‘Candy’ Episode 4 Recap: Aftermath

Let’s address the elephant in the room right up front: Justin Timberlake?!

Yes, the pop idol (and Candy star Jessica Biel’s husband) turns up uncredited as Deputy Steve Deffibaugh, the cop in charge of the investigation into Betty Gore’s murder. And he’s good, too! Looking a bit more rough-and-ready than usual and acting behind a vintage cop mustache, he’s cool and collected at the crime scene, taking photos of everything and wishing he brought more film just for a more thorough documentation. When talking to people about the crime—particularly Candy, who, like Allan, admits to their affair—he gives of a perpetual air of “Hmm. Okay,” like nothing on earth can ruffle his feathers. A real “just doin’ m’job, ma’am” type of guy.

Actually, once word gets out about the crime, it’s amazing how everyone seems to take it in stride. I suppose that’s the way of the world: kids still need to be fed and played with, food needs to be prepared and eaten, dishes need doing, life goes on. It certainly does for Candy, who helps out with Allan a lot, even while fielding increasingly pointed questions from the cops about her alibi, her chipped fingernails, the wounds on her foot. She’s got a logical explanation for all of it, of course.

Mostly, though, I think she’s kicking herself for her half-assed crime-scene cleanup. Each new day, each news report, each phone call from a friend seems to bring new revelations. The axe was swung against Betty 41 times. (Pat tries to recreate this with his own axe one night, seemingly to reassure himself that Candy wouldn’t have been physically capable of doing it.). The cops found a footprint. (Candy reacts by chopping her flip-flops into pieces and dumping them in the garbage can, where they’re promptly found by the increasingly concerned Pat.)

But it’s when she hears that they found a fingerprint, too, that Candy acts. She rushes over to the office of her eccentric, frequently shirtless lawyer Don Crowder (does any actor on TV ever look like he’s having a better time than Raúl Esparza?) and confesses to everything. Well, more or less.

“We got ourselves a self-defense case,” he tells his colleagues after the meeting. Sure, I guess that’s one way to spin it, though after a couple dozen axe blows I think you probably don’t need to defend yourself from anyone anymore.

Written by Elise Brown and directed by Tara Nicole Weyr, this episode (“Cover Girl”) straddles the line between black comedy and outright tragedy more than any other episode so far. There are funny bits to be found throughout the hour, from Allan admitting he doesn’t know how to change a diaper but, “Well, I am an engineer…” to him pouring the wrong kind of dish soap into the dishwasher and generating a comical overflow of bubbles. Candy’s behavior, too, is played for dark laughs, as she has to feign surprise at every new revelation. And in a flash-forward/flashback on the witness stand at the trial, Pat admits to buying his wife flowers and a card when he found out she had the affair. “I blamed myself,” he says, but they worked through it. Maybe they should have worked through it a bit harder.

But it’s when the dark humor has you off-guard that the episode really twists the knife. Child actor Antonella Rose is heartbreaking as young Christina Gore, who hums a little tune to herself in blissful ignorance as the Montgomerys drive her back to her house, where they know she’ll hear the worst news of her life. Her tears are devastating, particularly when she takes it upon herself to reassure others through those tears; when she says to her weeping grandmother “It’s okay, Grandma,” I just about lost it myself. (Aven Lotz and Dash McCloud are adorable as the Montgomery kids, too—two children who are also about to have their lives turned upside down due to their mother’s actions.) And for the first time in the series, Betty herself is nowhere to be found—no flashbacks, nothing.

And even Allan, who seemed incapable of emoting at any kind of high level, finally breaks down and cries by the end of the episode. How much worse will he feel when the truth comes out and his infidelity becomes part of the chain of events that led to his wife’s murder? For that matter, how much worse will all of us feel if and when the final episode pulls back the curtain and shows us what actually happened on that terrible day?

Sean T. Collins (@theseantcollins) writes about TV for Rolling Stone, Vulture, The New York Times, and anyplace that will have him, really. He and his family live on Long Island.