, women succeed more than men." Suicide factoid or life lesson? Wrist-cutters are "a special breed of cat," and since most of them are dramatically-inclined teenage girls who don't cut very deep and are "spiritually connected to Kurt Cobain," Mr. B (who is not a teenage girl and did cut very deep -- jury's still out on the Cobain affiliation) is an even specialer breed of cat. Yikes -- Mr. B has one nasty-ass wound. Again expressing the conviction that Mr. B is suicidal because of his wife, Abe tells Mr. B to open up, or they'll have to go and see a judge and have him committed.
As Bobby's enforced playtime begins, he answers some questions from a duo of psychiatrists, discussing his job as Number Two son starts untying his tie. The two psychiatrists look mildly aghast, with good reason, since this looks for all the world like the beginning of a seduction. Apparently, Bobby always changes out of his work clothes to play, and apparently at least one of his kids has become quite adept at helping him with the undressing part. Bobby says he's the "Head of the Forensics Psychiatry Department at the hospital," which immediately clears up any confusion on the part of the psychiatrists, since there is only one hospital in New York. As he careens toward indecency at the hands of his son, Bobby makes the professional parallel between himself and the psychiatrists ("competency evaluations"), thus clearing up the dynamic for the irony-challenged.
Back to Wendell, still screaming, while pulse-challenged Neil confers with determined Ruth about Wendell's competency. Spokesman says Wendell was in CPEC four days ago, when Lyla suddenly appears at Neil's elbow and whisks him away for a private moment. See, Lyla saw Wendell when he was in four days ago, and she thought he was looking for pills, so she didn't admit him -- she says he was competent, alert, articulate, dressed appropriately (in a tube top, perhaps). Yeah, he was rambling about Zeus, and no, she doesn't remember his history. Neil, looking sanctimonious and apparently not hearing what Lyla has just said, replies, "You don't remember?" Wake up, Neil. Well, he says, she better remember, and stalks off. A still-screaming Wendell wants the volume off and decides that it would be an opportune time to plunge a massive hypodermic needle into his stomach. Lyla, since she's the only one there who's five months pregnant, rushes in to save the day, and, while everyone stands still, looking upset, Wendell's gurney falls over, chaos ensues, and the camera pans back to reveal that Lyla has been Uma Thurman'd, with the hypodermic needle from Wendell's stomach sticking straight out of her very pregnant belly. This is simultaneously gross and compelling. She's understandably wigging, and Neil finally swings into action and yells for help.
Lyla's getting an ultrasound as Neil works the phones, demanding lab work on Wendell's blood to check for HIV and hepatitis and telling them to page Banger. At the play panel, Bobby is down to his undershirt, and the psychiatrists giggle as both sons dive for Bobby's shoe. As a wingtip slides across the table, Bobby is asked to describe his work in his own words. The other shoe hits the table, and Bobby says, "I am the keeper of the gate." Bobby has a Lou Reed tattoo on his arm. His pager beeps, and he reveals that the CPEC doctors call it "barbarian's gate," off the record, of course. "When the pressures of modern society become to great for a person, when one's chemical dynamic becomes such that they are unbalanced, that they cease painting within the lines, they come to us. These are the people that society would prefer just go away." More beeping. "The shadow people. The shadow people that project upon us their shadow, and remind us just how tenuous mental health is. Our worst fears. They remind us how easy it can be to slip." Darn tootin', Reverend Banger.
Indicating an off-the-charts degree of dependency, Mr. B explains that he can't function or breathe without his wife. Bursting the bubble of Mr. B's despair, Abe points out that Mr. B is currently breathing, and is interrupted by an emergency phone call. As he exits the interrogation room, a patient accosts him, and we see Mr. Giuliani making a mess at the lemonade cooler. Tubby roommate Court, kindly attired in briefs and an open bathrobe, is on the line, with the sad news that Abe's concubine, AWOL from a Victoria's Secret photo shoot, has gone ballistic and is destroying the apartment. Seems she's mad at Abe because she checked out his supply of rubbers and he's "three short." Is she mad because they're missing or because that's his size? The spurned vixen starts cursing in the language of her homeland and smashes a chair through the coffee table.
Lyla's post-injection exam continues, and she commands the female doctor to tell her what's up. "Active movement, some bleeding," she says. "I think I may be seeing trauma in the cranial area." Lyla sobs; Neil asks if the needle entered through the skull, but the doctor can't be sure. She does know there's a significant amount of hemorrhaging, and recommends summoning someone from neural radiology.
Mr. B starts talking about principles and codes of conduct, wondering if there's anything in Abe's life, that, if taken away, would make life unbearable, unthinkable. During Mr. B's speech, Neil walks through the hospital corridors, a sour look on his face, and lunges at Wendell, grabbing his throat. "Are you that kind of man, Doctor? Are you willing to let someone get that far inside?" asks Mr. B (Neil having already offered his response to the query). Mr. B says he let someone get very, very deep inside, as cops restrain Neil and he struggles from their grasp and walks from whence he came.
Bobby, shirt on but unbuttoned, must now address claims by his wife that he is working more than ever, and here's where practice pays off.. The kids have tired of their antics and are playing with a truck in the corner. As Bobby begins to explain, the phone rings; it's the hospital spokesman for him, and he shifts into overdrive mode, asking questions and barking orders. Ruth the Driven gets on the phone, and the two haggle over steps, with Ruth revealing that two cops were killed. She wants Rikers and the chair, he claims that will only lead to suicide and that he can keep Wendell alive until sentencing. Suddenly, an axle comes off the toy truck, the kids get louder, and Bobby snaps, yelling at them to knock it off and causing the color to drain from the evaluating psychiatrists' stunned faces. They start scribbling notes in a moment that does not put Bobby in the running for Dad of the Year. Oops.
Another statement to the press: Rickle has been admitted to the hospital, and competency evaluations will begin to determine his fitness to take responsibility for his actions. A hard-edged reporter asks for confirmation of allegations that Rickle was refused treatment last week, but discovers only that the claim is under investigation.
It's time for Lyla and Neil to get the 411 on the baby -- the doctor says there's "definitely been some significant contact," and explains that babies' brains continue to develop after they're born, so there will be no way to determine the full extent of the damage for up to two years. She asks if it was easy for them to conceive, which it wasn't, so she tells them that they're dealing with the unknown and that if they decide to have the baby, it will be a "game of chance. It's luck and faith."
After a quick cut to Bobby pleading with the psychiatrists to let him keep his boys, it's back to Lyla and Neil. She talks about wallpaper for "his" room, then admits to cheating (a nurse slipped on a pronoun) as it becomes clear that Neil doesn't know the sex of the baby. She starts explaining what happened with Rickle -- she was attending, she felt tired and sick, she'd been puking all morning, and she didn't listen (cut to a wide-eyed Wendell being wheeled somewhere). Implication: professionally speaking, pregnant women are hormone-addled incompetents. That's really nice. She didn't like the guy, remembers the "feeling of just wanting him gone, of just wanting him out of there." She's feeling guilty because he asked for help and she sent him away, and she's feeling overwhelmed because she's somehow got "the power over life and death today." Lyla's decided that she wants to have the baby, and, as the music swells, Neil says he's with her. Lyla: "Good. Because that's all I need. And you know I've always been lucky. I found you, right?" Let the game of chance begin!
Mr. B continues to prattle about his wife, how her eyes know him. Without her, he says, he's doomed. She fed him food, water, oxygen. This softie manages accounts for Morgan Stanley? Abe, looking uncomfortable with such lovey-dovey chit-chat, brings things back to the immediate, and tells Mr. B that he can give him the time he needs to relearn the will to love, if only Mr. B will accept it. Shaking violently, he does, and we move to a title card: Healing.
Group meeting. Patients talking about healing, taking things one day at a time, working smooth and steady. Bernard wants balance, to "break out his side effects," to smell the flowers. To a rising drum and bugle, Mr. LaPinta offers that he is feeling "a pretty strong sense of Merry Christmas. Like I feel love." Drum and bugle becomes "The Little Drummer Boy," getting into the holiday spirit. Montage begins: shooting victims. "It's so hard to get in and touch that love, where you really feel like it's a regular part of who you are." Mr. B sleeping. "That's what I want. That's what I want to work on." Bobby sitting on a bed, watching his sons sleep. "Being with my love. Living with my love." Neil kissing Lyla's stomach. "I need help with that." Abe, looking lonely, surveying his wrecked apartment. "I was wondering if you could help me with that." And stay tuned for scenes from week. Huh. Intense, yes, but I somehow expected better -- there's plenty of the "trying way too hard for drama and grit" curse, the themes are predictable (birth, death, caretaking, responsibility, judgment, yawn) and the ham-handed symbolism really needs to be turned down a few.
WEEK: Lyla gets in hot water for letting mad, mad Wendell back out on the streets.