‘Griselda’ Episode 3 Recap: The Godmother

I’m not about to sit here and deny that much of Griselda is, frankly, preposterous. Every meeting is a make-or-break moment, every success immediately countered with a setback, every character arc mercilessly whipped into wrapping up before the hour is through. June Hawkins quits Homicide, only to be drawn back in when the clue only she could find cracks open the biggest case in recent Miami PD history, leads her into running gun battle with a druglord, and makes her the toast of the department. Meetings with more powerful druglords blow up in Griselda’s face in pretty much identical ways for identical reasons twice in this episode alone. Every time the girls get money as a bonus because something great’s going to happen, you can bet something bad’s going to happen. And so on. None of this is the kind of writing one might refer to as “good.”

My counterargument: Who cares? 

“Mutiny,” the portentously titled third episode of the Sofía Vergara/Narcos team collab, is every bit as melodramatic and opulent as its predecessors. Melodrama, that’s the key. This isn’t supposed to be realistic, or even the kind of faux realistic that Narcos went for by going into great documentary-style detail about the logistics of smuggling, Colombian and Mexican politics, etc. This is the story of one woman’s rags to riches to rags journey in the magic kingdom of America, set in a world where everyone wears blue and gold and says more or less exactly what they mean at all times, so that the story can move along at the brisk pace it currently enjoys. It’s a fairy tale, in thought word and deed.

Regarding the blue and gold thing mentioned in an earlier review: It’s more obvious here than ever. Every time Griselda and her lieutenants Dario and Arturo go anywhere, it’s like they color coordinated in advance. If there are kitchen chairs, you bet your bottom dollar they’ll be the color of Cookie Monster. At times everyone’s skin looks so orange it’s distracting, but aside from that it’s intriguing, alluring. It draws you into the world.

I find the lighting gaudy, even tawdry, but still thoughtful. Look at this shot of Griselda after she learns that her plan to control all of Miami’s dealers has been snaked out from under her by her rival Papo, her would-be new supplier Rafa Salazar (Camilo Jiménez Varón), and her regretful now ex-partner German. She’s at Mutiny, the nightclub favored by her former rival Amilcar; he agreed to put her plan in motion in exchange for removing a witness and putting him in charge, only to get arrested anyway based on June’s good policework. So the lights have never been brighter, but everything’s fractured, her head is swimming. It looks it, right?

Meanwhile, look how sexy director Andrés Baiz and his cinematographer Armando Salas make Amilcar’s hitman Rivi (Martín Rodríguez). He’s like if Syd Barrett were a murderer instead of co-founder of Pink Floyd. And since it seems likely he will replace the loyal, equally sexy, but less fun Dario as Griselda’s love interest before long, it’s important to make him stand out like this. 

Carlos Rafael Rivera’s score continues to be a hoot, hitting us with ludicrous strings at moments of intensity like when Griselda turns down Rafa’s initial offer on behalf of his bosses the Ochoa brothers, or when the shootout with Amilcar breaks out. At other times it very clearly riffs on Handel’s “Sarabande,” the music from Stanley Kubrick’s own luxurious, luxuriant tale of a morally dubious grasper’s rise and fall, Barry Lyndon.

And Sofía Vergara is terrific. I haven’t even mentioned how she’s been rendered off-model by makeup effects, particular around her jawline. She uses this at times to hide her beauty, leaning into the bulldog underbite and its accompanying air of tenacity. (The scene with the dealers, where she rallies them with a fiery speech, is a case in point.) She’s excellent at playing a woman for whom beauty has undeniably been a great advantage, but also a source of constant aggravation, harassment, underestimation, and ultimately danger. She makes Griselda seem like she needs to rotate her new nickname, “The Godmother,” in her mind a few times before she can fully believe it. And that glare at the end, ooh-wee. 

It’s a fascinating performance in a fun show, one that I have a feeling is about to get a lot more fun (for certain definitions of “fun” anyway) as the real cocaine cowboy period begins and Miami becomes the Wild Southeast for half a decade or so. Its preposterousness is part of its charm.

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.