James R | On 16, Nov 2015

“Dost thou still retain thy integrity?”

One of the best things about The Leftovers is its refusal to follow a conventional, serial narrative. Dotting about between characters, it finds the best and worst of humanity in its anthology of personal grief. That all-embracing sympathy led to the show’s strongest episode to date in Season 1, when we spent 24 hours in the life of Reverend Matt Jamison (Christopher Eccleston). Now, five episodes into Season 2, he returns to the front of the congregation – and the show hits another home run.

What makes Matt such a rewarding character to follow? It’s partly Eccleston himself, whose rubber-faced ability to display any emotion you care to name is put firmly to the test as the troubled Reverend, who moves from anger to joy, from sadness to relief all in a matter of seconds. And that’s just before the opening credits.

The introduction itself is a thing of beauty; a perfectly formed montage that could work as its own standalone short film. We see Matt wake up, care for his vegetative wife, Mary, brush her teeth, take her to church, out her to bed – then, the morning after, watch back recorded footage of them in bed, to see if she moved while he slept. Then, the same thing again.

It’s directed by Nicole Kassell, who showed a knack for empathy in even the most difficult circumstances in her fantastic film The Woodsman. Here, that understanding is clear from her masterful use of music. Music is a key part of religious life, a signifier of tradition and unity, as well as ritual. That importance is taken literally in Matt’s everyday life, as the Bellamy Brothers’ Let Your Love Flow wakes Matt and Mary up every morning – a Groundhog Day-like serenade that quickly establishes the frustrating and repetitive nature of Matt’s existence. But it’s more than just a bleakly upbeat device: it’s also the song that Matt played in the morning the last time his wife woke from her effective coma. It’s repeated plays aren’t just for us; they’re for him, desperately clinging to the prayer-like routines that have kept him on the straight and narrow all these years.

That’s another reason why Matt is such a fascinating presence on The Leftovers; in a world of mortal uncertainty, where people search for anything to believe, from a miracle town that is rapture-proof to a man capable of giving miracle hugs, Matt is one of the who already had something to believe in the first place. Was it the second coming that took 2 per cent of the world’s population and left him to eat dust with the sinful remnants? What does that mean for his faith then?

It’s telling that, like everyone else, he’s just as quick to believe in Jarden’s power. After all, the town miraculously healed his wife for 24 hours, he tells everyone. So when he takes her for her regular scan, it’s shocking to see them assaulted for their wristbands by strangers desperate for sanctuary – but only further proof of the fevered power of belief. He, as soon as it’s happened, is reduced to the same, crazed state – another soul banging on the gates of the chosen land, begging to be let in.

As he tries to find his way back inside the precious borders, by hook or by crook, he encounters another religious woman, who agrees to give him money for a bribe – but only if he hits a man with an oar and cries “Brian”. Why? We don’t know. Damon Lindelof and co-writer Jacqueline Hoyt (who also collaborated on Matt’s last solo outing) place that bizarre practice alongside the rest. They jumble together and become as meaningful – and meaningless – as each other.

But for every bizarre flourish and provocative piece of symbolism, there’s something more concrete going on – the niggling reminder that we never saw Mary’s miracle happen.

As her tests reveal something very strange – and quasi-religious – the righteousness of Matt is placed in doubt. That moral mystery grounds the elusive debate of philosophy and theology with something more tangible – and shockingly tragic.

Janel Moloney’s face is as hauntingly blank as Eccleston’s is increasingly angry, only reinforcing the descent from the smiling, genial man we met in Season 1 – or, moreover, at the start of Season 2. The longer she goes without reacting, though, the more the personal story takes on religious significance. When chatting to a woman outside of the gates, she asks what his favourite book of the Bible is, he says Job. In that book, Job’s wife only speaks once, to ask: “Dost thou still retain thy integrity?” The episode could leave it there, but The Leftovers takes it one step further – the kind of added exploration of theme and character that makes it such an accomplished piece of television. The result is a moving and resoundingly human final act, which answers the line from Job with something straight out of John: greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.

 

Season 1 and 2 of The Leftovers available on Sky Box Sets. Not got Sky? You can watch The Leftovers online on with NOW, as part of a £7.99 monthly subscription that includes live and on-demand access to Sky Atlantic, Sky 1, FOX UK and more.

 

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