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<\/a><\/p>\n\nDirected by Robert Singer
\nWritten by John Shiban<\/i><\/p>\n
Robert Singer is one of my favorite directors of the series. He prioritizes the personal. He casts really well, and he works with actors (the leads and the bit parts) in a way that makes them feel comfortable. No one is peripheral. (My favorite anecdote about this is the young woman in “Monster Movie” whose boyfriend was abducted by a werewolf. Sam and Dean question her at an outside cafe. She is far more interested in slurping her gigantic soda than anything else. Singer knew the scene was one of those boring scenes, so he, probably on the fly (he wouldn’t have had to think about this too much), gave her a soda, and told the actress: “Really drink that soda. Focus on the soda.” She took that direction and RAN with it. Good actors don’t need much to run with something. Give a tiny suggestion and off they will go, filling it out, adding their own take to it. But that shows Singer’s devotion to the small details of performance, his sense of humor, his interest in character<\/i> over plot<\/i>.)<\/p>\n
“Croatoan” is the linchpin of Season 2. Not only does it feature Dean finally coming clean about what John whispered to him, but it introduces the Croatoan virus, a device that will continue to pay off in seasons to come. The virus is Hell’s End-Game. Here it appears in its infancy. “Croatoan” has an extremely creepy vibe from start to finish (Dean’s comment at the end, “This is the one that got away \u2026” is eloquent: he’s going to “lose sleep over this one.”) “Croatoan” has a sprawl to it, incredible when you consider how little they had to work with. It’s a small cast, and most of it takes place in a medical clinic, and yet the episode seems to contain the fate of the whole world. <\/p>\n
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\nThe Lost Colony of Roanoke<\/big>
\nIf you do even a cursory level of research into the lost colony of Roanoke, you very quickly fall into a deep pool of mystery, speculation, and intrigue. There is a DNA Project, started in 2005, to try to piece together the events using what DNA evidence can be gathered. What happened? Plague? Indian attack? There are some very credible theories that the colonists merged with the Croatoan Indians, and took off with them, the “Croatoan” scratched into the post of the fort acting as a message: “We’re with them now.” <\/p>\n
In 1584 Queen Elizabeth I granted her BFF (for a while, anyway, until he married without her permission – then BOOM, into the Tower for YOU) Sir Walter Raleigh a charter to create a new colony, the first on the continent. England wanted to establish a settlement there as a rival to the dreaded Spaniards. Raleigh was in charge. He dispatched a ship to establish a colony in the Virginia area. The ship landed in 1584 on what was known as Roanoke Island. That first colony did pretty well (relatively). They befriended two local tribes, one being the Croatoan tribe. The head of the expedition returned to England, with two Croatoan Indians accompanying him, who gave helpful information to Raleigh on what life was like, information about weather, animals, vegetables, wildlife. Using that information, Raleigh organized a second expedition. That second trip didn’t go as well: there was a fight with a local tribe over something trivial. Maybe some bad blood arose from that. Nevertheless, the group was ordered to establish a fort on Roanoke Island. The ship then returned to England, promising to return with supplies. This was 1585.<\/p>\n
The group of colonists (107 men) built a fort on Roanoke Island. Very soon after the ship that had dropped the colonists off returned to England, Sir Francis Drake stopped by Roanoke Island on his way back from the Caribbean to see how things were going. He found things going well. However, in 1587, when the relief ship returned to Roanoke Island, the crew found the colony abandoned, the only “person” on site a rotting skeleton. This was the first mystery. Nobody knew what had happened to the rest of the people, although starvation would be a good bet. <\/p>\n
The ship’s commander ordered the passengers on his boat to stay on the island and re-establish a colony there, under Raleigh’s original charter. There were women in this group. The colonists elected their governor, Governor White, to return to England and explain how desperately the colony needed help and support. White left on a ship for England in 1587. <\/p>\n
Meanwhile, war had erupted between England and Spain (the Spanish Armada happened in 1588), making ocean crossings tremendously dangerous (or even more so). It took three years for White to return to Roanoke Island, and then only on a private ship on its way to the Caribbean. The ship’s captain and crew agreed to stop over at Roanoke Island. When Governor White disembarked with a team of men, he found the entire colony deserted. It had not been sacked or burnt, there was no sign of a battle that had taken place. In fact, all of the buildings and the fort itself had been carefully taken apart and dismantled, the wood piled up neatly. So that suggested that whatever happened was deliberate and planned. All the colonists (90 men, 17 women, and 11 children) were gone. White discovered the word “Croatoan” carved into one of the fort-posts, and “Cro” carved into a tree. <\/p>\n
\n \nWhen White had left the colony, he had told the people that if they were forced to leave the settlement against their will, they should carve a Maltese cross into the fort-post. An SOS message. White found no Maltese cross anywhere. Just “Croatoan” and “Cro.” There was an island in the vicinity called “Croatoan” so it might have been a calling card: “Here is where we will be. Come find us.” But a huge storm came up and the crew of White’s ship, eager to move onto the Caribbean, refused to take him there. The ship sailed away, and the mystery passed into history unsolved. <\/p>\n Sir Walter Raleigh tried to solve the mystery but he was arrested for treason. Bummer. In 1607, the Jamestown colony was established. Captain John Smith (i.e. Colin Farrell) asked Chief Powhatan (father of Pocahontas) if he had any information about the “lost colony” and the Chief said that he and his tribe had slaughtered them all. News of this hit England in a wave of terror. Chief Powhatan’s story was confirmed from a couple of other sources, although recent scholarship throws some doubt on it. There are other stories, though, and some eyewitness accounts from a little bit later, of clearly English people, with pale skin and light eyes, living as Indians – either because they were captured, or through a natural process of assimilation. It was sheer speculation that these individuals were the original Roanoke colonists but it gained some traction as a rumor at the time. Cooperating with the tribes, who knew how to survive in the brutal wilderness, would be a smart move. The Croatoan tribe had lived on Roanoke Island (apparently, before moving elsewhere). So maybe the groups merged. We would have no way of knowing, either one way or the other. Explorer John Lawson speculated in 1709: <\/p>\n It is probable, that this Settlement miscarry’d for want of timely Supplies from England; or thro’ the Treachery of the Natives, for we may reasonably suppose that the English were forced to cohabit with them, for Relief and Conversation; and that in process of Time, they conform’d themselves to the Manners of their Indian Relations.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n To me, this is the most plausible explanation. The Croatoans were known for their friendliness and helpfulness towards the colonists. The colonists’, starving, disease-ridden, waiting for a relief ship that was three years’ late, might have turned to them for help. The Indians would suggest, “Hey, why don’t you leave that Island and come hang with us on the mainland \u2026” The colonists would look around, see certain death awaiting them, and think, “What the hell.” They scratched the name in the fort-post as an explanation to those who came looking for them. <\/p>\n The Roanoke Lost Colony is one of those stories out there that never loses its appeal, especially to conspiracy theorists and mystery lovers. I first heard it when I was a kid (I grew up with parents who were American History nuts) and it haunted me. “What happened” cannot be explained to a satisfactory degree. The mystery is entrenched. Nerds devote themselves to solving it. (And I love nerds. It reminds me of the AWESOME brouhaha surrounding Richard III’s bones being discovered under a parking lot, and Leicester and York basically warring with one another over where his bones should be buried. This happened this past year<\/i>. They had to go to court to decide!<\/a> Winner? Leicester. The nerdiness of that entire situation was one of the funnest news stories in recent memory. I watched it unfold like a cliffhanger, enjoying every second of it.) <\/p>\n On a final note: A playwright wrote a play in the 1930s called The Lost Colony<\/i> about Roanoke Island and what might have happened, and it has played every single summer in a production on Roanoke Island ever since, making it the second-longest-running play in American history. Please look at one of the glorious props – found this picture on the Wikipedia page. <\/p>\n \n \nI mean \u2026.<\/p>\n After delving into the legend of Robert Johnson in “Crossroad Blues,” where they incorporated one of the most important vital strains of American culture into the Supernatural<\/i> narrative \u2026 now they go back to the very beginning. 1585. An abandoned settlement. The first one on the continent (from the English, that is). The beginning of the United States has a distinctly X-Files-ish storyline, and John Shiban (writer of the episode) knows it well. Similar to how they handled the Robert Johnson legend, they took what was most mysterious about it, and took it in the most literal way possible. Robert Johnson sang about crossroads and devils and hellhounds. What if these were not metaphors? What if he was describing his actual reality? The same is true in their handling of Roanoke. There are many explanations for what happened in the years of 1585 to 1590. But Supernatural<\/i> connects their story of demonic germ warfare to the story of the lost colony. It’s a beautiful and eerie dovetail. Smart script-writing, and smart thematic thinking. The “Croatoan virus”, like my beloved Colt, is a plot-device that keeps coming back, that refuses to dissipate, that continues to serve the story for seasons to come. Similar to the slow crackling burn of Dean’s experience in “Crossroads Blues,” where the story of making deals with the Devil connects to how his father died and how he has lived, “Croatoan” features Dean dealing, not very gracefully and not very well, with the “problem of Sammy,” the burden of John’s whisper in his ear. The whole visions thing returns, the visions thing that started in “Bloody Mary”<\/a>, back in Season 1<\/a>, and developed intermittently ever since. “Home”<\/a> was the next piece, with Sam’s vision leading them back to Lawrence. Sam and Dean are smarter about the visions now. They have started to figure out a pattern with them. <\/p>\n Speaking of Lawrence, Kansas<\/big> \n \nWilliam S. Burroughs moved to Lawrence in 1981, which means (sorry), that both Sam and Dean were there at the same time that he was. Granted, they were babies, but still, they breathed the same local air. And my love of connections finds that brilliantly satisfying. Of course Sam and Dean, stars of a mythic and totally American road-trip story, would be born in the place where a member of the Beat generation, friend to Kerouac and Neal Cassady and Allen Ginsberg and all the rest, ended his days. “Nightmare”<\/a> introduced the idea that there were more out there like Sam, that they were all connected in some way. “Salvation”<\/a> helped connect the dots between Sam’s visions and the Demon. “Devil’s Trap”<\/a> had the Demon itself saying he had plans for Sammy and the other children like him. These are all seeds planted in Season 1, and Season 2 is when they bloom. Season 2<\/a>, so far, has a hell of a lot of balls in the air. John dies. John whispers to Dean. Dean keeps multiple secrets for multiple episodes. That’s the focus early on, but Episode 5, “Simon Said”<\/a> brings the problem of Sammy back to the forefront. Dean already hates that whole storyline, and hates it even more because of John’s whisper. That was three episodes ago. Now, in “Croatoan” it’s time to put the cards on the table. <\/p>\n “Croatoan” acts like a hinge on a door that has been closed for 9 episodes. Finally, with this episode, it opens. You can look at “Croatoan” and say, “Before that, things were one way. After it, everything changed.” <\/p>\n There’s a lot to get done here, and how on earth do you suggest a mini-apocalypse hitting a small town when you don’t have the money for massive numbers of extras? We are in the town, and we only meet 6 people. But when the town empties out, you FEEL it, because the Twin Peaks<\/i>-ish community has been suggested so strongly. You don’t need a lot to create an entire world. <\/p>\n Things I Love<\/big> Post-Apocalyptic Creepiness<\/strong> Awesome Stunt Driving<\/strong> A Pacific Northwest Feel<\/strong> References<\/strong> Sam<\/strong> Teaser<\/big> Filmed like a horror movie, with distorted close-ups of people we don’t know, lingering slo-mo, and big echoing sounds magnifying small moments like the gun clip being tapped against the handle, the teaser is a nightmare, showing Dean killing a man who desperately begs for his life. Sam is nowhere to be seen in the teaser. There’s a slight fish-eye quality to the close-ups, giving them a hallucinatory aspect, distorting reality. The man begging for his life keeps saying, “I swear to God, it’s not in me” – which I recall as being horrifying me on my first time viewing. It’s very Invasion of the Body Snatchers<\/i>. Nothing scarier than people who look like themselves but who have something \u2026 in <\/em>them. Shivers<\/i>. Despite the heart-rending qualities of the man’s screams (and they are heart-rending, the actor does an incredible job), Dean remains cold and relentless. <\/p>\n There’s a huge closeup of Dean’s little black pistol (and in the actual scene, we get even a better look at the pistol. It’s been a while since we’ve had a really good Gun Porn episode – If you’re late to the party, I talk about that here<\/a>), and then POW POW. <\/p>\n The moment shivers out, and we see Sam, on his back, in what appears to be the Baskerville Motel from “Crossroads Blues” (kidding, but still …), lying on the floor between the beds.<\/p>\n \n Dean comes sashaying in, holding a 6-pack, eating some beef jerky, and sees Sam sitting on the floor, gasping for breath. <\/p>\n Think about the first glimpse of Dean in “Croatoan” compared to the final scene of the episode. Quite an arc. It’s a well-earned payoff of the first part of the season, it’s been building since the get-go. <\/p>\n And Sam \u2026 well. Padalecki does some of his best work later in the episode, both in the final scene in the medical clinic as well as the epilogue scene. I have a lot more to say about Padalecki, and how he plays that scene. <\/p>\n 1st scene<\/big> All of the things that end up coming into focus, or revealing themselves, in the final scene in the episode (as well as the scene earlier in the clinic) are here in the first Impala scene as well. (Shiban is one of my favorite writers on the show as well.)<\/p>\n We Need To Talk About Sam<\/big><\/p>\n \n \nThe visions that Sam gets puts a wedge between the brothers. (Or, even more of a wedge. The wedge is always there, the wedge of childhood, of accumulated trauma, of growing up the way they did. But the visions are a horse of a different color.) Dean doesn’t like the visions. He’s weird about them, and he’s weird, in general, about Sam’s different-ness from the family. He resents it, it seems to implicate him somehow, he sees any different-ness as a betrayal. The visions, though, put him over the edge (even more so after John’s whisper). Dean has a wary respect for them since they come true. But it’s Sam who is the center here in this first scene (and throughout). Dean is just reacting. This is where stuff starts to get really interesting, both plot-wise and behaviorally. I’ve said before I’m not a huge fan of the “Psychic Kids” thing, which kind of died on the vine; HOWEVER: what it does do is highlight, quite starkly, the symbiotic relationship between the brothers, and how fragile that dynamic really is, how un-sustainable. The way the relationship is set up (and has been set up) is that Dean is in charge, Sam runs sidekick. For years this was unquestioned, because that’s how things happen in families (especially in families where the mother is absent and a child becomes a care-taker). Sam, though, has a steely independent streak, uncrushed by his father, and had the balls to secretly apply to college and then the tremendous courage to face the rage of his father and the heartbroken betrayal of his brother – and think to himself, 18 year old kid, “Y’know what? No. This is YOUR stuff, guys. I’m going to college.<\/i>” Whenever I really think about Sam, that’s what I think of first. Nerves of steel<\/i>. His experience was akin to an Amish shunning, or a Catholic ex-communication. You go to college, you are no longer “one of us.” John and Dean did that to him. He withstood that blow, devoted himself to his studies, fell in love. He did NOT tell Jess his life story. He was able to split that part of himself off so that he could survive without them. He had been trained in lying and subterfuge since he was a kid. So he wouldn’t have gotten the “lying is always wrong” memo. Besides, anyone knows that lying SOMETIMES is right. I would lie to protect my family and would not lose one wink of sleep about it.<\/p>\n But what I am interested in, and what starts to come up in Season 2 (and beyond, but I’m interested in Season 2 right now) is Sam’s sense of himself as being different. We could see it in Season 1, of course, when he would butt heads with Dean or with John, insisting that he was allowed to go his own way, he was allowed to be his own man. But the different-ness of Sam has a deeper and more sinister component, starting with the mysterious visions, and his connections to these other random “kids” out there. Being different means different things at different times. He was from a hunter family, and yet wanted to get an education. He had a very clear sense of himself as an individual who got to choose<\/i>. Dean does not have that. Or if he did it was shamed out of him very early on. Both did what they needed to do to survive being raised the way they were. It is a hell of a secret to think about college, and go the distance to apply, without letting anyone in your family know. The intimacy (claustrophobia\/Belljar) of the Winchester Family was so intense neither child would have room to breathe. So picture Sam’s college-application process and how hard he had to work to not let anyone know. When he left the family, he did so suddenly: he gave them no time to talk him out of it. I am glad that there have been no flashbacks about this pivotal event. It’s better to have it live in our imaginations, however it played out. I think about that moment a LOT, and so have Padalecki and Ackles. It’s crucial<\/i>. Maybe he snuck away in the middle of the night, which would make sense. But maybe there was a confrontation. Whatever the hell happened, it’s very real. If it was a confrontation, I could see Sam, 18 years old, standing up to them, and maybe John and Dean both suddenly looking at “Sammy,” whom they were used to thinking of as a child, and both of them realizing, simultaneously, Holy shit, he’s taller than we are. When did THAT happen?<\/i> We know what happened on the night Mary burned up, because the whole show opened showing it to us. But Sam leaving for college haunts the family (at least at this early stage of the game), and we never see it. <\/p>\n Dean exudes betrayal about that moment from the pilot, and exudes it any time college comes up. There’s resentment, too. John favored Sam, cuddled Sam, and put the burden of so much on Dean’s shoulder. And yet Dean didn’t feel loved. And so there’s rage that the “Bad Son”, who rebelled so visibly, shattering the trio, seemed to get all the love from the father. (This is Dean’s view. From Sam’s point of view, nothing he did was ever good enough. His father expected certain things of him and would not let him develop into the person he wanted to be. He had to sneak around<\/i> to apply to college. Stanford gave him a full ride. Nobody cared. It’s horrible.) <\/p>\n One of the most eloquent “Sam” moments comes in the pilot in the very first scene between the brothers. Dean breaks in, Sam and Dean fight. Jess appears. Dean leers at her lecherously. Sam moves to her side. Dean tries to get her to leave, so he can talk to his brother, Sam says staunchly, “Whatever you want to say you can say in front of her.” Dean begins speaking in code about Dad being missing on his “hunting trip”, and the camera moves in on Sam, cutting Jess out of the frame (which basically says it all, visually), and Sam, without even looking at Jess<\/i>, his eyes staying on his brother, says: “Jess, could you excuse us?” <\/p>\n It’s steely.<\/p>\n It reminds me of this. <\/p>\n \n \nPadalecki didn’t even know where the hell the story was eventually going when they filmed the pilot. He didn’t know all the twists and turns Season 1 would take, or where they would go in Season 2. But he understood Story (you can see it in his audition for the show<\/a>: that’s an opening night performance), and he understood what that moment needed. It stands up, it really does (more so than Dean’s posturing, by the way. Dean went through a subtle but very important makeover by Episode 2. By Episode 2, Dean Winchester was “built to last.” The character of Dean in the pilot was not “built to last” – it was more of an attitude than anything else, beautifully played but still, an attitude. However, the character of Sam Winchester was<\/i> “built to last” from the get-go, and you can see it in that first scene.) <\/p>\n Take those two things together: Sam’s different-ness, in other words, has always been a problem, and what starts to happen mid Season 1 and into Season 2, is that we learn that there is a supernatural component to his different-ness, a devastating realization. (I’ve written before about Sam’s different-ness, and how I might not have been able to get through the show at all if I had started watching it pre-diagnosis. It would have hit too close to home. It’s an amazing metaphor for long-undiagnosed mental illness. There’s a look that crosses Sam’s face in the final scene of “Croatoan” that is chillingly clear, and is illustrative of what I just took 20,000 words to say. I have had that look on my face. Recently. This is a personal topic for me.) And so perhaps, ominously, John wondered early on if something was “wrong” with his son because of what happened in the nursery. And how long had he known about the demon’s plans? And when he found out, would he have thought to himself, “I always knew Sam was different”? Would there have been an “I KNEW it” thing going on, or “THAT explains it”? Would he have been almost pleased<\/i> that he had been right all along that there was something “off” about his son? These are deep and terrible waters. <\/p>\n And that’s the look I see on Sam’s face at the end of the episode. <\/p>\n In its most benign form (although hugely threatening to John and Dean), Sam’s different-ness manifested itself in his desire to go to school, have a social life \u2026 join the Drama Club, play soccer. The only glimpse Dean ever got of a life like that was when he was removed from his father and placed in the Boys’ Home for a couple of months. Free for the first time, he was able to \u2026 be himself. Join the wrestling team. Kiss a girl. Make a couple of friends. It was just a taste<\/i>, and a good<\/i> taste of what he was missing, but he turned his back on it, he had to. Sam had the strength to NOT turn his back. He went to high schools and actually participated in things for the brief time he attended. He joined clubs. He studied hard. He had a goal in mind. I think these are things we sometimes take for granted about the show because it’s been on for so long.<\/p>\n Sam is often extremely rebellious and angry about how he was treated. He is vocal. He does not tiptoe around stuff like Dean does, he charges right in. He stands up for himself, he gets right in John’s face, he is not afraid. He is impressive<\/i> and probably was so as an 18 year old kid too. As hurt as Dean was in that horrible moment Sam left, there had to be some admiration there, too, admiration that was indistinguishable from envy. How did Sam just do that? Could \u2026 I just have done that, too, all along? Just \u2026 up and left? How did he just do that?<\/i><\/p>\n Along those lines: I picture Sam abandoning the family for Stanford, leaving John and Dean stuck in a whirlwind of anger and recriminations. Dean would walk on eggshells around his thundercloud father, and would have to hide his own feelings of sadness, of missing Sam, of needing that sidekick, someone to share the burden with. Dean wouldn’t be able to talk to John about any of that, of course. John would hunker down into workaholism, and so would Dean \u2026 but I picture Dean deciding to get his GED right around that time. And just like Sam, he would do so secretly. Maybe he would put in an embarrassed call to Bobby, and see if Bobby could help him out, and promise not to tell John. You actually have to study for your GED. And Dean studied and passed. Maybe John was so much of a wreck he didn’t even notice what Dean was doing, but I doubt it. Maybe John sneered at Dean studying, and then went out and got drunk. And Dean kept studying because if Sam could do it, so could he. Sam was an example to Dean. Sam was someone to look up to. Maybe Cassie had something to do with it. I could so see her saying to Dean when she found out he dropped out of high school, “Please, dude. Come on. You need your GED. Let’s look up how you do it – I’ll help – here’s the form – fill it out – send it in.” There are all kinds of interesting possibilities. Sam’s different-ness is both threatening and admirable. It is a burden and an accomplishment. <\/p>\n Sam has conflicting feelings about his different-ness. He just wanted to be NORMAL. He had the wherewithal to understand his own family was not normal. But even when he tried to be normal, he didn’t fit in. As Season 2 approaches its final confrontation, as Sam finally realizes what exactly is wrong, he, too, has the sense of: “Of COURSE. I have felt this all along.<\/i> I always knew<\/i> that SOMEthing WAS THERE.” It’s a horrible confirmation but there is very little surprise<\/i> about it, and that’s the interesting and strange level that Padalecki brings to it. <\/p>\n It is all about his different-ness, and how he relates to it, how he understands it, how deep it goes his feeling that something may be really<\/i> different about him. He hates the visions too. They are the opposite of “normal.” Dean’s reactions to Sam ratchets up Sam’s reactions, and back and back, and it’s a feedback loop where no real listening is possible. No wonder Sam has adjusted his personality to “go along” with Dean (for the most part). It’s just easier that way. But that is not sustainable, not with a powerhouse such as Sam. Either way, it’s deeply<\/i> uncomfortable when Sam “changes the dance step” and asserts himself on a path separate from his brother’s. It’s basically not done<\/i>. Sam and Dean discuss Sam’s vision, although “discuss” is not really the right word. At every second of the conversation in the Impala, you feel both of them (more so Dean) getting ready to de-rail. Sam is leading them to a town in Oregon, based on a poster he saw in his vision. Dean is following. Sam, though, has removed himself slightly from Dean. Dean senses it. Sam saw something in Dean in the vision that disturbed him. Dean killed what appeared to be an innocent un-armed man. Dean defends himself: “I’m sure I had my reasons \u2026” (which is pretty funny. They are arguing about something that hasn’t happened yet.) But what’s interesting is Sam does not reassure Dean on that point, he does not say, “Of course, I’m sure you had your reasons, too \u2026” Those would be his “lines” and Sam does not say them. He says, instead, “I hope so.” Dean gives him a look. It’s a warning look, an alarmed and confused look, Does Sam actually think he would kill an innocent man? But Sam doesn’t “take the bait.” Instead, he reiterates that “we don’t know WHAT this thing is, or what I saw in my vision, and we’re just going to go check it out, okay?”<\/p>\n But Sam’s not “being” the way Sam is “supposed” to be, in Dean’s fantasy utopia land. Sam’s slight hesitations seem very ominous, threatening to shatter their entire bond. (This is the fragility of codependent systems, although I don’t really like that word.) <\/p>\n \n \nSam can’t shake off his vision\/nightmare, he can’t shake off the image of his brother cold and ruthless. On the flip-side, Dean is starting to hear John’s whisper in his ears now, and there are multiple things that come up in “Croatoan” that start to make Dean’s situation unbearable (exacerbated by the virus itself, which pits family members against one another in brutal ways). If Sam has a nightmare, then Dean has been living a waking nightmare, especially in the aftermath of “Crossroad Blues,” as he slowly realizes he is going to have to deal with his father’s mysterious whisper. What did it mean? What did it mean? Why? <\/p>\n The atmosphere in the opening scene is deeply uneasy. Sam is wary of Dean. Dean is wary of Sam. He feels guilty of something before he even DID it. <\/p>\n \n \n \nThe lighting is strange, by the way, in the opening scene. Closing scenes in the Impala at night usually have a moody romantic feel, with blurry lights outside in the dark, deep shadows, almost the comforting feeling of darkness where truth is possible. This opening scene films them sometimes through the windshield, light refracting off the windshield, street lamps and taillights swooping across their faces, almost chaotically. There is a lot between us and them. <\/p>\n \n \nYou can’t get a line on the light. It’s disturbing, there’s no real pattern to it. A smart visual choice.<\/p>\n 2nd scene<\/big> I want to talk briefly about efficiency in film-making. It is a lost art. Watch old movies and the old masters are completely unembarrassed about getting you from here to there with no fanfare. In Penny Serenade<\/i> (1941), Cary Grant and Irene Dunne return to San Francisco from Japan. We see a boat sailing on the ocean. We see the sign of the San Francisco Port. Boom. Pacific Ocean crossed. No fat on it. I’m of the old-fashioned belief that very very few films warrant being over 2 hours long. You should be able to get the job done in an hour and a half. Every second after that had BETTER be necessary, and if not, cut cut cut cut. Episodic television is an object lesson in efficiency because everyone has to get the job done in less than an hour. It’s fun to see the deleted scenes sometimes, but usually it is obvious why they needed to go. Either, you’ve already said it, or, better yet, it’s been inferred and you don’t NEED to say it. <\/p>\n So. “Croatoan” depends on the illusion that we have entered a bustling populated small town. We have to really feel the town itself so that when it is deserted at the end, we understand what has happened. Supernatural<\/i> doesn’t have an hour to set that up. They have 2 minutes, tops. There are the important scenes where we meet the ancillary characters, the doctor, Sarge, the family \u2026 but we also have to get the sense that this is a town full of people, people we don’t meet. How do you do that when you don’t have a budget for a ton of extras, and you also don’t have the time? Also, every town is different and every town has its own personality. Not everything is a city, and not everything is neat suburbia. How do you that?<\/p>\n Singer does it in one shot. The Impala pulls up in front of the clinic. Dean and Sam look around, and the camera moves from one image to the next – we see a guy in a flannel shirt picking through a crate of second-hand stuff placed behind a store, then we see another guy, in a sweatshirt and a down vest, closing the hood of his beat-up black pick-up truck, the camera moves past a big stack of red canoes, before it lands on Sarge, sitting on his front porch, futzing with his fishing pole. <\/p>\n Boom. Whole community, presented, you get the whole thing. I know exactly where we are. I know what kind of people live here, I know what they do for fun, I know there are some hard times there, it’s a blue-collar place, it’s tight-knit. You get all that in 3 seconds of film-time. That’s efficient<\/i>. And you would miss it if it wasn’t there. It fills in<\/i> the world. In the scene after this one, when they discover “Croatoan” on the telephone pole, we get more of it, too, the street reaching off in the background into mist, a ramshackle bait and tackle shop in the background, people on the sidewalks, a feeling of a bustling Main Street in a town very close to a body of water, done with 3 extras and a couple of cars. THAT is how you do it. <\/p>\n Sam sees Sarge (Bobby Hosea – phenomenal actor) and recognizes him as one of the people in his vision. Dean and Sam approach, shown through the screen behind Sarge, which is a neat effect but also is part of the way Singer shows us the “larger” world of Main Street: cars going by, extras, people walking by \u2026. You need to feel that absence later, you need that contrast. Dean takes the lead (which always makes me nervous, he is awkward at finding the right tone). He introduces themselves as “Billy Gibbons” and “Frank Beard” and they are U.S. Marshalls, badge-flash. <\/p>\n \n \nI would like to see a pair of U.S. Marshalls show up at someone’s doorstep looking like this.<\/p>\n \n \nSarge is impressive and reserved. Small-town suspicion of the outsider, especially (let’s be frank) when they look like these two. Is someone in trouble? Are you asking me to tell on my neighbor? Sam hastens to say, “No, no \u2026 we want to talk to the boy with the scar on his head because of some other reason \u2026 He’s not in trouble.” <\/p>\n “Not yet anyway,” jokes Dean, all breezy and confident and too gorgeous to be a normal person, and he knows it, he’s throwing it out there, and there’s a great moment when Sarge looks up at him, taking in the Burlesque, deadpan. He sees it all. <\/p>\n \n \nDean gets this reaction so often it’s not worth even dwelling on, and Dean himself doesn’t even blink an eye. He understands he is being evaluated, he understands he is being sized up, and his eyes wander, stopping on Sarge’s tattoo. Dean then adds, in a submissive intimate tone, “Master Sergeant.” (I could watch Ackles’ line-reading there all day.) Dean is not thrown off his game by how Sarge is staring up at him. Dean is determined<\/i> to be intimate with the guy. Sam stands by, looking on, probably wondering when this interaction will careen off the rails, as it usually does when Dean is in charge. But Sarge is a Marine. He’s still reserved and wary, but this gleaming guy on his doorstep has spoken his language. Dean nods, still submissive, but also extroverted at the same time (it’s a magic trick how he pulls that off), and says, “My dad was in the Corps.” “What company?” says Sarge. Dean: “Echo 2-1.” And he’s so proud, and so full of the knowledge of belonging to something (through his dad), and it’s fascinating considering “Crossroad Blues” and that final scene in the Impala. Things are not “either\/or” in Supernatural<\/i>. They are “both\/and”. Both attitudes (anger\/betrayal at his heroic Dad making a deal, pride because of his awesome Marine Corps. Dad) are true. The fact that he is using<\/i> it here to get in with the intimidating Sarge does not negate that. <\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n
\nBuh-Bye Roanoke. We Knew You When.<\/big><\/p>\n
\nDid you know that Beat writer and man-about-the-world William S. Burroughs died in Lawrence, Kansas, of all places, after a peripatetic life with stints in Paris, Mexico, London, New York, South America and (most famously) Tangier? In 1981, William Burroughs moved to Lawrence, Kansas. Why Kansas, he was asked. He said it was cheaper than New York, and not violent (although the Clutter family may have disagreed – coincidentally, it was just the 55th anniversary of their murders<\/a>). It is difficult to imagine such a strange stark cosmopolitan figure as William Burroughs in Kansas, queer before it was okay to admit it (I use that word deliberately: he wrote a book called Queer<\/i> in the early 1950s which wasn’t published for decades). A funereal figure, a junkie, a Beat writer. My father was at an event at the Arts Club in New York City in the 1970s, and William Burroughs was there. Deathly pale, all in black, with that Buster Keaton FACE, my dad said he was surrounded by an entourage of much younger gay boys, practically teenagers, and I loved how my dad described it: William Burroughs cut through the crowds at the Arts Club, people moving out of his way, with his entourage following him “like a school of fish.” ANYWAY. There are (obviously) Beat-connections to Sam and Dean Winchester, and the entire story structure of Supernatural<\/i>. I’m not the first one to notice that, although some of the commentary has been simplified (at best). I went into the whole On the Road<\/i> connection in one of the first Supernatural<\/i> posts I wrote, about TV pilots in general, and Supernatural<\/i>‘s pilot, specifically.<\/a> You would not think that there would be a connection between Lawrence, Kansas and the Beat Writers (although those Beat boys did get around), but I love that there is. There’s a photo of William S. Burroughs and a friend walking behind a jazz club in Lawrence in 1996 – with the words, “Lawrence, Kansas” clear on the sign:<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n
\nAnd the Beat Goes On \u2026<\/big><\/p>\n
\nSarge. <\/strong>
\nInteresting things happen in this story when Alpha Males show up, contesting the seniority of Sam and Dean. Sometimes it goes well. More often than not, it’s a bust. For the most part, Sam and Dean walk into any situation and are the clear leaders, by virtue of their experience. But here? They get a run for their money. And after a slightly flirty (on Dean’s part) introduction, and totes awkward second meeting (guns drawn), Dean and Sarge recognize one another as kindred spirits. The glances Dean and Sarge share rival the glances Dean shares with Sam – an interesting wrinkle to the events. Sarge becomes Dean’s main ally. We don’t meet many military guys in Supernatural<\/i> (perhaps because they would automatically trump our heroes’ status). (I particularly like the interaction Dean has with the guy who has come back from a couple tours in Iraq – “takes one to know one”, and etc.) Dean and Sam were born into a military family. And not only that, but John was a Marine. The Marine Corps are pretty hard-core (all the branches of the military are hard core, but the Marines take it to another level – no judgment), and their sense of being one with the group is so strong that there has been worried “are they a cult” commentary in the past (and probably still). As a matter of fact, Margaret Singer, who wrote one of the best books about cults in the United States, called Cults In Our Midst<\/i>, went out of her way to investigate the Marines and devoted an entire chapter in the book to the Marines, and why they are NOT a cult. It’s FASCINATING reading. Definitely challenges the bias, especially for those who are knee-jerk anti-military. My point really is that the Marine-identification is tremendously strong, and breaks down barriers if you are part of that group, even if it’s just by association (although the opposite can be true, as witnessed by Amelia’s dad’s hostile reaction to the Marines: lots of competition between the branches). Any involvement in the military creates strong identifications. My burly Elvis-loving tattooed flame from 2012 was a paratrooper. His paratrooper experience was one of the most important parts of himself, how he identified who he was in the world. (He was also a portrait painter, his other important identity signifier. One of the reasons he signed up to be a paratrooper was that some of the training took place in Italy, and Italy is basically a gigantic free art school for those passionate about it – so many museums there, SO MUCH ART everywhere.) Paratrooper training is so rigorous it bonds you forever. Those who make it are an elite group; there is a high attrition rate. And so it didn’t matter that he didn’t know all paratroopers personally: those men (mostly men) were his brothers. Forever. While I was dating him, I was sitting in an airport once, waiting for a flight. A young guy sitting next to me suddenly got up and walked over to a little white-haired gent opposite me. He had seen the old man’s tattoo, a paratrooper tattoo, and introduced himself as a fellow paratrooper. The two sat and talked. There were no barriers between them even though they were complete strangers and there was a good 50-year gap between their ages. I sat there, nearly in tears over the poignancy of the moment, and texted my paratrooper flame what I was witnessing. He wanted me to interject myself into the conversation – or basically patch him into what was going on – put him on speaker phone so he could talk with the other two – but I got shy. No! Don’t make me do it! My relationship with the paratrooper was a big BUST, but thanks for your service anyway, pal. I mean that sincerely. <\/p>\n
\nA landscape emptied of people has always been fascinating to me, one of the reasons I’m drawn to well-done dystopian universe stuff. Cormac McCarthy’s The Road<\/i>. Stephen King’s The Stand<\/i>. This year’s Snowpiercer<\/i><\/a>. The vulnerability of the human race to outside attack (from germs, nature, whatever) taps into some big collective fears and I fully participate in it. The situation in “Croatoan” feels bigger than the episode, and that is obviously deliberate. Singer et al really create that feeling of what we later learn is a “dry run” for global germ warfare. <\/p>\n
\nDespite the fact that the Impala is such a huge part of the show, it’s not really a car-crash car-chase type of story. There is an incredible moment of stunt driving and stunt acting in “Croatoan” (and, considering that Ackles is not doing the stunt driving, he does an amazing job of making us believe that it IS him at the wheel in the closeups). <\/p>\n
\nThere’s something crisp and clear and yet grey and rainy in the light here, that feels very local, very Pacific Northwest. The Impala shines and gleams because the rain has washed it clean. Dean and Sam both look cold and pale, and the shadows around them are dark and misty. I actually feel the rainy bite<\/i> in the air in the atmosphere of the film. This is one of those intangible things that the show does so well. Granted, they film on location in Vancouver, but still: atmosphere is deliberate and has to be created. <\/p>\n
\nThe Lost Colony of Roanoke. The Omega Man<\/i>. ZZ Top. The Stepford Wives<\/i> (and I’m just gonna go ahead and assume it’s the 1975 original). The Shining<\/i>. Mr. Rogers. Night of the Living Dead.<\/i> There’s an Incredible Hulk<\/i> reference, too. I mean, that is a panoramic view of pop culture. <\/p>\n
\nPadalecki’s performance is a tour de force, with powerful moments both huge and small. <\/p>\n
\nWe’ve had a couple of teasers now showing Dean in medias res<\/em>, presenting him violently, strangely, removing the context we need. Context is decisive, and Supernatural<\/i> has a lot of fun playing with that idea: You love these guys, I know \u2026 but try to see them outside their context \u2026 How much are you willing to excuse? <\/i> Or, to put it plainly: remove the context of the supernatural, then these guys would basically look like serial killers on a rampage! That’s certainly what Agent Hendricksen, already assigned to the Winchester case, will see. <\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n
\nThe episode opens with the Impala roaring through the night, and then a close-up of Sam’s GPS on his phone, with a lady-voice telling them to continue on, whatever whatever. (Side note: Technology changes so quickly and it is fun to watch how the brothers either move with the times, resist the times, embrace the times, or ignore that things have changed whatsoever. Whatever technology provides, in Supernatural<\/i> you still need to crack open a book on occasion, and for that reason alone I am grateful. Sam basically acts as the Winchester Company IT point-person. Something goes wrong with the laptop? It’s crucial the problem is solved, like, yesterday! Lives depend on it! Sam will be the one to call the Help Desk in the Philippines and try to hash out what is the issue. Dean carries his own weight in other areas, but I would rather do ANYTHING than be on hold with a Help Desk. Sam has the patience to keep their little team up-to-date technologically, and functioning smoothly. Dean keeps the car in good shape. Also crucial. And we see more of Dean doing that than Sam doing the other, but it is an equally important job! Otherwise, how could they know how much further they have to go on Oregon Route 224 West?)<\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n
\n1. The unseen (and yet haunting) scene of Sam leaving for college
\n2. The seen<\/i> scene of Sam not looking at Jess as he speaks to his brother \u2026 and you have enough depth and complexity and contradiction to last, oh, 10 seasons. <\/p>\n
\nWe (I) Honestly Need To Stop Talking About Sam Now.<\/big><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n
\nThe Impala roars into small-town America. I do not understand the music choice here, and I do not understand (or approve of) the music choice in the final scene. Huge miscalculation in both. Whatever music happens here as the Impala cruises into town has nothing to do with setting a mood. It’s general. It’s filler. It has no emotional content. I wouldn’t mention it if there weren’t an even more egregious example in the final scene that is so contrary to the mood set up throughout that my system wants to reject it like the Croatoan virus the moment I hear it. <\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n<\/a><\/p>\n