There's not much to say about the episode that hasn't already been said. It's great. I love the idea of examining paranoia and the darkness of humanity during the 1950s, an era widely regarded as the most idyllic time in American history. As writer Tim Minear posits, it wasn't such a great time for everybody.
I think probably the episode's boldest idea is that the very things that make characters sympathetic--their vulnerabilities, their insecurities, their secrets, their traits that society might view as "lesser-than"--are the things that can most easily be weaponized. Twilight Zone explored this territory many times over. A reclusive Angel comes out of his shell this episode to try and assist a young woman named Judy, persecuted for her mixed-race heritage. She enjoys a status, passing for white, that will be torn away if her ancestry is revealed. Yet by the end of the episode, to save herself from the rage of a mob whipped into a frenzy, Judy will point an accusing finger at Angel--the only person who has been willing to help her throughout her ordeal--and he is lynched. Of course it doesn't take, given his undead nature, but he's bitter enough at the attempt to abandon the human race to its own self-destructive devices. I understand why.
We'd all like to be the heroes of our own story. We'd all like to think that, when the chips are down, no matter how little power we wield or what we risk, we'll stand up for those that do right. We'd like to think that the misfits and the oppressed will band together in times of hardship, instead of devouring each other. In reality, I suspect most of us are like Judy; in the right circumstances, we would point the finger at somebody else to save face. It's a hard truth to face about human nature, but a necessary one.
On a more superficial note, the episode is beautifully shot. It evokes the Los Angeles of noir films, the seedy, shadow-tinged dream factory that's a far cry from the '90s sunshine-and-valley-girl La La Land represented in Clueless or The Brady Bunch Movie (or even the lighthearted movie incarnation of Buffy). It makes me wish Angel did more flashback episodes, although I guess no other time period would feel so fitting, given that thematically the series has always skewed toward the hard-boiled and the pulpy.
The teleplay also feels more relaxed than any given episode of season one, in which the pressure for writers who were not Whedon to try and sound like Whedon strained many dialogue exchanges to their breaking point. I am guessing the removal from the normal timeline gave Minear the freedom to explore a more naturalistic conversational pace rather than forcing a punchline every thirty seconds. It's a style that is borne out by the rest of season two, generally speaking, with the treatment of the Darla storyline.
Also, I love that Wesley fixates on being perceived as paranoid after an off-hand comment made during the showdown with the Thesulac. He wants so desperately to be a respected member of the team, yet he is constantly questioning his role, his usefulness, his value. He hides the insecurity well enough, until incidents like this lay it bare. There's always an undercurrent of tragedy to Wes stemming from his inability to completely fit in; nobody in Angel Investigations ever really seems to need him most; he's like the last kid to get picked for a team in gym class, and that will only be exacerbated as time goes on. Poor guy.
I think probably the episode's boldest idea is that the very things that make characters sympathetic--their vulnerabilities, their insecurities, their secrets, their traits that society might view as "lesser-than"--are the things that can most easily be weaponized. Twilight Zone explored this territory many times over. A reclusive Angel comes out of his shell this episode to try and assist a young woman named Judy, persecuted for her mixed-race heritage. She enjoys a status, passing for white, that will be torn away if her ancestry is revealed. Yet by the end of the episode, to save herself from the rage of a mob whipped into a frenzy, Judy will point an accusing finger at Angel--the only person who has been willing to help her throughout her ordeal--and he is lynched. Of course it doesn't take, given his undead nature, but he's bitter enough at the attempt to abandon the human race to its own self-destructive devices. I understand why.
We'd all like to be the heroes of our own story. We'd all like to think that, when the chips are down, no matter how little power we wield or what we risk, we'll stand up for those that do right. We'd like to think that the misfits and the oppressed will band together in times of hardship, instead of devouring each other. In reality, I suspect most of us are like Judy; in the right circumstances, we would point the finger at somebody else to save face. It's a hard truth to face about human nature, but a necessary one.
On a more superficial note, the episode is beautifully shot. It evokes the Los Angeles of noir films, the seedy, shadow-tinged dream factory that's a far cry from the '90s sunshine-and-valley-girl La La Land represented in Clueless or The Brady Bunch Movie (or even the lighthearted movie incarnation of Buffy). It makes me wish Angel did more flashback episodes, although I guess no other time period would feel so fitting, given that thematically the series has always skewed toward the hard-boiled and the pulpy.
The teleplay also feels more relaxed than any given episode of season one, in which the pressure for writers who were not Whedon to try and sound like Whedon strained many dialogue exchanges to their breaking point. I am guessing the removal from the normal timeline gave Minear the freedom to explore a more naturalistic conversational pace rather than forcing a punchline every thirty seconds. It's a style that is borne out by the rest of season two, generally speaking, with the treatment of the Darla storyline.
Also, I love that Wesley fixates on being perceived as paranoid after an off-hand comment made during the showdown with the Thesulac. He wants so desperately to be a respected member of the team, yet he is constantly questioning his role, his usefulness, his value. He hides the insecurity well enough, until incidents like this lay it bare. There's always an undercurrent of tragedy to Wes stemming from his inability to completely fit in; nobody in Angel Investigations ever really seems to need him most; he's like the last kid to get picked for a team in gym class, and that will only be exacerbated as time goes on. Poor guy.