Martin Carr reviews the second episode of Preacher season 2…
Hunted by the gun totting personification of William Munny, Jesse Custer and company remain ‘Unforgiven’. Layering film homages five foot deep like a cholesterol packed cinematic sandwich, Preacher is at once self-referential and subtly sardonic. Moments of heart breaking pathos elicit genuine emotion amongst the moments of random bloodletting and Vegas lounge act overtones. This trio of ragtag fugitives from heavenly retribution are slapdash, improvisational, deeply drawn and peppered with human flaws. Meaning that in spite of extreme circumstances, their noticeable narcotics knowledge and stylish approach to dispatching would-be assailants you like them a lot.
Ritual suicide and Sinatra would never seem obvious choices to mould a mood around, but for the reintroduction of fallen angel Furore it works perfectly. Tom Brooke plays the role with such dour faced commitment that his lost puppy persona carries away any bad taste. Couple that with Sinatra and oddly enough you stumble upon a match made in heaven, where his methodical suicides are met with instant Sunset Strip superstardom.
This is the blackest social comment yet to manifest itself through Rogen and Goldberg since Preacher started. With America’s economy in freefall, a seemingly corrupt businessman at its core and congressional committees gathering like vultures, only would gory decapitation and resurrection be deemed entertainment. What Goldberg and Rogen have done is paint a picture where morally flexible vampires, self-possessed preachers and hired assassins seem normal alongside American culture. That remains the greatest trick on show, where speedball imbibing mythical manifestations read ‘Archie’ in hot tubs, play freebie across hotel rooms and debate foreskin under makeshift man caves. Throw in some wedding nuptials to balance out the mayhem and once again Preacher seems to have pulled off the impossible.
By mixing pathos, character beats and biblical lunacy with a road movie Western vibe this stands in revered company alongside American Gods for most original show. Indian crooners, one-armed vending machine men and methane clouded emotions add fuel to the fire. Chemistry between our leads, a grizzled Graham McTavish and those who come and go remains spot on, while subtle backstory for all works its way between the cracks. Throw in debates on theology, sideswipes at NRA sympathisers and normality amongst the turbans, high calibre pump-action turbines and Fifties show tunes for the complete package.
In this week one double bill Preacher has proven its metal without question laying down the law and raising that metaphorical bar. Cooper, Negga and Gilgun have barnstormed their way through these opening episodes playing to the cheap seats. This is a show for those who like to think about something, have opinions on matters of worth and turn ripples into waves then surf the tsunami. If we had a choice in the afterlife then rocking out on that lake of fire with Preacher on loop would be no bad way to spend some time.
Martin Carr – Follow me on Twitter
