Fun
Frisky
Nostalgic
Intense
Adventurous
Choked Up
Curious
Romantic
Weird
The best way to describe American Gods is that it features Nick Sobotka as a leprechaun and somehow I still don’t like it. “A Prayer for Mad Sweeney,” the seventh and, shockingly, penultimate episode of AG’s first season (seriously, doesn’t it seem like they have a lot of ground left to cover) features Nick Sobotka as a leprechaun more than ever; while I’m still not crazy about it, it’s a better episode than most.
But it’s not Pablo Schreiber as the titular Irish entity that sold me on the ep, necessarily; other elements put me in a better mood, one more capable of appreciating the show’s charms, such as they are. The hour kicks off with a scene between Anubis and Thoth, the Egyptian gods cum morticians, who as played by Chris Obi and Demore Barnes seem to be having a contest for the coolest-sounding voice. Something about their sonorous speech, dapper attire, and old-timey setting put me in mind of Boardwalk Empire, a show that was full of these kinds of quietly enchanting performances. We also find out that it’s Thoth, aka Mr. Ibis, who’s been keeping track of the little “Coming to America” side-stories that kick off each episode, knowledge that scratches an itch I didn’t know I’d had.
Speaking of Boardwalk Empire, this episode makes terrific use of found music rather the typical overreliance on Brian Reitzell’s ludicrously intrusive score. Much of the action takes place centuries earlier in Ireland, London, and Virginia, depicting the demimonde of Irish servants (indentured and otherwise) and immigrants under the dominion of the English crown. Reitzell’s sonic accompaniment is limited to bog-standard Celtic whimsy, no more or less bothersome than the million other times you’ve heard that kind of music in movies and TV shows about the Emerald Isle and its descendants. The more interesting move is all the classic ‘50s and ‘60s R&B and soul used to help set the tone and tell the story. It’s a clever device to crib from mafia movies, using a familiar pop-culture form as a sort of universal translator for a specific ethnic community.
The show’s cleverest move is stunt-casting one of its own stars, Emily Browning, in an entirely new role: Essie McGowan, an Irish lass (sorry, but there’s no other way to describe the character, from her preposterously red wig and freckle makeup on down) who keeps alive the myths and legend of her people even as wrongful—and eventually rightful—accusations of theft repeatedly land her in jail and “transportation,” the euphemistic legalese for indentured servitude. It’s just fun to hear Browning tell stories about leprechauns and banshees and whatnot in an Irish lilt, or to watch her loot London society to the tune of Dion’s “Runaround Sue”—actual fun, not “hey look it’s Gillian Anderson as David Bowie, isn’t this wild” fun.
As you might expect given the other party Browning’s playing on this show, Essie is tied up with the story of Mad Sweeney, who benefited from the gifts she left out for the fairy folk and winds up traveling to the New World sometime after she does, apparently to avoid fighting in a war he knew would be catastrophic. In the present day, Sweeney tells Laura Moon, Essie’s spitting image (it’s not clear if she’s supposed to be Essie reincarnated or what), that he’s thrown in with Mr. Wednesday’s cause in order to make good on his long-ago cowardice. What Laura doesn’t know is that Sweeney himself was responsible for the car crash that killed her, on Wednesday’s orders, presumably to maneuver her widower Shadow into his orbit.
Sweeney makes up for this bad deed too: When another wreck re-kills Laura, he passes up the opportunity to reclaim his lucky coin (given to him by Essie, once upon a time) and sticks it back in her chest, reanimating her once more. Schreiber and Browning are hands down the best actors in the cast when it comes to sullenly swallowing the shit the world throws at their characters, so there’s genuine dramatic satisfaction to be found here.
None of this is to say that American Gods has completely turned it around. Most of Sweeney and Laura’s interactions are just as pointlessly antagonistic as ever before; just by way of a for instance, the first thing she does when she reawakens from her second death is punch him in the face. Laura continues to undermine their shared quest in ways that make no sense, like when she tips off Salim to the location of the big conclave of the gods so he can find his beloved jinn without needing to drive her and Sweeney around first—which leaves them with no ride, and moreover robs her of a friend and ally. (The scene is beautifully shot against the bright gray overcast skies at a roadside rest stop, at least.)
On a deeper level, Sweeney’s final meeting with the aged Essie before he escorts her off this mortal coil asserts that there’s no room for magic and fairy stories and so on in America, which even the most cursory knowledge of this country’s folk tales and urban legends reveals as utter bullshit. Still: cool Egyptian gods, fiery redheads, good music, Nick Sobotka as a leprechaun. It could be worse.
Sean T. Collins (@theseantcollins) writes about TV for Rolling Stone, Vulture, the Observer, and anyplace that will have him, really. He and his family live on Long Island.
