Last night I watched the two-part pilot and debut of Rubicon, the newest original series on AMC (the first two being the much acclaimed Mad Men and Breaking Bad).
In the broadest of strokes, the show revolves around Will Travers (James Badge Dale), an analyst for the New York-based American Policy Institute (a classified government-run think tank).
Within the first twenty minutes of the show, we witness the suicide of a billionaire; we learn that Will’s wife and daughter were killed on 9/11 (while waiting for him on the observation deck of the first tower); and we watch as Will’s boss/father-in-law is killed (murdered?) in a suspicious train collision.
Jessica Collins, Dale, and Arliss Howard
I knew I was sucked-in almost immediately, but I was perplexed as to why. Normally, I like things a bit quirky, with a quick-moving plot, and a bit of comic-relief. With Rubicon, the plot moves at a pace so slow as to be confounding, while the art director’s favorite directive must be “muted” (as the colors used on the interiors, locations, wardrobe, backdrops, make-up, props, etc. are every shade of grey, brown, taupe, beige, greige, olive drab, khaki, and – well, you get the idea…).
And the music is akin to the haunting scores written by Angelo Badalamenti for Twin Peaks, only on Valium and with none the ethereal quality of Julee Cruise’s voice to balance it.
Miranda Richardson
Think of Rubicon as the serialized version of what you’d have if David Lynch had directed Three Days of the Condor instead of Sidney Pollack, or if Roman Polanski had directed The Conversation instead of Francis Ford Coppola. I can’t help but to be drawn into the web (glacial-paced as it is). Arliss Howard (Medium) is great, Miranda Richardson is terrific as the billionaire’s widow (finally – a bit of color! Mauve and ivory…), Jessica Collins is duplicitous as Will’s assistant who is simultaneously harboring a crush on him, and reporting on the whole team to the bosses; and James Badge Dale throws-off melancholy like it’s a superpower. Look everyone, it’s Maudlin Man! Alternatively, think of it as Fringe where the hyper-science has been replaced by superstitions and secret government cabals. A sweeping janitor accidentally brushes against your shoes? Spit on the broom. Find yourself in a taxi where the driver has a license starting or ending in the number 13? Get out and hail another. One imagines that these people don’t go anywhere without convenient salt packets to toss over their respective shoulders at a moment’s notice.
Regardless of its pace, I am now Rubicon’s slave. I must find-out what is behind the billionaire’s suicide (not to mention the secret townhouse he left his wife on East 73rd Street and the mystery corporation), as well as Will’s father-in-law’s death. It’s actually the characters’ stories that move the show along, far more than the insidious plot we all know is lurking. And you know what? Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that!
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