season 4, episode 6, “the wizard”
An alluring prospect for any show’s final season, time jumps impose closure on a form that defies it. No one changes on television except when we can view things from afar. The God’s eye view of a time jump can be frustrating as it attempts to close gaps neatly, offering distance for characters and creators to construct a conclusion. Nevertheless, it’s a move Better Call Saul pulled after years of teasing. Before that, Riverdale, Parks & Recreation, and The Americans moved ahead before saying goodbye.
At best, a time jump can allow characters to reflect on their past and conclude with some finality. At worst, it can feel like a hackneyed cliche. It’s a balance “the wizard” mostly nails, pushing the world-building to the edges and forcing “self-actualized” versions of these characters into the gauntlet. The ego death Sally and Barry experienced in “tricky legacies” can be felt throughout the greater Los Angeles area this week, wiping out the past lives of Gene Cousineau, NoHo Hank, and Fuches, all of whom descend on L.A. in “the wizard” trying to convince each other and the audience that they’ve changed.
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Reviews Barry Reviews Barry "the wizard" B B "the wizard" season 4 episode 6
As much as the characters like to think they’ve evolved, Barry hasn’t, and neither has Barry. Opening on one of the show’s favorite images, a gun, Barry stands before Sally, timer in hand, demanding she assembles the firearm because he’s going to Los Angeles to kill Cousineau, and it’s up to mama bear to protect the cub. Sally refuses, pleading they should move again—a sly bit of world-building that makes the last eight years seem even more harrowing than they already were. (W hat other close calls did they escape?) Silly Sally, you can’t outrun a movie. Still, after eight years inside Barry’s bubble, Sally knows how to plant seeds of insecurity that will drive his moral panic. Sally triggers Barry’s most profound fears with the question and verbalizes them: Barry wants to kill Gene for revenge and calls it a higher calling. It works. In pod, he trusts.
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Barry can give as good as he can take, even if it’s inadvertent. Sally’s questions rattle his resolve, but when Barry tells Sally that John knows the “real you,” he hits a nerve. The real Sally killed Shane. The real Sally ran off with a wanted hitman, responsible for the death of Ryan Maddison and Detective Janice Moss. The real Sally is the Entitled Vagina Woman. With Barry gone, Sally will be left with a child she cannot face, and John will be left with a mother who cannot parent. No wonder John’s depressed.
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The “real you” reflects the identity crisis many of the characters experience, especially Fuches. “the wizard” derives its name from the Black Sabbath song that blares on the soundtrack as the criminal buffoon formerly known as Monroe Fuches leaves prison, with Ozzy’s harmonica matching the flashing of his twiddling his black fingernails at the guard, who offers a twiddle in return. Fuches has transcended his old body and reached his final form, with the illustrations on his torso offering a roadmap from his gauntlet of pain to perverse pleasure. Fuches is dead. Long live the Raven.
Fuches is something of a master of blending into the scenery. In Chechnya, he carved out a little piece of heaven with his beloved goats; in prison, he made himself a supernatural force. After Livewire (Andre Hyland) and Groove Tube (Tobie Winham) pick him up, Raven’s powers are on full display at Coffee Bean. With an eyebrow raise and a wink, he enchants a barista (Carrie Gibson) into his merry band of misfits. As Ozzy Osbourne sings, “Without warning, a wizard walks by, casting his shadow, weaving his spell. Funny clothes, tinkling bell. Never talking. Just keeps walking. Spreading his magic.” Forget the Raven. Fuches is “The Wizard.”
The Wizard (2014 Remaster)
Honoring the past is vital to many characters—it’s just not always done honestly. Barry has his shadowbox, Fuches has his tattoos, and NoHo Hank has a shrine to Cristobal in the lobby of his real estate firm Nohobal. When Raven arrives, he gazes upon the bronze statue and written tributes to Hank’s fallen lover. “Everyday can be like Dave & Buster’s,” thanks to the sand operation that Cristobal founded. The company is a tribute to the man Hank let die, whose memory lives on through every glass of small-batch kombucha served. The Raven is unimpressed.
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This idea of tribute, and more importantly, who is and isn’t allowed to pay tribute, also become a sticking point for Cousineau. Following eight years on a kibbutz in Israel, where he learned the importance of community, Cousineau returns to Hollywood to stop the movie. The old Cousineau might have been doing this selfishly, probably hoping to play himself, nab a one-line cameo, or, at the very least, get a “Story By” credit. But today, he says he’s doing this for Janice. The movie glorifies a murderer for mindless entertainment and disrespects the memory of the woman he loved. Fuches and Cousineau have always been reflections of each other, which remains true. Cousineau can see through the Hollywood bullshit as quickly as Fuches sees through Nohobal. The only question is, how long will it last?
Visiting the crime boss you protected in prison is one thing; visiting the son you shot is another. Last seen grasping for life outside Cousineau’s front door, Leo welcomes his father to L.A. with unexpected ease. Maybe time heals all wounds, or he thinks there’s been an honest-to-goodness change in the man, but Leo seems more willing to meet than in the past.
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The scene kicks off a series of instances where people must face and defend their versions of the past. Cousineau is now the egoless guru who, like Fuches, transcended his old wants and desires and replaced them with a new understanding of the world. The old Fuches was crafty and dishonest, but t he Raven is a straight shooter. Cousineau is too. Taking him at his word—and before he can let us down again—Cousineau’s right. The Barry movie would make mindless entertainment out of Janice’s death. As always, violence is a mindless amusement on Barry—one needs only look at Barry’s dismissive chuckle at the “what guns do” poster for proof. There is no practical reason for Cousineau to sabotage the movie except it’s the right thing to do.
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As clear-eyed as Cousineau is with his history, NoHo Hank is delusional. The Raven unsettles Hank as soon as he arrives, bringing the criminal element roaring back into Hank’s life. Now the owner of a trendy real estate firm, NoHo Hank is the stylish entrepreneur he always fancied himself. His colorful suits finally fit his surroundings. But, unfortunately, the Raven threatens to undo all that. So despite the hardy “let’s fucking go,” Carrigan looks as if he’s about to cry as he gazes into the canyon. Fuches’ arrival opened old wounds even before Fuches took out the knife.
While the Raven can shake off his ruffled feathers, NoHo Hank’s still wearing the same old suit. Hank might be living his best life as the savvy owner of some stunning Malibu properties, but his “NoHo Hourglass” is the stuff of legends. The Raven knows which way the trade winds blow as he lays the blame for Cristo ba l’s murder at Hank’s feet, cracking open the now-legitimate businessman and shucking out the grimy center with a mere mention of the silo slaughter. Finally, Raven reveals the truth: Hank’s Selling Sunset makeover is as unconvincing as Barry’s.
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The reunions stand in direct contrast to Sally in this episode. Everything that happens in Nowheresville is a testament to how good Bill Hader has become at building suspense. Each scene is layered with such a gross display of parental neglect and abuse that every shot is the prelude to a disaster. Watching Sally burn the grilled cheese, pour some vodka into John’s juice, and then fight him for the good spot on the couch is cringe-inducing enough to break a bone.
Surprisingly, none of the expected disasters occurred after she passed out. She didn’t burn down the house. John didn’t overdose. The gun didn’t go off. Instead, Hader turns in another surreal home invasion, a darker version of Gene and Tom’s bumbling break-in earlier this season, featuring a slender dark figure and truck that drives into her house. It’s not entirely clear what even happened. When Sally escapes the room, her home is in shambles, but John remains passed out on the couch. He only comes to when Sally calls Barry, overhearing her use his real name.
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Through all of this, Barry’s in Terminator mode. Well, if The Terminator was addicted to podcasts from megachurch pastors that can put Sally’s ridiculous “God’s anti-killing” theory to bed. He hunts Cousineau from Burbank airport to his home, shuffling through any show he can find that might offer some justification for murder. Barry barely had a plan for killing Cousineau, offering Sally some vague explanation that Cousineau’s version of things won’t be the truth. What even is the truth at this point? Because from our vantage, it mostly seems like Cousineau does know what happened. Barry is isolated and alone, fueled by revenge and self-righteousness. The glasses aren’t fooling anyone.
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How much people can change is a constant tension in “the wizard.” No matter how much their hair, body, or jobs change, these characters are fundamentally the same people they’ve always been, especially Barry. Barry hasn’t changed. The disguise he’s been wearing is as childish as his understanding of good guys and bad guys. After all, he basically ripped the whole bespectacled man named “Clark” thing from Superman. Deep down, Barry can turn it back on. He needs the right reason and a purpose. So when he stumbles upon Pastor Nick Santangello’s podcast (Bill Burr’s dulcet tones are unmistakable), he finds it, taking every open door as a sign that he should go through with the killing. But still, when Cousineau’s grandson comes home, he hesitates and blows his chance.
Though it feels less revolutionary than last week’s descent into the sickly underbelly of Barry’s nightmares, this week doesn’t lack innovation. Trading the slow fades for abrupt cuts, the show threads its frayed strands into a single fuse and lights it. At its best, “the wizard” bends time, making Sally’s solo-parenting adventure one of the series’ most harrowing set pieces. Other times, though, “the wizard” can feel like a setup for next week. To that end, it’s surprising the episode ends with Barry in Moss’ garage instead of cutting to black after getting bagged outside Cousineau’s. But “the wizard,” as the song says, “just kept walking ,” leaving us with a big unresolved knot in our stomachs.
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Stray observations
Source: The A.V. Club
