Previously: Bobby endures a competency evaluation as part of the ongoing custody battle for his sons. Neil plays protective husband to Lyla, who gets stabbed by Rickle, a man who shot five people in Times Square a few days after she chose not to admit him. Abe learns that commitment can be depressing.
This week, we get a quick "previously on Wonderland" montage, which includes a scene that I swear has not previously happened -- Bobby sitting in a bar with his estranged wife; he says, "I don't want to lose my boys. So sue me." To which she replies (unable to resist the mile-wide opening Bobby has just handed over on a platter), "I am." That was a sneaky little bit of context-building.
It's a Rivervue morning, and weapons are being distributed to the guards. Neil begins the day in the ward, getting props from a beefy guard for his attempt on Rickle's life (turns out Rickle killed at least one cop in Times Square). Beefy tells Neil he "had passion," which was not at all apparent to me, and goes back to reading a Daily News with the headline, "Terror in Times Square." Is that not something that occurs there every fantasterrific day? ["Not really, unless by 'terror' you mean 'The All-Star Café.'" -- Sars] Neil meets Bobby in the hall, and they start discussing patients. The ward, which had an approximate population of four last week, is teeming with people -- patients burble and saunter about, and a small army of badge-wearing doctorish types gathers behind our two leading doctorish types. Did another hospital just shut down? Has Hallmark created "extras week"? Neil tells Bobby that Rickle's not taking his meds (a nutty twist, since Lyla thought Rickle was looking for drugs when she sent him away), which consternates Bobby, who then asks about Lyla and her big day, which must be just one in a series of many recent "big days" for Lyla, seeing as how she just got poked in the baby with a big, menacing needle. Neil tells Bobby that all is cool because Lyla has everything under control. Yeah, right.
A reporter hounds Lyla as she walks purposefully down the hall, followed by yet another badge-wearing doctorish type. As the hard-hitting muckraker pesters Lyla about professional responsibility and other dumb crap, she suddenly takes issue with his use of the phrase "about to blow" and asks if he thought up the headline "Madman of Midtown." He climbs a little higher on his soapbox and asks if she feels no responsibility for five deaths, only to be interrupted by the polished hospital spokesperson. PR guy is shaken because Lyla has chosen to engage the reporter, which is a big no-no, especially since this one obviously has a pretty strong anti-Lyla bias. Her transgression merits a "crash course in PR crisis management," which consists entirely of a rousing round of "no comment." Dr. Spin tells Lyla they've had a "total system failure" -- referring to the needle in the tummy incident; "every link broke," and despite the presence of police and security, Lyla ended up getting to Rickle first. "Well," says Lyla, "I'm quick and I'm dumb." You can say that again. Spin tells her she was acting on instinct (not, apparently, the maternal kind) and assures her that nobody will fault her for that, and she kids with him about the Special Review being an educational tool. It's really great that even in this time of stress, Lyla can maintain her hilarious sense of humor. Lyla, Spin, and their great big foreshadows climb into an elevator and vanish.
Exterior aerials of the hospital, as we zip back to the ward, where Bobby and Neil pay a visit to Rickle, looking like last Wednesday's enchiladas. Bobby asks Rickle about his disinterest in medication as Neil fixes him with a sour gaze. Rickle recognizes Neil and says, "That pregnant woman was your wife." "That's right," says Neil. To which Rickle replies, "I'm sorry. That wasn't in the plan." Neil decides that hanging out for a chit-chat might be a bad idea, since the guy just punctured his wife and his unborn son, and leaves Bobby to handle Rickle's issue with pills. When asked why he won't take his pills, Rickle replies, "Better steer clear of poison hazards whenever possible, that's what I already told them. Circe drugged men with a magic potion and she turned them into pigs. Odysseus was the only one who could resist her charms and convince her to turn them back into men," starting to sound like an off-her-rocker Edith Hamilton. Bobby is intrigued because he's never had a patient refuse medication (they'd have to be insane to refuse drugs!), and Rickle starts shaking -- Bobby thinks he's hearing the voices. Mythology primer aside, this actor is doing a commendable job of playing a schizophrenic -- he's frighteningly convincing, and he makes it look like an unpleasant, sweaty place to be. Rickle explains that he doesn't go around wanting to kill people, even though he knows that's what everyone thinks and he understands their confusion. Sucks to be you, dude. Bobby reminds Rickle that he mentioned something about impostors, which sends Rickle into another circuitous rambling about how their wives and bosses and mommies didn't know, but he knew -- I'm assuming here that Rickle has the inside scoop on some funky twist on the old "group of aliens who have managed to infiltrate the human race" theme. I'm voting for Disney, which might explain Rickle's shooting range of choice. Anyway, Rickle "got the message" and felt duty-bound to expose these frauds; Bobby wants to know if Rickle got the message right, which stops him cold. "Gods know more than we do, Doctor, they understand more than we do, and they're always right. They are not gonna direct somebody to go out and do something wrong," says Rickle, now sounding like a Christian zealot. At this point, the camera suddenly takes over the scene, jiggling about as Rickle points and claps and yammers on about balance, which is something the cameraman needs desperately right about now. More clapping and hyperventilating about the Titans and Zeus and mission accomplished and finally Bobby holds out his hand and, like Billy Graham silencing the flock, restores order to a scene that was quickly spiraling out of control into an unwatchable mess. Can it with the friggin' epilepticam, will ya?
So Bobby tells Rickle that if he's looking for balance, he's got just the thing (Jackie Susann would be so proud!) and, for being a good sport, he'll throw in something to quiet things down. We all need dealers like Bobby -- this guy could sell me a breast pump. Or meds to a schizo. Convinced, Rickle confirms that he's in a hospital and starts to feel like everything might be okay after all. Rickle blurts, "I don't want to fry," which snaps Bobby to attention, blue eyes aflame. Maybe it was the ominous soap-opera music that snapped Bobby to attention, actually; he looks like he's just gotten news about some "she's my sister/she's my daughter" sort of business. Sniffing coercion, Bobby asks if anyone has told Rickle not to take his medication, but Rickle just keeps repeating, "I don't want to fry." Bobby rises, looking all-knowing and, after grabbing Rickle's leg and copping a feel, goes away, as Rickle swoons and lies back in his bed.
Back in what we'll call HQ (which, like most of the show, displays a washed out color scheme that is so two-years-ago Prada), staffers are milling about and debating Lyla's role in the Rickle incident. Some guy calls it "a bad day," but one outspoken nurse is having none of that -- she "screwed up bigtime," opines Ms. Nightingale. Abe enters and asks Nightingale if she tells fortunes; he also says her name, which is either "Mrs. Mrpmhn" or completely unintelligible, so I think she's got herself a nickname. Anyway, Nightingale thinks Rickle looked thoroughly sane-free when he was in before, and says that Lyla had no excuse. Abe says, "You know what they say," to which some blonde at a desk replies, "Hindsight is 20/20?" My answer would have been, "You're a bitch," but Abe seems satisfied with the blonde's choice. Nightingale goes on, talking about various other wackos who killed people, as Abe wonders if "you took a fistful of your nasty pills this morning." He then challenges her as to whether she's ever misdiagnosed a patient, which I guess means that he thinks Lyla did, since that's the way he's chosen to defend her. Whatever. Valiant try, lame choice. The argument continues, and the shakycam shakes, as Lyla walks through the door, and everyone suddenly shuts up and it's glaringly obvious that they've all just been discussing her. Nightingale stares, and Lyla, ears on fire, looks haughty and says, "You got something to say to me?" The Robert DeNiro homage pays off, and Nightingale backs down with a sarcastic, "Good morning, Dr. Garrity." Shake shake shake, goes the camera, contributing to the forced feeling of this show. Even the look is too mannered -- the minimalist palette, the grainy film, the flat texture, the hazy lighting. It's so tightly wound it can barely breathe. We get it.
Bobby's in his office on the phone with someone involved in the custody hearing, and we discover that until further notice, Bobby has the kids on Wednesdays and weekends. That's cool -- he can use them to pick up chicks but can give them back when they get boring. Neil walks in as Bobby hangs up the phone, and gets sucked into some "housecleaning" (a.k.a. "signing forms") so it at least looks like they talk to the patients once in a while. More arty camera work, with Bobby chopped in half by the door frame -- they must have hit some B-level film school and hired up all the Danish wannabes for a pittance. Neil wants to know, "What's up with Rickle?" Bobby says -- duh! -- that Rickle's acute schizophrenia is acting up again, and goes into some long medical mumbo-jumbo explanation of Rickle's current state. Bobby then gets fed up with his pen, and throws it at the wall. Bobby throws like a girl. Cutting right to the point, Neil asks Bobby if he's saying that Rickle is not fit, and Bobby tells Neil that it's perfectly natural for him to be obsessing, since the guy did stab his pregnant wife. Maybe Neil will go all Mad Max in an upcoming episode. It must be huge pain in the ass to work with psychiatrists every day -- two questions and Bobby's got Neil's mental state all figured out, thank you very much. Neil manages to deny that he's obsessing for twelve milliseconds and then admits that he is, saying, "I've passed him half a dozen times this morning. I can't seem to let it go," pacing and sounding like someone from a Cagney film. Bobby reminds Neil that Rickle is sick, and Neil tells him that, while he knows this to be true, it doesn't really help; Bobby tells Neil he reacted like a human, Neil says he could have killed Rickle in that moment, and then Bobby pipes up with, "Welcome to the Dark Side!" in a sunny tone. Thank you, Satan's tour guide. Launching into Dark Side 101, Bobby tells Neil, "You'll think that you've processed the rage. Know that it'll be back. You'll intellectualize it away. It'll be back. You'll tell me you're fine, you'll feel fine, and it'll be back. Trust me, it will be back." Neil's rage is The Terminator. I think Ted Levine may have a long career in voiceovers -- he's simultaneously commanding and soothing (just the right combination to sell things nobody needs. Buy it. It's good). Bobby tells Neil that if he had strangled Rickle, he'd be out a job. Neil confirms that he is, in fact, aware of the murder = bye-bye policy, and Bobby looks at him like he's not fully convinced.
Back in Grand Central Ward, Rickle sits in front of a chess board before deciding that he's not in game mode; he gets up and heads back to his room, as strains of a professional-sounding conversation rise. Rickle's lawyer is asserting that his client has the right to refuse medication, and Bobby is there to provide counterpoint. Seems the lawyer thinks Rickle's best chance for survival is to let a judge and jury see him as he really is ("as he was on that day in Times Square") -- unmedicated-schizophrenic warts and all. Specious legal reasoning about making sure that Rickle is evaluated for his condition at the time of the crime quickly evolves toward truth as the lawyer basically says that he thinks a certifiable lunatic will be much more effective with a jury than a drugged-out zombie, but Bobby says you don't need a Loopy Person Exhibit A to press for NGRI ("not guilty by reason of insanity," as the lawyer explains to the two other people in the room, who are presumably Rickle's parents). Bobby wants to medicate, and promises to fight Joe Law. Parents are looking mighty stressed -- having a kid who kills has got to be one of the worst things ever -- and the dad, perhaps still dealing with the denial portion of processing bad news, maintains that his son was feeling better because "he always goes off his medication when he's feeling better." Bobby must have left his bedside manner on the counter this morning, because he snaps back, "He's not better. He killed five people, okay." And the caring in that room brings everyone together for a group hug, or not; Bobby proceeds to explain that the lawyer wants Rickle as sick as possible to improve their chances for a "not fit for trial" opinion, asking if the Rickles are down with that. Mrs. Rickle's no dummy, and says that she'd rather see her son sick than dead, which I'm guessing will not be majority opinion; Bobby tells them they're being inhumane. Lawboy says that chemically altering Rickle wouldn't be fair to him, and Bobby accuses him of helping Rickle into "a psychotic freefall so you can support your legal strategy." Both think the other's plan is dangerous -- Bobby promises to work with them to get Rickle the care he needs, but Mr. McBeal thinks that life in the state mental system is a best-case scenario, and when Bobby states that Rickle should not be held accountable for his actions, Mrs. Rickle wants to know why anyone should believe his opinion. "Because I know what I'm talking about," says Bobby. Buy it. It's good. Mr. Rickle looks a little shell-shocked, but as Bobby and the Law start hurling "my client" at each other, he gets angry at his son's objectification. "He's my son!" growls Dad. "My son, who got into Columbia, and loves Chinese food, and rock climbing in the Catskills. My son. Whose dream was to build a boat and follow the journey of the Odyssey". And who shot five people in Times Square. Sounds like Rickle's dream led him astray on a particularly messed-up tangent.
Getting coffee from a street vendor, Bobby explains to Assistant DA Strickler that schizophrenia doesn't distinguish between the bright and the not-bright and that just because Rickle is a smart guy doesn't mean he's not crazy. Got that? Strickler maintains he knew where he was and what he was doing, and that he was wandering around with a loaded nine-millimeter, which suggests premeditation to her (nothing gets past our Ms. Strickler). She says she knows Bobby can argue both sides, and asks him to be her expert witness. Bobby suggests she prosecute the guy who sold Rickle the gun (perhaps she can get in bed with the Federal Government) when a cab suddenly skids to halt, narrowly missing Bobby and Strickler, who goes off on th
e driver and showcases the hard-as-nails determination that undoubtedly got her where she is today. She's a no-nonsense kind of gal -- bet she's wearing Easy Spirits. Completing the stereotype, Strickler attributes her outburst to "six months of not getting any." Yuck, Ms. Strickler; that's one piece of information we really didn't need. "You too?" says Bobby, giving us yet another nugget of insight that we could happily have lived without. Bobby and Strickler enter the hospital, and Strickler reveals that Rickle had a run-in with a woman in a bookstore shortly before the Times Square debacle -- Strickler's got a statement from the woman and thinks the incident provides a perfectly rational motive for the shooting. She feels that Rickle is "using his mental illness as a shield, Bobby. If he knows it was wrong, he's responsible." Bobby says that's a big "if" and that if the DA is after a poster child for the death penalty because Rickle killed a cop, they've got the wrong guy. Bobby's involvement with the defense suddenly dawns on Strickler, and she confirms that she's too late to convert Bobby to her side.
"I want to kill him," brays an old woman in a glassed-in interview room. She's talking at Abe, about her fifty-one years of marriage to what she terms "a blob of wasted space" -- turns out she woke up at 3AM, poised over her husband's body with a pair of scissors from the other side of the apartment. To add the punch that only a dramatic reenactment can, she whips the scissors out of her purse, leaps to her feet, and assumes the position. Abe flips, people start yelling, and several pair of hands yank the scissors out of her hands. Everyone's yelling (oh, look, there's a Hasid patient, bowler, curls and all) as the old woman's husband -- looking admittedly blobby -- strolls into HQ. She starts screaming at him and beating on the glass, and he looks exasperated, slowly shakes his head and then, getting into the volatile spirit of the affair, yells at his wife to shut up. Abe asks the blonde -- Dr. Heather Miles -- to lend a helping hand, and they start trying to calm the feuding spouses.
Neil is grilling Lyla about her medical education -- wondering if she took Defensive Medicine, if she taught it to her students in her "Intro to Emergency Psych." Yes, she says. Would that, he inquires, include assessing a patient's risk for violence? Indeed it would, says Lyla, and that she would recommend over-estimating. But, he asks, does she follow her own advice? Lyla, sensing with good reason that this is a somewhat conspiratorial conversation, since nobody's husband could really be this big a jerk, says she knows that the Special Review board will try to trick her. Neil, because he may actually be this big a jerk, tells Lyla to answer the question; she explains herself yet again. He keeps grilling her about her decision, about specific points where she might have failed, pointing out that she didn't obtain a medical history, wondering whether she asked the right questions. "What are the right questions, Neil?" she replies, getting more and more pissed. He tells her she's got to do better; she doesn't sound very convincing. She says, "I didn't know I needed to." While Neil may think he's doing Lyla a favor by preparing her for the board's inquisition, she could probably do with at least some support mixed in with the antagonism. In a show that's all about surface drama and tension, Martin Donovan's slow boil (so effective in his many excellent film roles) seems out of context; he keeps coming off as a prudish jerk because his subtleties don't mix with the overbearing sensibility of the rest of the show. So far his talent seems wasted -- too bad. So, Neil goes on to point out all the elements in Rickle's condition that contradict Lyla's story -- paranoid schizophrenic, refusing meds, long history of mental problems and psychiatric supervision, and tells Lyla, "You should have seen him coming a mile away." He asks if she understands that she's poised to be the witch in the upcoming witch hunt, that the board wants and needs her to fail so they can pin the blame on a nice, compact point of closure. If that happens, he says, "You lose your job, you lose your license to practice medicine, and you and I are in a world of hurt. Do you get that?" Sure, Neil, it's all about you and your world of hurt. Fed up with being pestered by her husband, Lyla gets up, shoves in her chair, and stalks out of the restaurant, making a scene without really making a scene.
Unhappily-married lady is telling Heather that her husband's silence is downright aggressive because he refuses to respond when he speaks to her -- she'll have an entire conversation, and "an hour later, it's like you never spoke. They choose not to hear you." Oh, those men. The biddy starts crying, we pan over to see Abe in a room, interviewing the husband, and the fear strikes me as I realize what's about to transpire -- Abe's room is Mars, and Heather's room is Venus. Wacky gender hi-jinks to ensue. Abe's telling Mr. Salvador that talking to oneself does not a mental illness make; Mr. Salvador wonders if the fact that she wants him dead does. He thinks she poisoned the Moroccan chicken, Abe suspects she forgot to take it out of the oven. Abe wonders about significant personality changes, and when Mr. Salvador mentions viciousness, Abe asks if they usually get along. "Yes" or "no" would have sufficed, but Mr. Salvador gets heavy and talks about how the best part of growing old with someone is that "less has to be said." He liked the quiet, but now his wife makes too much noise. This subplot is a rehash of last week's suicidal divorcee -- how clever that Abe has spent each episode with denizens of troubled marriages, WHEN HE'S THE ONE WITH INTIMACY ISSUES!!! My usually unfazed intelligence is feeling very insulted.
Bobby, Lawboy and the Rickles are in court; apparently Bobby has gone bureaucratic and is seeking an order to medicate Rickle over his objections. Bobby disputes Lawboy's argument that, in the words of the smooth-talking judge, who is making tea with a hotpot behind the stand, which is pretty cool, "Mr. Rickle's natural state is the way God made him." Um, yeah, that's a pretty rock-solid argument, casting aside for a moment any religious affinities, and a bit of restating the obvious, Judge. Bobby argues, and the judge (who has a honey bear back there for her tea, too), asks if Rickle could be dangerous without medication. Bobby gives a long-winded "yes" and the judge remarks that Bobby has a "pen problem." Indeed he does, says the large ink spot on his shirt, and Bobby starts squirming, trying to wipe off his shirt and find a place to dispose of the offending instrument. Lawboy asks if Rickle has demonstrated any violent behavior while under Bobby's care; he hasn't, and doesn't display signs of wanting hurt anyone, either, but that's because he believes he has accomplished his mission. Withhold medication, however, and Rickle might get another transmission at any time.
Back at the hospital, Lyla confers with Abe about Mrs. Salvador -- she's seventy-two years old, she says that voices are telling her to kill her husband. Abe thinks it could be organic, or it could be major depression with psychotic features. And the husband? Abe replies, "He says he hardly knows her anymore, he's living in a nightmare, but still he's not willing to leave her here overnight unless he can stay too." As Mrs. Salvador clutches some knitting needles she smuggled in with the scissors, Lyla, perhaps atoning for past transgressions, says that he can stay overnight. Abe suddenly notices the knitting needles and rushes off to deal, while Lyla goes ballistic on the security guards for letting a little old lady with a weapon past them.
Lady Judge speaks directly to Rickle, who stands up and starts babbling to the court. Lawboy pulls him down into his chair, and the judge asks Rickle if he thinks he needs medication. No way, says Rickle, "I'm a hundred percent." When the judge asks Rickle why he disagrees with Bobby's recommendation to dose, he explains that the drugs "wham-zap my power" and "cut off my communication to Mount Olympus," among other things, including a swollen tongue and constipation. Bobby kindly volunteers that at least the final problem is a common side effect of the medication; adjustments can be made. High-fiber diet? The judge asks if Rickle thinks he has special powers, but he says that he's just like the judge (except for the schizophrenia and shooting five people in Times Square part). He goes on to testify that the drugs are "no good," that the "days are haze and cloudy skies, and I can't see anything. I can't see. That's the important thing." "Medicate over objection," rules the judge, unmoved by Rickle's almost melodic monologue. Rickle looks afraid, Mrs. Rickle looks defeated, and Bobby pats her on the shoulder, telling her that it's really for the best.
A patient stands in front of the wall-mounted television, arms apart with one hand on either side of the screen, mesmerized by a cartoon. Lyla gets a phone call, but is distracted by the noise from the TV; the patient is now changing the channels between the cartoon, a soccer game, a rap video, monster truck footage -- basically, Oliver Stone's vision of an insane person's mind. Lyla knocks on the glass and asks him to turn down the television set, so of course he turns it up, just as good old Ernie Anastos introduces a news story about Rickle and the shootings. A picture of Rickle completely disengages Lyla from the phone, and she hangs up, distracted. As Lyla watches, Ernie morphs into Rickle, who continues reporting and then says, "I want my money back, Lyla." Channel switches to rap video. Back to Rickle: "I want my money back. Lyla, I want my money back." Ernie slowly reappears, and starts blathering about how the mentally ill live among us -- back to the rap video -- and when they snap, we ask ourselves, "Was there no one who saw it coming?" Huh, Dr. Lyla Garrity? Who might that person have been, Dr. Lyla Garrity? Direct address by television is such a stupid and hackneyed plot device -- Ernie Anastos should be ashamed of himself. "Anyone, anywhere is a target," chirps Ernie, displaying the exaggeration so common to television newscasters -- "A woman stubs her toe in Africa; could your family be ?" At this point, Lyla's acid kicks in, and the TV-glued patient turns, makes a gun with his thumb and index finger, and twirls about, pointing at various bystanders. Locking on Lyla, the flesh gun becomes a real gun (now that's nifty), and the patient fires as Lyla flinches. Scissors and needles and guns, oh my! Mental ward or weapons mart?
Back to the Salvador saga; Abe says that from what he's heard, he's more worried about husband killing wife because, posits Abe, "She's driving him nuts." Lyla takes issue with the term "nuts," which is understandable since the Barbra Streisand movie by that name did incalculable damage to the popular image of the mental health field. Wondering what Heather has to say about the wife, Lyla suddenly notices her absence. Turns out she's upstairs, testifying to the review board, which flusters Lyla. As she makes a beeline for the water cooler, an ample nurse comes over to offer the first bit of support Lyla has gotten throughout this entire episode. "Girl, you know you did nothing wrong," says the nurse. "Listen up. Show no fear, and when they're all done wasting everybody's time up there, you and me are going to Bloomingdale's and try on some French bras, and then we're gonna get us one of those Hawaiian pizzas." Nice. A woman comes in to tell Abe that two she-males are fighting in the other room (yup, there they are, hormone-aided breasts dangerously close to visible), the phone rings, and Lyla is informed that they're ready for her upstairs. The boost she got from the kindly nurse fades, and she looks frightened as she steels herself for the Special Review board. As she walks out of the room past the whining trannies, Abe says, "You'll be fine." "I know," says Lyla, "I know," and closes the door.
General activity in the ward; one patient paints a mural on the wall, one does pushups on the floor, and one starts bugging Neil and Bobby as they wander through the hall discussing Rickle. "Can you see me?" asks the patient, as Bobby explains that the lawyer has scheduled an immediate competency evaluation in the hope that the medication won't have kicked in and that Rickle will still appear crazy as a loon, or something like that. This, says Bobby, is the same strategy that failed in the Ferguson case, as Neil looks through the window of Rickle's cell, where an orderly is administering the fought-over meds. Except, in Neil's eyes, the orderly becomes Lyla, standing to Rickle as he rubs her pregnant belly, and she stares at Neil with a defiant look. Neil and Lyla obviously took the same bad acid at breakfast this morning. Neil stands completely still, gaze fixed, as Bobby yammers about Ferguson's decision to represent himself and the patient reappears for another round of "Can you see me?" "Yes," shouts Bobby, and the patient skitters away down the hall, happy that he can be perceived by others. "Could you imagine Rickle defending himself?" Bobby asks Neil, who is still rooted to the spot, even though the orderly has returned. "That would be some really compelling Court TV," says Bobby, before realizing that Neil has left the building. Bobby snaps his fingers in front of Neil's face, who leaves his reverie to remark, "What was she thinking?" He's referring to Lyla's decision to wrestle Rickle for the needle, leading Bobby to surmise that Neil is blaming Lyla. "It's not Rickle you want to kill, it's Lyla," says Bobby, explaining Neil's eviscerating attitude toward Lyla for the entirety of this episode. Bobby reminds Neil that "at the end of the day, she's still your wife," and wanders away, leaving Neil to ponder the value of any statement that begins with such a stupid, overused fragment. It's not the end of the day right now, Bobby, so stick a sock in the platitudes. Ignoring this advice, Bobby stops to comment on the mural and says, "I feel like I'm tripping back in 1974 all over again," subtly indicating that the Lou Reed tattoo might not just be for show. Bobby is a man with a past.
Showtime for Lyla -- she enters the room where the board sits around a large, rectangular table, and one gentleman asks if she's drinking tea. Doesn't look like it from where I'm sitting. She chooses water -- "never enough water," says she (unless you're drowning, dear) -- and seats herself as a glass of water is passed down the table. Dr. Derrick Hatcher, the only non-white member of our central cast (think ER's Dr. Benton), makes his first appearance as a board member wearing a Cheshire-like grin. The board's ringleader starts the proceedings with an awkward statement about their concern for both baby and mother, and then PR guy launches into the questions, asking Lyla to reconstruct the day Rickle came into CPEC. He was a walk-in, says Lyla, who, like any patient, was triaged by a nurse and then given a mental status exam by a doctor -- Heather Miles, in this case. Lyla remembers Rickle as agitated but coherent and organized. Cut to shots of Rickle, who is beginning a fitness examination with Bobby, the lawyer, and another doctor. Rickle says things have gotten very quiet, which Bobby pointedly attributes to the medication, in his best "nyah-nyah" tone. Rickle understands that they need to determine if he is "of sound mind and body," but the female doctor (Alvarez) feels the need to explain further, telling Rickle they are working to determine his competency "to proceed with the legal process and if you can assist in your own defense." Rickle is raring to go, and asks if they want to go first or if they want him to. Bobby almost smiles.
Mars and Venus collide as Heather and Abe discuss the Salvador case; from Mrs. Salvador, Heather has gotten a portrait of a "selfish, grumpy old man," while Abe wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Salvador stabbed himself based on what he's endured. In a completely annoying scene designed to emphasize the fact that men and women see things differently (and, presumably, Abe's firm lodging on the masculine side of the fence -- oh, the lessons he could be learning if he would only pay attention), they have a "he said, she said" bicker about the faults of each senior. Abe thinks that Mrs. Salvador has no respect, but Heather puts him in his place by telling him that "not all men deserve it." Ouch.
Lyla continues to field questions from the board, which is peppering her about her diagnosis of Rickle; one member confronts her with a report containing "Rickle," "agitated," and her signature. She's getting confrontational and says, "Then I suppose Mr. Rickle was agitated," as PR guy rubs his head in dismay. The report-holding guy asks if they could assume that an agitated person, locked up in a psychiatric ward on triage, could be considered dangerous. He asks about psychiatric diagnoses. Flummoxed, Lyla starts to hedge, saying that Rickle alluded to prior treatment, but the computers were down, so she couldn't obtain a medical history. This sends another gentleman into a tizzy, as he wonders how she could have let Rickle go if she wasn't able to get his records.
Rickle is giving a brief history of the creation of the world in mythology-speak, as Alvarez and Bobby exchange looks. "That's a little farther back than we had in mind," says Alvarez, indicating that they've asked Rickle to start at the beginning. Bobby brings things back to the present, telling Rickle to fast-forward to this month -- more specifically, the day he got arrested.
The report-holding board member reveals that the document also says that Rickle said "Athena was hacking her way out of his skull," which Lyla chalks up to a literary reference. The others seem to have a more literal take on the statement, being of the mind that someone in an agitated condition, talking the way Rickle was talking, who came into a hospital looking for help, would be a pretty good candidate for a "Totally Nuts" medal. Board 1, Lyla 0. Derrick looks distressed as the ringleader prods her into saying that, in a hypothetical case in which a patient was exhibiting each of these alleged symptoms (including "saying he was Zeus," which, in Lyla's mind, Rickle was not), she would diagnose as "psychotic with grandiose delusions." "Thank you," says the ringleader, and Derrick looks distressed once again.
Bobby is still mining Rickle for information about the day the deed was done. Rickle says he knew it was "a big day" (another one!) from the moment he woke up. He knew he had to be prepared, a feeling which is exactly like "the one on the bus," whatever that is.
More Lyla. More board. She maintains there was nothing unusual about Rickle, but ringleader says the fact that he was just days away from a psychotic episode reveals that, in fact, there was something very unusual about him. But hindsight is 20/20, remember?
Rickle had lunch at Gray's Papaya (Broadway and 72nd, for those of you interested in retracing his steps) prior to the unpleasantness -- "a couple of dogs and a piña colada papaya combo." Sounds delicious. The he wandered down to the Coliseum Bookstore (Broadway and 57th), where the classics section is "better than average." Stop on by for all your classics needs! At the bookstore, says Rickle, "there was this girl."
Derrick is now grilling Lyla, and asks if she was "packing them in that day." Yes, says Lyla -- it was cold, shelters were crowded, moon was full, you name it. Bordering on mayhem. Derrick asks if there was "moon class" where Lyla went to medical school, which elicits a somewhat surprised negative, and he goes on to ask if there was a "moon chapter" in the DSM4 (again, whatever that is ["the DSM-IV is the standard diagnostic manual for psychiatry"]); she laughs but she's really getting angry. Moon reference, a pregnant Lyla -- perhaps Dr. Derrick doesn't approve a working mommy-to-be. Derrick asks if she had more than she could handle that day, and she retreats to some mandate about procedures to move mental patients out of hospitals, as he tells her that CPEC is not the only hospital department under siege. Lyla launches into a diatribe about using a medical model in a psychiatric setting, but he cuts her off, asking, "Did you go to medical school?" PR guy looks uncomfortable as Lyla, undeterred, says that in medicine, pathology defines the illness, while in psychiatry . . . and then Derrick yells that when misdiagnoses a patient they don't go shoot up six people . . . and then ringleader calls a time-out for five. People start to rise as Lyla sits still, glaring at Derrick as he leaves the room. In the hall, she catches up to him and demands, "What the hell are you doing in there? You have a better understanding of the limitations of psychiatry than anyone sitting in that room." Derrick turns and tells her that she's making excuses for missing a diagnosis, and that if she can't do better than "subjective smoke-and-mirrors," she should go do something else. Straight up. She protests that he wasn't there, and he tells her that she shouldn't be working pregnant, that she's all whacked out on hormones (aha!). He makes the moon/baby association again, for those of us who have just joined tonight's program, and then again, which pisses Lyla off to the point that she gives him an aggro little shove. "I have a license to use my best judgment, not to be right one hundred percent of the time," she says, nostrils flaring. "My job is to move people off the edge, and he was not on the edge. I'm not psychic, but I'm a good psychiatrist, and you know how good I am, Derrick." Lyla 1, Derrick 0. Lyla's shaping up to be the most interesting character so far, with a pretty rich vulnerability/strength thing working. Well done, Miss Forbes. That's better, says Derrick, "now you're finally starting to sound like someone who's interested in keeping her job." Nastiness with a purpose, huh Derrick? "Now go in there and let them hear it." He walks off, leaving Lyla, tears in her eyes, to feel the burn.
Back to Rickle; Bobby asks if Rickle had met the girl before. "No," says Rickle, but "she seemed pretty nice." The girl in the bookstore was looking for Pindar (Rickle calls him the "first original sports fan" -- he wrote about athletic struggles as metaphor for the human condition), and he wanted to help her; she thought he worked there, then figured out that he didn't, and left. Rickle followed her (Bobby here gets up to knock on the glass and tell two chatting guards to shut up); Bobby ascertains that Rickle was armed at this point ("big battle day. I was prepared"). Rickle continued following the girl, who, according to Rickle, didn't know who he was. "She should know," thought Rickle. "She should know if she knows about mythology, about the battle." And we're off -- Rickle, intensely focused on the task at hand, followed the girl to Times Square, "the big battlefield." Rickle says the Titan guards tried to keep him out, and he realized that the girl was also a Titan, and in that moment he realized that "the battle was at hand, and they had to be put down." Ergo the shots. It was just and right, says Rickle, breathing heavily. "That was what was in my head. I must have been out of my mind." Bobby gives him a quizzical look, and we fade out to a black screen.
Mrs. Salvador has the floor, and maintains that her husband goes into her purse and steals her money. Cut to Mr. Salvador, in a separate room, who says she goes to Macy's and buys shoes -- "six pairs in a day, completely identical." Taking the money is all Mr. Salvador can do, as he puts it, "to stop the madness." So he puts it away. "In socks," says the missus, as we segue back to her. He takes the money, the credit card, and shoves them in socks, which he then wears around to taunt her. Sounds to me like he's the nutty one. She says that she pays all the bills, that she's the one who manages all the money, as the camera whooshes past her to focus on Mr. Salvador's face, turning slowly to look at his wife.
An emboldened Lyla is explaining to the board that her job in CPEC is "to catch what I can't see." She catches ghosts. Mental illness, you see, is not visible; Lyla doesn't have the luxury of MRIs or x-rays or blood work or DNA samples to help her "predict a human being's behavior from one minute to the ." Until someone invents the machine, says Lyla, that can help her, among other things, get "inside the eardrum of a someone who is receiving homicidal instructions from a toaster oven," she will continue to make decisions based largely on her gut instinct. She tells the board that if they want to judge her, they should do it based on the man she saw on that day in the hospital; a man, according to her professional estimation, who "was not that sick." If presented with the same circumstances again, she would make the same call, and if that's all, gentleman, Lyla has work to do so she'll be leaving, thank you very much. Girlfriend got it going on, and Derrick looks smug and admiring. As the board has no response to Lyla's stirring defense, she gets up and leaves (through a double door with a very cool "EXIT" printed across it), as they exchange a few "well, she really told us, didn't she" glances. Lyla walks down the hall, teary and hyperventilating, as Neil comes racing up. He says he tried to call, he couldn't find her, he came up but she'd already gone in. He asks her how the review went, and she collapses into his arms, crying, as he says, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." She apologizes as well, and it's one big sorryfest, and we all know that everything is going to be just fine. He kisses her forehead and they walk away down the hall, his arm draped protectively over her shoulder.
The Salvador woman paces as Abe and Heather, revisiting their spat, discuss the voices she's been hearing. Abe's convinced the old lady is a homicidal maniac, but Heather says, "It's her own voice. She knows the difference." Abe maintains that normal, healthy people don't talk to themselves in public and wonders with whom Mrs. Salvador speaks (she's now up and pacing around her cage). Heather says she talks to herself as a coping mechanism -- she carries on both sides of a conversation with her husband, since she knows exactly what he'd say, which makes me wonder, if this is indeed the case, what the problem is in the first place. He can be silent and she can speak for both of them, which sounds like an ideal solution for them both. Abe wants to make sure that Heather doesn't think Mrs. Salvador will kill her husband, even though it's plainly obvious what Heather thinks, and she tells him that the old biddy took a referral for counseling -- she just wants her husband to talk to her. Abe worries that Mrs. Salvador has "completely unrealistic expectations," which makes Heather roll her eyes, but Abe continues that she may be "borderline delusional," and that it's "perfectly natural after, what, fifty-one years, for two people to have absolutely nothing to say to each other." Heather correctly questions what the lack of conversational topics has to do with being delusional, but Abe veers back into his self-absorbed world to issue the declaration that no relationship, no matter the heat, no matter the passion, can maintain itself for five decades. Heather reminds Abe that passion is mostly surface, expresses pity that Abe sees only the superficial, and exits the room saying, "Aren't you going to be a lonely old man," all of which means that they'll have sex soon. Abe sits still, waiting for this very complicated conversation to sink in.
Bobby is escorting Rickle back to his cell; Bobby tells Rickle that he did a good job during the examination, and Rickle seems pleased. "I'll be okay, don't you think?" he asks. "I do," says Bobby.
Abe approaches Mr. Salvador to tell him that they've reached an impasse. Mr. Salvador, removing his jacket, says he understands; Abe says they'd like to recommend an outpatient program, and Mr. Salvador, now removing his tie, understands this as well. As the shirt starts to come off, Abe looks increasingly bewildered and Mr. Salvador remarks that he thinks a butterfly specialist could really help him with his stroke. Mr. Salvador goes for his belt, shucks his shoes, drops trou and starts talking about the "tie off your pant leg flotation" thing, taking us back to a locker room of yore that has somehow become lodged in Mr. Salvador's evidently shaky mind. Gotcha, Abe -- he's the crazy one! Abe mentions Mrs. Salvador; Mr. Salvador seems genuinely taken aback and tells Abe, "I'm not getting married till I get out of college." Mr. Salvador should speak up more often -- sounds like he's got quite a story to tell. A newly-young Mr. Salvador finishes undressing, hands his glasses to Abe, asks if the water's cold, and toddles offscreen. Abe stands there, holding Mr. Salvador's glasses and jacket, looking like a big doofus.
Conferring with Rickle, his parents, and Lawboy, Bobby says that Rickle understands the nature of the charges and can aid in his own defense, but that he may not be able to appreciate the wrongfulness of his deeds. Rickle senior worries that his son "will sit in court, a quiet, drugged, emotionless man, and they will see a cold, uncaring murderer." Bobby assures them that the DA won't discount the mental illness, but that they'll cast it as an act of revenge for being snubbed by the girl from the bookstore. He stresses that they must discount that claim. When Mrs. Rickle wonders if they can do that, Bobby makes a shameless plug for his services, saying that they need just the right person to help argue NGRI. And who might that be? "You," says the lawyer, rapping his pen on the table. Bingo, says Bobby. Rickle names a couple of hospitals he'd like to go to while awaiting trial, operating under the sadly misguided assumption that he'll get treated and be allowed to leave in "a year or two." Displaying mastery of understatement, Bobby says, "Could be longer, Wendall. What happened at Times Square was a big deal." Okay, I gotcha, says Rickle -- maybe it'll be more like five years, and then the bathos takes over, as Rickle starts hoping plaintively that he'll be allowed to go swimming and take walks, his mother gets upset, his father pleads with him to focus on the trial, and Lawboy looks out of his depth. As everyone (sans Rickle) leaves the hospital ward, Lawboy gets flustered because he can't find his pen (I'll be generous and call this an "homage to" the almost-identical scene in Silence of the Lambs).
It's snowing outside as some guy steals the cab Neil has just hailed (there's a circle in hell for you people), as Rickle's voice begins reading a letter to Bobby, who is getting a call on his cell phone, Mr. Salvador stands on his bed practicing his stroke, and some power chords erupt. I sense a final-scene musical montage. As Rickle talks about what he's learned ("what's real is what you see when you open your eyes"), explains that he sees what he's done and apologizes to those he hurt, Neil and Lyla walk in the snow, staffers race through the ward as an alarm sounds, and Bobby answers his phone. Rickle's voiceover thanks Bobby for giving him the medication he needed to truly see himself and to understand what he needs to do, as we see Rickle slumped against the wall of his cell, a river of blood running from his neck and across the floor to (you guessed it) the lawyer's uncapped fountain pen. Swim, Mr. Salvador, swim! Bobby looks stricken, and Rickle says he doesn't want pity, that he doesn't always know where he's going, but that he usually finds his way, as he is wheeled down the corridor, still bleeding. A shot of the suicide note (for that is, of course, what we've been hearing), Bobby runs through the snow, and the episode ends with a close-up of swirling snowflakes and the distorted sound of Bobby's heavy breathing.
Or so we think -- in a moment straight out of a "very special" , here's Abe, filmed in a softly-lit room by a filter-laden camera. "Hi, I'm Billy Burke," he reads. "Effective treatment for mental illness is available." Well, thanks for spreading the word. "The vast majority of mentally ill persons are not violent and pose no threat to themselves or to the community. They deserve our compassion and understanding." Guess the protestors wrangled a concession -- too bad it looks scarily like one of those late-night Sally Struthers commercials for gun-repair classes. Or a low-budget soft-core porn. It might have sounded better if Burke was more adept with a cue card.
week: Abe beds Heather (surprise!), Lyla treats a bridge-jumper with a daughter, Derrick sticks around for another episode, and Mr. LaPinta talks about eating his mother.