The show is precise, as tightly designed and wound as an expensive timepiece.
I’ve never known quite how to respond to those who trumpet Breaking Bad’s realism as one of its core virtues. These are the bizarro grace notes that have you laughing so hard you struggle for breath - a welcome respite before you have to start holding it again out of anxiety.
And, best of all, that brilliantly absurd dinner at the Day-Glo taquería in which Hank’s furious bluster and Walt’s steely resolve are constantly interrupted by the minimum-wage cheeriness of Trent, a pitch-perfect character who’s a few pieces of flair away from being forcibly returned to the Mike Judge movie from whence he came. Walt stumbling and fumbling for his frozen handgun amid the antiseptic chilliness of the car wash. There was the immaculate way in which Todd’s murderous uncle wiped the blood from his boot as if he were cleaning a child’s mouth at an ice cream parlor.
He is to dusty desert vistas what Dalí is to clocks, always able to find the surreal lurking in plain view.Īnd he had some fun last night. I may be partial to the work of Michelle MacLaren, who shoots a cup of coffee like a heart attack, but Slovis is remarkable in his own way. The episode was directed by Michael Slovis, the man given much of the credit for Breaking Bad’s relentlessly inventive visual style. But weren’t there a few parts that were just delicious? I’m thinking of the opening scene, the Route 66 Diner, Todd pacing in front of it, trapped like all our pawns, under the dome of that familiar and yawning cerulean sky. Look, I’ll be the first to say it: Much of “Confessions” was excruciating. Yes, Breaking Bad is and always has been a thready adrenaline rush, but the reason it has reached an audience that extends beyond jittery thrill-seekers is because the show has always paid equal attention to our endorphins. As we zoom toward the finale, nearly every discussion regarding the show focuses on its extremity: of tension and terror, of planning and execution. Before we talk about the cigarettes, or the lies, or the gasoline - hell, before we decide on drinks or order up some of that scrumptious-sounding tableside guacamole - let’s take a few moments to talk about a chemical reaction rarely mentioned in relation to Breaking Bad: pleasure.