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Home / Entertainment / In its latest episode Escape at Dannemora proves that hell is other people

In its latest episode Escape at Dannemora proves that hell is other people



Photo: Christopher Saunders (Showtime)

Sartre's famous phrase, "Hell is Other People" may have gone from an amazing insight into the nature of the self in relation to the other to the Snarky script on the coffee mug This guy who always feels like an asshole when you ask for the copier code ̵

1; but that does not make it any less true. This is particularly true for "Chapter Seven," the final episode of Escape at Dannemora. The characters are unadorned and imprisoned by their relationships with other people – sweat is consumed by his slow, drunk and self-sabotaging criminal; Matt seethes, is angry and impulsive by what he perceives as Tilly's "betrayal" (which really means that Tilly did not manage to stay under his rule long enough to get him near the border, so that he does not have to rough him); and Tilly may be forced to face real and dire consequences for the first time as he pursues her through an ever-narrowing rabbit full of desire and desire, unable to whine and coo, and claim her way out.

Last The episode of the week recording the crimes, law and heart that landed our terrible trio at Clinton Correctional makes the final with emotional urgency impossible – there is little cause for pity, let alone these people , in order to succeed . On the other hand, one could argue that if the end result is just a googling away, the tension was never the main concern of the show. Any good finale, especially a serial finale, should highlight the reason for the show's existence: what topics covered the axis it revolved around? Where was the greatest interest of the creative forces? How should viewers feel about the characters we've spent our evenings with, sometimes over the years? These answers need not be tidy and tidy – in fact, sometimes it is more satisfying when they are not, when the show gives us something knotty that we can deal with for a long time.

"Chapter Seven" does not have this difficult complexity, at least outwardly – there's no big "What are Philip and Elizabeth doing in Mother Russia?" Or "Did this guy just make it to the MPs?" Jacket shoot Tony Soprano "or a LOST-like reflection on what the hell happened – because it's a straightforward process. We see that Matt and Sweat's stay are doomed to failure for most of the episode, and at the same time Tilly's objections break under the pressure of the investigation, fooling in the belief that her life can continue normally. The complexity remains here in the characterizations – especially in how the narrative that which we would normally expect of this kind of story undermines a survival story: evil people who are suddenly hunted become resourceful, embrace their rare and precious freedom a chance to get better this time to get better.

Of course nothing happens. Richard Matt may think of himself as a charmer and an ingenuity, but history has already told us, with the dullness of a bone saw, that this is not true, at least when he's not in the cramped and confined space of a prison block. Chapter 7 reinstates the sloppy drug use of the flashback episode. He makes him even miserable: If he does not feel well, then we'll say the forbidden routines and materials Matt is a reliable loser whose explosive impulsiveness makes him commit mistakes until he ends up at the wrong end of the assault rifle of a border guard his brain splatters on a tree stump. It's never about whether Sweat and Matt are going to get away, it's about how long they can stand.

No Exit & # 39; s vision of hell may be a suffocating little room, but in Chapter 7, ironically, hell is the vastness of open forests (which have become a symbolic acronym for the ideal of freedom itself) , For Matt, who lacks the talent and willpower to not drink dirty water from a stream (even after Sweat said it explicitly), through miles of unfamiliar terrain, the difficulty and boredom of The Journey is Hell. At least one kind of hell. In fact, he is a Russian nesting man of Hells – in the sore and blistered feet his chest is burning with breathlessness and the agitated belly is the deeper hell that is his inability to live without chaos. He is fortunate enough to travel with an experienced tour guide and stumble into isolated but well-stocked huts (avoiding heavily armed owners). All he can do is bottle by bottle of alcohol, including the grape-flavored gin (he jokes, that's what you drink when you want for nothing, and if you can only steal a car, they'll be in Being at the Border for 45 Minutes.

We know Matt is doomed to fail as soon as he's picked up the rifle (even though we did not manage to read about the actual escape), he can not help himself : He's going to do something irretrievably foolish because he thinks that's the easy way out – he's trying to row a few officers (saved only by the shock of welding sweat) and if that's not the case Do not worry, he's making Potthots on the highway, trying to hit a motorist and steal his truck, which attracts a phalanx of law enforcement, including the border guard, who will end his story once and for all. Stiller contains several attitudes of the tactical squads pursuing Matt and Sweat: framing them with a martial power and uniqueness, a solid, yet moving set of uniforms and guns. They feel like avatars of inevitability – they remind you that no matter where our cruel couple went, their reckoning is not far behind. It is said that in a single light-hearted moment watching the news of their escape on CNN, the men acknowledge that they have not really been guilty of the crimes for which they were convicted. They just happened to be there, and some shabby accomplice made a deal with the DA.

Sweat is probably in the deeper hells: As the Inspector General will later point out after Sweat was shot and arrested, if he had not taken Matt with him he would have cleared it to the limit (she tells him he, when he was dating Matt, riding about a mile a day, when he was alone, he cleared 18 miles in two days). Sweat is a man of few words, but Paul Dano is a maestro of micro-expression (and in a sexy meta-textual riff, Matt will brush micro-expressions and say that people can "smile with their faces" but not with their eyes He conveys so much of Sweat's intoxication that he lives free and in nature, his hesitant reluctance to take a shot from one of Matt's purloined bottles, and his fear of saddling with this moronic sociopath into the foreseeable future being clearly is his own hellish way – with latrine duty – and yet the knowledge he has only in the end just because of the venerable thing he has done to honor his word to a fellow inmate, has just realized another, torturous kind of hell. He deserves this hell – but the calmness, confidence, and competence Dano projects project us to persuade us that Sweat crosses the border, the officer Anyone who finds him in a hayfield just a few miles from Canada to miss the shots blows through Sweat's arm and leaves him a bloody, stuttering pile in the grass.

I was hoping this episode would give us more about Sweat, especially about how he became so adept at outdoor life. Or why did he stop drinking? If we can get a Matt Minisiloquy stolen a horse and escaped from a nursing home at the age of twelve, we can learn more about Sweat, something that puts Dano in the limelight. My only permanent reproach is that the show never benefited from him or the strength of his performance. As good as Del Toro is, after a while we know everything we need to know about Matt. There is nothing new or attractive to discover.

Although the best performance and narrative arc that best describes the story's main theme – the price of dancing with the devil in hell – belongs to Tilly by Patricia Arquette. "Chapter Seven" is absolutely unyielding to her: as soon as she is released from the hospital, she begins to squeeze the fear – sweat and Matt's escape not only take over the small town, she dominates the nation – until she is confronted with an official in Civilian clothes in the freezer room, which admits Matt has painted a portrait of her dogs as a jubilee gift for her husband (but that's all, she swears). After the officials interviewed Gene Palmer, the art collector who helped Tilly deliver smuggled meat with the saw blades, Tilly is already done. Still, she can not help but visit the police of her own volition, turning stories about her innocence with the kewpie eyes, as she was bullied and forced by the wicked.

But the police and the general inspector, as well as the news media, are not stupid, lovesick Lyle – they're on her for what she is, greedy and thoughtful, an angry woman who not only chased after her lustful moods (because that alone is not always a bad thing), but constantly privileged their comfort over the well-being of other people. Whatever she got-love eyes of Sweat and Matt and Lyle in front of them, the promise of escape-would never be enough, but there would never be anyone she would not hurt to get more. Escape at Dannemora has done something truly remarkable with Tilly – it has given us a truly unlikely female character, without any attempt to redeem, contextualize or enchant her. It just has to be.

Arquette attacks Tilly's final scene, where she makes her testimony to the judge in front of a seemingly sympathetic committee – a cursory recognition of her crimes and her "need to take responsibility for actions and the pain she causes – with one breath of self-pity and indignation If the guard asks her if she wants to have a little "party" with him before she leaves jail to leave jail, we hear the rumbling of karmic laughter wherever she goes, there she is – and all desires and needs as well as the bitter, insatiable wishes will follow her forever.


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