Belief can be a valuable tool in life, but blind faith is always a dangerous thing. Devotion without questioning leads to blindside moments and surprises. And if it is our beliefs that lead us to fight, to pick a cause, or take a stand – it’s even more imperative that they are well-placed. In this week’s episode of Constantine, a good recurring question would be, “What’s your angle?” Everybody’s got one.
In “Blessed Are the Damned,” a church in rural Kentucky, whose preacher is not even close to the showman his father was, is suffering from low attendance. But with a quick bit (or bite, as it were) of theatrics involving a rattlesnake and what we later learn to be an angel feather, he’s filled with remarkable powers of healing. But with great power comes great responsibility (Spiderman shoutout), which is unfortunately very foreign to Zachary. He simply starts healing people with the holy spirit, motivated by the intense desire to honor his father’s memory. And, let’s face it: he’s on a bit of a power trip. His disregard of potential consequences blinds him to the truth. But more on that later.
Meanwhile, Zed has a vision in art class of snakes. The model in her class casually hits on her, and they agree to go on an eventual date. Nothing about this seems out of the ordinary, but things are rarely what they seem. I will say that Angélica Celaya has really blossomed in the role of Zed. I was a little skeptical at first, but there are a lot of layers and subtleties. Like John, I’m still trying to puzzle and parse her out. Before they head off to Kentucky, she’s entirely alive with glee over her vision, while Constantine makes hilarious quips about etiquette and how she could at least say hello. What’s important about that is she constantly throws him off balance. Her focus on her powers and her art are the only things she’s shared about herself. John’s not one to trounce about blindly, and her secretive nature definitely sets him on edge. He’s not merely curious. For any relationship to work, there has to be a give and take, there has to be trust. Zed’s fierce mysteriousness keeps him from fully letting his guard down. (Side-note: When John was packing his bags for the trip, I laughed SO hard about the condoms. Holy hell. Nice touch.)
Once in Kentucky, John and Zed slip into the congregation, where they argue about religion and belief. Zed wants to believe in a guiding hand, and Constantine’s brief quips illuminate his uneasiness with the idea. His tone isn’t necessarily dismissive. He has trouble seeing the worth in himself, so why would any god approve of him? After this, he discovers that Zachary is speaking Enochian, the language of the angels. Of the preacher, John keenly observes, “Nobody wields that kind of power without consequences.” And it’s true: everyone who has been “saved” or “healed” starts turning red-eyed and a bit murder-y.
Zed touches Zachary’s hands and has a vision of an angel. Her expression in that scene is beautifully done, because it’s just the right shade of awestruck. But later, when she and Constantine are discussing the situation, she offers that “Blind faith can be a dangerous thing.” It’s a small, half-reveal, and she doesn’t give up anything else personal. But the weight of how Zed says that conveys that, for her, faith is a heavy thing.
Circling back to the idea that power is never without consequences, John reveals that these so-called miracles are taking the toll on the land. There’s an entire lake of fish is dead, which reaffirms that the magic happening in the church is dark, dangerous. And John calls on Manny for help, using dried myrtle (not drugs!), tossing in a ‘please’ and a shrug. It was very John Constantine moment. Manny arrives and John explains the situation, and Manny tells him that “It will only make sense if you stand facing the sun.” It’s clear that, by whatever rules the angels operate by, this is flirting with the line. But Constantine is all rage and frustration still, because he’s all about action, not words. However, Manny’s advice bears out, and John and Zed discover a beautiful angel, Imogen, who’s manifested on the mortal plane because of a missing feather, which happened when she came to take a dying mortal to heaven. It’s killing her.
Manny arrives, looking almost curious. His appearances holds a bit of comic relief, since Zed can’t see him, and she spends several minutes trying to figure out where he’s standing – while John is having a conversation/sparring match with him. These two squabble like siblings, and it’s really excellently done. Manny fervently reminds John that it’s basically impossible for a mortal to remove an angel’s feather, but that she will die if it’s not restored – her soul simply snuffed out, as if she never existed.
So, Constantine and Zed leave Imogen stashed in a barn, with Manny sitting watch. Before leaving, John sets up a protection spell using a garden hose (I love that he constantly uses everyday objects – it’s resourceful and charming). It will keep evil out. Constantine observes that Zed is gobsmacked, and her awe is positively radiating off her. Curiously, though, this is what she says, “I believed everything I was told as a girl. The older I got…the more lies I uncovered.” This shows that Zed has deep beliefs, but in what? We’ve seen her with a pretty impressive cross, but whatever religion she once practiced, it hasn’t shown itself as anything other than lapsed. And her statement also begs two questions. One: what lies did she uncover? And two: do her childhood beliefs inform her movements/decisions/actions now? Only time will tell.
Her curious unease with her powers – that she’d want to ask the angel where her powers come from if she could – is great moment. There’s an undercurrent of fear when she tells this to John. He offers her a practical, honest bit of advice, “Doesn’t matter where they come from. What matters is what you do with them – and what it costs you.” For Constantine, this is a brilliant, almost offhand revelation. He believes in the power of choice, in deciding your own fate. That it’s what you do with what you have that matters. That, I think, is why he fights. And in that moment, you have to wonder what it’s cost him. Because all magic, as we’ve heard time and again, is not without consequence.
Zed is a person who seems like she’s longing for faith, desperate for a reason to believe. She confronts Constantine about his cynicism, even in the face of proof – even with the evidence of angels right in front of him. And, again, in a stunning turn of grim honesty – and the look of a man who has seen and done too much – John counters her wide-eyed, hopeful naivety. “Could’ve been a better man if I hadn’t seen it all. Yes, angels exist – sound the bloody trumpets. As for religion, yeah, alright – be nice to your neighbor and all that. The world isn’t all puppy dogs and rainbows. Can’t just pray evil away. You’ve still go to fight.”
That, right there, is Constantine in a nutshell. That’s why he fights. That’s why he wages a war against the growing dark, even though he’s just one man with a couple of friends and a bag of tricks. What’s the saying? “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” Constantine will be damned if he lets that happen (no pun intended). He’s not waiting around for someone else to fix things. He’s not leaving it up to fate. He’s in the thick of it all, using everything he’s got to maintain the balance. He might be a guy who brings condoms to church, but he’s also a guy who does what’s right. (Plus, it’s hard to argue with the whole ‘safety first’ idea.)
Later, John tries to take the feather off of Zachary (who had a spectacular falling out with his sister). When he gets close, the feather pulses out a magical blast that knocks him on his ass. Zachary, in true crazy religious zealot fashion, says that this indicates that John’s an evil force, which is why the feather reacted that way. More on that later.
Zed is attacked while lying in her tent, but John comes to the rescue in the nick of time, saving her from a ghoul. Ghouls are formed from magic gone wrong, and this one (the first parishioner healed) appeared to be looking for something. Zed cozies up to preacher Crazypants, telling him that she “wants to believe.” For a split second, that confession of Zed’s rings true, and you have to wonder more at where she came from.
Zed agrees to be baptized by Zachary. In doing so, she takes the feather from him. Keep in mind that this feather wouldn’t let John near it, but she could steal it without a problem. The feather starts protecting her, just as a gaggle of ghouls appear. Constantine, Zachary, and Zed barricade themselves in the church, but John sends her to restore Imogen’s feather; it’s the only way to stop the ghouls.
We cut back to Imogen and Manny, who are having a bonding moment. There’s something sharp and calculating about her gaze, as Manny is asking her what it’s like to be manifested. Poignantly, he asks what pain feels like, having never felt it before. In a heartbreaking turn, he also asks what it’s like to feel the sun. There’s a deep longing in his face, in the cadence of his questioning, and Harold Perrineau is exquisite in this scene. There’s a depth to Manny that we haven’t seen before; for the first time, we see his wants and desires. And what’s more basic than the desire to feel the sun on our faces?
While Zed’s gone, Constantine and Zachary have a conversation about the angel, and it comes to light that Imogen is not an angel from heaven. No, she’s fallen. She was taking a soul to hell – Zachary’s. He killed a man the night he got her feather. The realization hits John in the stomach like a sucker punch. And we cut back to Manny and Imogen, whose conversation has taken a curious, almost contrary turn. She’s subtlety challenging his beliefs about the purpose of angels, about humanity as a whole. Before Manny can really absorb the lilt of her words, Zed bursts in with the feather and restores it. This turns the ghouls John’s grappling with back to regular old humans, revealing Imogen as a dark angel to Manny. Zed, meanwhile, has no idea that she’s dark, until John shows up.
Presumably, Zed can still see Imogen the same way John can see Manny, but I have to bring up another possibility. Zed could take the feather – a thing of darkness. John couldn’t touch it. John sees Manny, a creature of light. I think that Zed’s ability to touch the feather revealed that there’s darkness in her, a mortal sin on her soul, like Zachary’s. Constantine may have committed many sins, but it looks like there’s more good in him that darkness. Like John, we don’t really know anything about Zed, but I think this scene revealed a whole hell of a lot. Okay, pun intended, here.
Now, John’s protection spell served to keep Imogen in. It looks like the growing dark has thinned out the barrier between worlds, allowing darkness easier access to humanity. And you know THAT is never a good sign. Imogen gave Zachary her feather so that she could break through to earth, which, as far as evil plans go, was quite clever. Turns out, Imogen was also just really desperate to get out of Hell, and she’s just as desperate not to go back. She grabs Zed by the throat, confessing that she fell because she killed a mortal just to see what it felt like (I’m guessing this is the angel equivalent of “I shot a man in Reno, just to watch him die…”). John starts angrily pleading with Manny, because he’s the only one can stop Imogen. But Manny, always acting by the rules, reminds Constantine that he can’t step in. In a passionate plea, John says something that rings very true to anyone who is deciding whether or not to fight. There’s always a moment where you choose. And for Constantine, choice is paramount. In a barely contained passionate fury, he tells Manny, “You’re either in this bloody fight with me, or you’re not.”
And it looks like Manny disappears, leaving John in a lurch and Zed to die. Except Manny takes possession of Zed’s body in a brilliant move, ripping out Imogen’s heart in one unexpected move. Absolutely beautifully done scene by everyone involved, with just enough surprise and fierce words to be impressive. Constantine doesn’t tell Manny thank you, but there’s a barely perceptible nod. I can’t help but wonder if he expected Manny to flee, to let him down. If, perhaps, even Constantine was surprised by Manny’s actions. Zed comes back to herself holding Imogen’s still beating heart, which is apparently concentrated evil. John wraps it in burlap for temporary safekeeping.
We cut back to the preacher, who is no longer crazypants. He is speaking on the power of choice, which is a major theme of the entire show, not just a main belief of Constantine himself. Choice matters. What a person (or an angel) does when faced with a point of no return or dangerous situation. There’s no puppetmaster pulling the strings. There’s only what you do and what you don’t do. Which brings us to the closing scene.
In final twist (I’m taking this out of order), it looks like Zed skipped out on her date with the model from her art class. And it turns out Hot Naked Guy has an ulterior motive, and that someone whose face we can’t see is pulling his strings. I’m curious to see how that mystery is unraveled and revealed. I wonder if it has anything to do with Zed’s hidden past. Only time will tell.
John and Manny are hanging out in the mill house. Manny admits that he doesn’t have all the answers, looking almost ashamed. John realizes he’s kicking himself about Imogen, about not seeing her for what she was. In response, Constantine offers comfort, “She fooled us all, mate. And that’s not something I admit to, lightly.” It is an endearing moment. But, for me, it makes me wonder if, down the line, that same sentiment won’t also apply to Zed. She could touch the feather of the fallen angel. Something about that is going to come back around again. It’s Chekhov’s loaded gun.
During their conversation, John puts Imogen’s heart in a nice jar with a lid, adding it to the curiosities housed in the mill house. Incidentally, I have that exact same jar (no rust), and I keep coffee filters in it. Gave me a bit of a chuckle. Constantine comes very close to thanking Manny, telling him he saved that day, that it’s the kind of faith he can get behind. Manny admits that he’ll face consequences for what he did to Imogen, confessing that what she did shouldn’t have been possible. He vanishes without a word, like some sort of heavenly ninja.
This whole incident seemed to further ignite Constantine’s tenacity, his desire to fight. John uses his pain, his passion, to fuel his actions. It doesn’t consume him. It spurs him on. He may be a jackass of all trades, but that kind of impassioned will is something to be admired. Constantine may question his beliefs. He may question himself. He may have doubts. But when it comes down to it, he doesn’t walk away from a battle.
You’re either in this bloody fight – or you’re not. And no matter what fresh hell appears, John Constantine is all in.
Life is all about connections, relationships, and the circumstances that make the world smaller. On a deeper level, it is also about the people who help make us who we are, for better or for worse – those who stand with us or behind us, helping to shape who we are and the path we take.
This week’s Constantine (Rage of Caliban – written by the wonderfully talented Daniel Cerone) was about looking to the past to inform the future. How actions, once taken, shape the road in front of a person. The episode opens with a classic bit of horror movie madness: a murder scene in a home, a small girl, and a bloodied, levitating man – who then plummets to his death. It’s clear the girl is responsible, but not how or why. Later, when two police officers start arguing about her, the child’s eyes turn black as ink and a coffee mug shatters. Someone yells, “Shots fired!” Shots fired, indeed.
Elsewhere, John’s getting kicked out of bed by a one night stand, with a bit of groggy comedy. She’s got a boyfriend, and the boyfriend’s at the door – and the important item she’s shoving at him is his tie (symbolism – yes, the tie means something). There’s a little frenzied he said/she said about whether Constantine knew she was attached, when he quips, “Should I set the table for three, then?” Shirtless, being shoved out a window, he’s got an incredible amount of sass – which I love. From the woman he was with, though, you get the kind of impression that yes, John is a world of trouble, but that his kind of trouble is also totally worth it. It makes his brashness a bit more endearing. I mean, I certainly wouldn’t kick him out of bed.
Back at the mill house, Chas gives John his best mom face/chiding eyes (I adore Charles Halford in this role), insisting that they pick the next point of trouble/case from the Bloody Map. They do, and it’s Birmingham, Alabama. Which is the murder site we’d just seen. So, off they go, with the cab still in the shop (this episode was intended to be episode two, which is why there’s only an oblique reference to Zed being at an art class).
Arriving at the crime scene, Chas and John give us a bit of backstory about the murder; John’s got his usual bag of tricks (literally a bag – an old medical bag, by the looks of it). What I liked about this episode is that we get to see more of the relationships between Constantine and Chas (as well as Constantine and Manny), which illuminates the relationship John has with himself. More on that later. The dabbler in the dark arts promptly breaks into the house, stiffs around, and then…licks a wall. I could make so many jokes here. But I won’t.
Manny shows up and he and John have a spat. They’re almost always having a spat, aren’t they? There’s a fiercely confrontational, almost adversarial quality to their conversation. “You know, I’ve never punched an angel, but you are begging for it, mate,” Constantine snarks after Manny surprises him. Manny wants to know what John’s planning on doing about the rising dark, what his plan of attack is. Calling him “more of a desperation move” as opposed to Joan of Arc, Manny really seems to take pleasure at goading John and making digs about how not special he is. Constantine needles him right back, using an insult-derived form of backhanded flattery to try and weasel information about the murder from Manny. That works about as well as you’d think.
Using a Mayan spell, Constantine figures out that the girl’s to blame, because she was possessed. He surmises that the spirit that’s done the possessing will be on the lookout for a new host. And a nice cut to the outside of a house lets the audience in on the fact that this episode takes place around Halloween. Inside, we get an earful of a screaming boy, insisting there’s someone in his room,. Being comforted by his folks, Henry seems like a typical kid – until later, when his creepy closet opens, and there’s really someone in his room. Once he’s possessed, he pretty much starts acting like the little kid from The Omen.
We find John in a bar (surprise!) with an unnamed woman, who provides some background on the case. There’s been a series of murders with the same M.O., starting 35 years ago. The woman and John have a history, and he helped her out in the past. It’s interesting to see this kind of bond surface, here and there, evidence of his good – evidence of those he’s helped along the way. We’ve heard about Newcastle – seen its scars on John (and Gary). But true to life, it seems like the bad carries more weight than the good.
Which is illustrated by the sneer Constantine gives when the woman tells him the first murder victim, Marcello Panneti, is at the local mental hospital. When he gets there, John finds a catatonic Marcello and a bit more backstory. Abused as a child by his father, Marcello pulled something of a Lizzie Borden, killing his parents. Upon seeing his frozen, unaffected state, John sits down and gives Marcello an interesting look. He’d thought that Marcello would provide some insight, but the avenue is closed. Which begs the unsaid question: what now?
Meanwhile, possessed Henry (well portrayed by Max Charles) starts acting out in a really effective, creepy scene. This episode pulled from multiple horror story tropes and not only brought them to life, but also made them work brilliantly. The subtle tapping of a lightbulb, while Henry’s dad, Daryl, stumbles around in the dark, was an excellent use of basic fear and suspense. It’s the kind of tension that makes a viewer shout at the tv screen. Not that I’d do that. Nooooo. (Yes, yes, I did.) The actor who plays Henry is reallllly good in this scene. After his father hurt himself, he almost chides, “Hey Dad? Be careful.” Definitely chills up the spine, there.
Once again back at the mill house, John and Chas discuss the case, which reveals the idea of ley lines to the audience – magical trackways that flow with energy that can be harnessed. While they’re looking for something to detect the malevolent spirit, Chas pulls a random sword out of a bookshelf (who doesn’t keep a sword there?), which leads to an honest, but funny moment between the two. It’s basically a sword of truth, and Chas prattles on about how Constantine is too self-involved, how he misses a woman named Renee, and how he can’t even talk to John about it – at which point, John takes the sword away from him. They both look hilariously uncomfortable and a bit sheepish. They dynamic here rings true.
After a rather unfortunate incident between Henry and a pumpkin, a raven/crow hurls itself into a glass door. This is not the first, or the last, time we’ve seen a crow/raven. I get the feeling the symbolism is going to come into play later in the series – that it has something to do with the rising dark. But that’s just a hunch.
John and Chas are walking down the street, waving the kind of incense holder you’d find at Catholic mass. (Because of course.) They stop outside Henry’s house and have a rather amusing exchange about whether or not they should knock, explain who they are and why they’re there. The back and forth here was really charming, but it’s also a bit revealing. Constantine takes the lead, always. He calls the shots. In a way, Chas looks to him to make the decisions. The laidback relationship between the two is really endearing. They’re solid, good mates – a dedicated team.
The next day, Constantine stops by the schoolyard and notices Henry fighting with another kid. He tries to bring it to a teacher’s attention, who is skeptical of John’s presence, asking, “What’s in that trenchcoat?” Constantine replies, “I am,” with a kind of quiet, insistent fury that only accompanies a man whose hands are tied – and not in a fun way. A man who is not used to being ignored and who isn’t accustomed to having to stand back and watch something bad happen. The subtlety bridled rage is an interest tic of John’s – a tell of sorts, evidence of the genuine good in an imperfect man.
The child who was taunting Henry suffers a fractured skull, while Constantine is forced to helplessly watch. Later, Henry is interrogated by his parents, his mom less lenient than his father. Which is of course when John decides to knock on the door, lie to get inside, then announce he’s an exorcist, and promptly gets kicked out of the house. He leaves his card on the way out, but not before getting punched by the father…and thus, thrown in jail.
John in jail is a really brilliant scene, character-wise. He’s antsy, frustrated at being trapped. Helplessness fits him about as well as an ill-tailored suit. Rambling and railing at his current state of affairs, he laments that his stint in an asylum (six months!) affected his skills negatively, verbally castigating himself. Face pressed against the bars, Constantine calls himself a “bloody amateur,” and his sudden bout of self-loathing is clear on his face. He is, almost always, at odds with himself. Sometimes, that motivates him to move forward, do and be better. But in this instance, he’s having a pity party of rather maudlin proportions.
Until, that is, Manny shows up and those two have a revelatory fight. Harold Perrineau is wonderful in this scene, one part antagonistic and one part righteous. He’s got the demeanor of an unaffected parent whose child is acting out again. And John is all sass, snark, and eye rolls – because he’s unimpressed with the angels refusing to intervene in the lives of humans. They’re simply watchers, passionately observing and advising without stepping in. Meanwhile, John’s risking his life time and again – assuming he’s on his own during all his hardships. But as soon as he offhandedly spat that he’s made it through his life without any help from Manny, the angel spins into an indignant rage, looming over him, basically driving home that the opposite was true. This interaction shows a bit of John’s horrifically tortured past, an abusive childhood where it appears Manny kept him alive when John might’ve chosen otherwise. Constantine’s reaction is the emotional equivalent of touching a hot stove with your hand: he jumps up, too many emotions on his face, and has to move. That says a lot about his coping mechanisms, by and large.
Soon after, Henry’s mom (Claire) shows up at the jail, springs him, and they set to work at trying to bind the spirit in Henry to a single spot (she drugs her son so that they can work). The spot is the home that Marcello Panneti grew up in, who is supposedly the first possession victim. The house, I should point out, is a character in itself – creepy, foreboding, and generally where abandoned nightmares go to live. Chas, John, and Claire are unsuccessful – all that shows up is a three-legged baby deer. It was a brilliant moment of comic relief and misdirection, but it failure leads her to ask Constantine to perform an exorcism on her son.
Like a sucker punch, the wound of Newcastle wells up within John, revealing his pain, his lack of self-confidence, and his raging, vicious doubt. Claire tells Constantine something that almost rattles him – that she does trust him. There’s a look of gratitude crossed with disbelief that ghosts across his face. John has a complicated history with trust, and there’s nothing that pains him more than the idea that he might let someone down. But her words might just be enough to balm what’s broken in him, to begin to counterbalance the horrors of Newcastle. If he can swallow the fear that’s raging inside him long enough to do what needs doing. He is, even at his worst, a man who tries.
Returning home with John, Claire and Daryl argue about what to do, revealing conflict as the trigger for the spirit. Without hesitation, Constantine enchants a mirror – which is a typical one you’d find at Bed, Bath, and Beyond. For some reason, that amused me greatly. I like the idea of everyday items being used throughout the show – the enchanted card, the mirror, etc. Using the mirror to deflect Henry’s magic leads the kid to flee house, trapping Chas painfully between two cars, with Constantine in hot pursuit.
This, of course, ends in a confrontation in the creepiest damn funhouse in the world. There, John realizes that the spirit is Marcello Manetti, when Henry appears holding an axe. Employing his usual irreverence and sass, Constantine takes Marcello to task for his actions, as the spirit tosses him here and there with a simple nod of his head. It’s here that John’s own past, his own rage, comes in handy – he draws an implied parallel between himself and Marcello, quipping that “this world’s dark – and full of pain, for everyone – only most people don’t leave a trail of dead bodies and shattered lives and retribution.” Perhaps in Marcello, Constantine is seeing what he might’ve been, if he was driven not to help people, but to seek revenge. If John had given into the dark, perhaps revenge (not protecting others and doing good) would’ve shaped who he’d become. Constantine’s rage and disgust at what Marcello did because of what happened to him illustrates the idea that while a person is shaped by his past, it doesn’t mean he is condemned by it. Everything, every moment is a choice. And for John, he chooses to fight.
Marcello Manetti’s spirit is returned to his body, and a quick glimpse at the asylum shows him going totally berserk. There’s a possibility he’ll find peace at some point, but it’s the closing scene I found more poignant. Constantine, lounging in the back of his truck, is in for the long haul. Lighting up a cigarette (someone get me that lighter, please), he knows that he’s in for a fight against the rising dark, but he’s taken up the mantle. The hardest part, for him, may be overcoming his own flaws, his own weaknesses, but there’s a sharp determination about him. As he spits at Manny in the preview for next week, “You’re either this bloody fight with me, or you’re not.”
Constantine’s in. I’m in. Are you?
Everyone is running from something. Sometimes, it’s something/someone we lost. Sometimes, it’s something we did – or failed to do. Experiences like that shape us, like water cutting through a canyon. There can be no mercy in it. Where we come from is a facet of who we are – the past always informs the present – and the present, the future. But what we believe in is a powerful tenant of who we are. A person’s belief shapes his/her world.
And that’s a major theme of this week’s Constantine (Danse Vaudou). In the beginning, we find Zed working on her skills, but only coming up with snake eyes and a migraine. Until, that is, John pulls something out of his magic bag of tricks, forging a connection between Zed and the map. Zed is eager to learn how to use her gifts, and it doesn’t seem like she notices the tone of Constantine’s delivery when he says, “Seems we’ve opened up a physic connection between you and the map, which is what I wanted.” That’s what he wanted. Because there’s an angle to him that is all about a means to an end, people as tools. He seems like he never gets too close. Because he believes that anyone close to him will die. (Which, you know, Chas. Poor Chas. However, Charles Halford is a delight in this role.) John, though, is clearly shaped by the pains of his past. At one point, he tells Zed, “Pain’s good. That’s how you build muscles. Find something that guts you, and do it over and over again.” Is pain the only way to grow as a person? No. Is it an effective catalyst for change/growth? Yes.
This episode takes the gang to New Orleans, where they meet a detective, Jim Corrigan (exquisitely played by Emmett J. Scanlan). Corrigan initially laughs off Constantine’s profession, calling him a con man and delivering a very snide, deadpan bit of skepticism. Clearly, his belief is rooted in accepted norms. Until, that is, he starts to realize that there are things that can’t be explained in easy, simple terms. Trouble is that there are ghosts rising from the dead – a hitchhiker killed in a crash, an ex-model with a scarred face who committed suicide, and a husband who died of cancer without his wife getting a chance to say goodbye. But Corrigan doesn’t even entertain the idea of believing, until much later in the episode.
There’s an interesting scene between Constantine and Zed, when they’re getting hotel rooms for the night. It’s a bit of a cat and mouse, except each thinks they’re the cat and the other the mouse. John makes it clear that he really doesn’t know anything about her, and it’s more than idle curiosity. There’s a glint of suspicion to it. He trusts her gifts, but it doesn’t seem like he trusts her. Not yet. But he couches the conversation in terms of sex, quipping that he always respects the people he sleeps with, but he usually knows more about them first. Despite his tendency toward being ruthless in his decision making, there’s a depth in that moment. A hint of someone who, when he lets his walls down, really lets them down. But for all her psychic abilities, Zed’s as closed as ever, not really giving anything up to John. There’s kind of a sharp, smart edge to her general vulnerability. She seems innocent and sweet, but this episode highlighted her resourcefulness. And we do get a hint of her background. More on that later.
John ends up being arrested by Corrigan for trying to warn him about the hitchhiker killing again. After that Chas ends up on alleyway ghost hunting duty, trying to figure out the dead model’s weakness/purpose. Even in death, everybody wants something right? Meanwhile, Zed visits the hitchhiking ghost’s grandmother, getting backstory on him. But it’s Constantine’s conversation with Corrigan in the interrogation room that is most interesting.
You can see that Corrigan is coming around to the notion that there’s more to work in the world than what can be easily explained. There’s a fierce quiet to Corrigan, a steady kind of strength. It’s the underplay of interested calm that is intriguing. He asks John how he does it, how he handles the darkness, essentially. The reply is a belief that Constantine is desperate to believe: “It marks you. For life. But it doesn’t change who you are.”
John wants to think that what happens doesn’t alter who a person is. That knowing doesn’t turn the world on its axis. But there are always the things we carry with us, the things we are haunted by. Maybe the core good doesn’t shift, but the edges fray. You can’t always be good to do good. But how far does one go before tipping over the line? I don’t think John’s found that moment yet.
Of course, it turns out the ruckus of the dead rising is Papa Midnite. John waltzes into a ritual with all the swagger of an old-school cowboy. He sassily apologizes for coming empty-handed, because he didn’t know what dessert paired with pig’s blood. Make no mistake: that bravado is also one of Constantine’s weapons. He showed up, alone, at Papa Midnite’s home turf. The way he carried himself conveyed a casual, unconcerned confidence. Not fear. He remained remarkably self-possessed, even after Papa blew some sleeping dust in his face. For John, he did what he had to, which was to warn Papa Midnite that he’s not allowing grieving people to speak to the dead. He’s accidentally raising it. Oops. Talk about embarrassing. At least there wasn’t a creepy mask involved. (Again: Buffy shoutout!)
Papa Midnite, with his own bag of tricks, consults…his dead sister’s skull. Which…ew. It seems that she’s condemned to hell, and it was implied that Midnite was involved somehow. Eventually, he’s convinced that his magic’s run amok, when he goes to the house of a woman he helped…to find her dead husband alive and slowly killing her. Talking to John, he eats a bit of crow, and asks for his help. There’s a sense of honor to Midnite, here. Raising the dead was not his intention, and his magic has gone sideways, because of “the growing dark.” A Big Bad’s coming, and it’s messing with the order of things. For helping, John gets to ask Midnite’s sister a question. His sense of duty wouldn’t have let him just walk away and leave the dead traipsing about, but Midnite doesn’t realize that. He agrees.
This leads them to, of course, squabble like wretched children while stealing bodies from mausoleums. Midnite’s snaps that John is “jackass of all trade, master of none,” as they metaphorically measure each other’s magical…well, you know. What I liked most about that scene was a subtle catalyst for Constantine’s actions/strength was his grief. He’s struggling with the stone door that he can’t get open, and Papa brings up guilt and responsibility, throwing a hint of Astra in John’s face. And, without verbally reacting to what he’s said, John takes his anger/blame/rage out on the marble slab – and it’s that berserker show of guilt that gives him the strength to get the job done.
Elsewhere, Zed and Corrigan have teamed up, trying to keep the hitchhiker (Phillip) from killing anyone else. It’s during their escapade we learn the barest glimmer of Zed’s backstory. Remember when Chas asked who would name their kid Zed, because it means zero? She’d spat back that her parents didn’t call her that. Through Corrigan, it’s revealed that Zed is a missing person, whose name was something else. Zed, then, must’ve named herself. And because all names mean something, why zero? My guess is that it’s an attempt at leaving everything behind, going back to the beginning, a reset. Zero is a clean slate. And whatever Zed was running away from, she clearly didn’t want to bring any of it with her. Her belief is that disappearing would let her begin again. But if there’s anything to be gleaned from the past, it’s that everyone carries the past with them, for better or worse.
Papa and Constantine set out to do their joint spell with more than a bit of resentment. Their spell to put the three unruly spirits to rest (a bonfire of bodies that John lights with a flicked cigarette) fails spectacularly. Each blames the other fervently, leading to a snark-filled fistfight, wherein Constantine realizes that it’s not necessarily Papa’s magic that raised the dead. No, it’s the beliefs of those people left living. Those left behind.
So, the hitchhiker’s grandmother, the woman responsible for the model’s disfigurement, and the wife of the cancer stricken husband are brought to the ritual site. Constantine explains the power of pain, belief, and grief like this: “You keep the dead alive, because you can’t forgive yourselves.” The ravaging tide of loss is a powerful kind of magic, and blame is a heavy burden. They agree to the ritual, and the balance of things is restored. But this scene really spoke to the reality of loss – and how those left behind cope (or don’t cope). How the belief that we could’ve possibility done something differently, or done something more, affects our belief in ourselves. It rang true.
In the end, Zed has a vision of Corrigan dripping in blood and engulfed in green smoke. John and Papa share a Scotch, and Midnite deliberately pokes at an old wound. We learn that Constantine’s mother is dead, and Midnite offers to let John talk to her. For John, though, he refuses (with a hint of remorse) to let his grief inform his decisions. Instead, he calls in the marker for communing with Zatanna, Papa’s sister. A means to an end, John wants to know more about the growing dark. The choice (this, over his mother) is a practical one. That doesn’t mean it was an easy one.
Zatanna’s message is merciless and clear: Constantine’s fighting a losing battle. What’s coming cannot be bested. And what’s worse: it will be heralded by someone close to John. Someone will betray him. Given that Constantine isn’t close to many people, it’s probably a short list. But this revelation may also reinforce his tendency toward emotional distance and isolation. It’s one thing not to trust easily. It’s another to know that someone you’ve given that trust to is going to put a knife in your back. That might put a damper on all your relationships.
John absorbs this harsh knowledge without a word. But there’s a kind of quiet rage on his face. And you can see, in that moment, that he’s decided to do everything he can to stop what’s coming, to fight even in the face of futility. Again, John is not a good man. He’s not an easy man. He’s brash and he’s unapologetic. But there’s a sense of goodness and honor about him, a grim determination. As he told someone in this episode, “Sounds like your hell-bent on a path to redemption, love.” In their own way, each character in this episode is – but Constantine owns that motivation with a brilliant sense of fury.