It’s hard being a corrupt Attorney General. Harry Daugherty is under investigation and his pudgy bag man, Jess Smith, has a meltdown at a Boy Scout shebang, which was probably caused by the Scouts rendition of the excreable dirt sleeping anthem, Ging Gang Goolie. I know that it gave me nightmares. My skin crawls at the very thought of camping. I am a city boy and damn proud of it.
Now where was I? Oh yeah, Nucky is pissed off at Harry who reciprocates by having the Nuckster tossed in the hoosegow. Nucky chills in the cooler, and then is fined $5 at the night court by a judge who looks nothing like Harry Anderson.
The Nuckster runs into his old nemesis, Esther Randolph, who has been demoted to trying cases in front of Judge Not Harry Anderson. Hey, at least Dan Fielding isn’t there to pinch her ass. Anyway, Nucky is concerned that Daugherty is planning to throw him under the trolley car and comes up with a plan to make this boomerang on the crooked AG. His attempt to sell this idea to Ms. Randolph flops. For now, for now.
Okey doke, on to some brief comments:
Seeing Double: Madam Mommie Dearest Jillian’s life continues to suck ass. She catches Charlie Lucky encouraging one of her “hoors” (his word, not mine, Imam) to sell heroin to the johns. Jillian wants to run a respectable bordello and fires her ass after being mocked by Charlie Lucky for having “hoors” who dress like school marms. Roaring Twenties snap.
After her encounter with the future boss of bosses, she gathers Jimmy’s pictures and puts them in a jar that she keeps by the door. What is it for? Oops, that’s Eleanor Rigby, not Madam Mommie Dearest Jillian.
She hits the boardwalk, meets a young Hoosier named Roger who resembles Jimmy. She beds him and calls him James because “that’s the name of a king.” I shall call him Roger James.
Jillian is a fascinating, twisted and very disturbed character. Her sick and incestuous relationship with Jimmy was deeply creepy, and the new thing with Roger James is as well. I love casting the sweet faced and adorable Gretchen Moll as the skeezy, hopelessly messed up Jillian. And Gretchen rocks the part, y’all.
Scrapbooking with Richard Harrow: Speaking of creepily endearing characters, Richard has a new fixation. He meets a nice young lady when he helped her drunken lout of a father after he got his blotto butt kicked at the Legion Hall. Stomp. Hmm, that sounds like a country song; maybe something for George Jones…
Richard likes this woman because she’ll look him in the eye, and not call him “half moon” like her drunken lout of a father did. Hereinafter referred to as DLOAF. DLOAF? That sounds like day old bread or well-worn, uh, loafers.
Richard goes home, takes off his Guy Fawkes mask, and breaks out his scrapbook. Jack Huston is astonishing as Richard. He’s a third generation thespian and has a silent film star vibe going on. He moves very gracefully, sort of like Charlie Chaplin and has that shell shocked John Gilbert look. I hope Richard finds his Garbo.
Btw, if you’d like to see an *excellent* silent film, Gilbert is awesome in King Vidor’sThe Big Parade. It’s the first great Hollywood war film, and it was fresh and contemporaneous when it came out in 1925. It’s set in what Wilson called the war to end all wars. Woodrow was meshuggah when he said that…
Striking Matches:It’s the case of the burning greenhouse. Nucky and Margaret have a greenhouse? Who knew? I wonder if Teddy will eventually become the marijuana king of Atlantic City? Probably not. Enough with the questions, already.
Margaret suspects her creepily endearing pyromaniacal son of setting the blaze. Teddy loves matches but is not guilty: a “vagrant” did it. An aside: Not a word we use today but perhaps I should revive it. I got nothing better to do right now. Plus it rhymes with fragrant and flagrant…
Speaking of fire, Margaret and IRA Man Owen (I’m dead serious about this multiple name thing, y’all) reignite their smoldering passion in (where else?) the greenhouse. We didn’t see much of Nucky’s greenhouse: I wonder if it was anything like the one in The Big Sleep wherein Bogie sweated like Willard Romney during the last debate. Pardon the digression but what’s a little digression among friends? The Crack Van is all about digression, yo.
I’ll let the great Chris Difford have the last word with a croaky voiced rendition of a tune from Babylon and On, which is what I just did: