Rectify Season 2, Episode 2 “Sleeping Giant”
Written by Scott Teems
Directed by Dennie Gordon
Airs Thursdays at 10pm ET on Sundance
Paired with last week’s premiere, “Sleeping Giant” feels very much like a prologue to the real second season of Rectify, a season that finally kicks into high gear with the ‘resurrection’ of Daniel from his coma (which manifests itself in Daniel’s brain as a prison cell, speaking to his character on so many levels). What precedes it is a meandering stroll through Paulie, as a number of characters examine their preconceptions, each of them discovering whether they have the “motivation to change” or not. Unlike season one, this theme isn’t as subtly crafted into each character’s story as it had before – but as Rectify moves from contemplative examination of one man’s mind to a larger story about the town surrounding him, “Sleeping Giant” begins the new task of combining plot movement with thematic unity (mostly) with grace.
There are a few moments in “Sleeping Giant” that feel a bit awkward: the further we get from Daniel’s family members, the less impact things have. This can partly be attributed to the show’s design – after all, Daniel’s emotional connection to his family is the core of the series – but there are times when Rectify tries to spiral further outward and doesn’t quite connect (the former D.A.-turned-senator is a great example of this, as is Trey in this particular episode). But when Rectify can get characters operating on similar thematic frequencies, the results are magic: watching Bobby get taken from his family just as Daniel is given back to his is a powerful moment, one elevated not just by the quality of performance, but by the underlying optimism of karmic balance coming to life on-screen, in a way that feels neither forced or melodramatic (the scarce use of the child in Carl’s interrogation scene goes a long way to maintaining this balance).
And no matter how plot-heavy “Sleeping Giant” gets at times – which isn’t that heavy, even by Rectify terms – it never loses sight of that central question of whether humans can truly ‘change’, or if what appears new and improved, is merely a mirage guarding the darkness within. For many, it’s a mix of both, none captured better than with Ted Jr., who is trying to balance a failing business, a troubled marriage, and a lot of personal shame at the same time. Sure, he’s mostly being a dick about it – but unlike Tawney’s church group companion, Ted Jr. isn’t able to look in the mirror and question the way he’s behaved. In fact, Daniel’s shaming of him last season has prevented that, another sign that what we might consider ‘change’ is really just good makeup, and true change takes divine intervention (which Daniel’s theoretically had twice, in the form of his sentence vacation and surviving the beating at the hands of Bobby and company) or a long, long time on death row to think about it.
Then again, even decades on death row might not solve anything, personified in Jon’s struggle to justify sharing a last meal with a man who not only wasted $250,000 in legal defense resources, but lied to Jon’s face about killing an old woman (among other heinous things, I’d imagine). The man Jon visits certainly has gained some perspective in prison, even hints of self-perspective, but that reflection hasn’t led to some deeper discovery or righteous change of heart: that man just wants a shitload of potatoes to eat before he dies alone. Sometimes, there’s just no changing people, with or without the right motivation in their lives: after all, true change is a struggle for one’s soul, a battle that demands sacrifice and suffering, before enlightenment can be obtained.
The only things we can hope to do is be honest: with ourselves, with the ones we love, and with any deities we might believe in. Tawney’s confession to Ted Jr. is painful for her to admit, because it’s something she doesn’t understand, even with the “knowledge” she thinks her faith gives her. It’s in those smaller moments that “Sleeping Giant” really hits home: when it’s depicting the unending agony of living in the purgatory of life, when the destination isn’t clear and the lessons we’re supposed to learn hard to decipher. Even as Rectify grows bigger in scope, it’s attention remains sharp to the smallest details: and it’s that careful balance that makes the episode’s final minutes such a cathartic release, a beacon of hope among the darkness of humanity and Rectify‘s persistent shadows (like those spreading across Ted Jr.’s face as he questions his wife), both literal and metaphorical.
— Randy