But come episode’s end, Fiona does crack, and finally allows Sean to comfort her. With steely purpose, she deflects Sean’s concern by joking about her burrito-sized maxi pad, and then requests a post-procedure milkshake. Having paled over the course of several grueling episodes, she lies back with wide eyes, bracing for the pain - but she does not crack. It’s no surprise that Fiona’s resolve endures, though. Shameless has deliberately postponed Fiona’s abortion, building further tension around her decision to go through with it. In the end, Carl digs up a duffel bag of cash in a barren field near the El, and gifts it to Fiona. They may simply be shards of pain that get shoved into a dark, rumbling cache of future violence. Is he so hardened that he’ll be forever doomed to avoid emotion? It seems possible to see emotions pass through Carl, but it’s difficult to tell if he can actually feel them.
#Forever lost 2 hammer crack#
In moments like these, I keep wondering if Carl has it in him to crack a little bit. Nonetheless, the murder drives Carl back to Fiona, opening his eyes to the weight she has borne to keep their lives together. (Also, it’s glaringly linked to the PTSD of killing his own father.) Yet, I wanted to see something different - a lengthened climax, a struggle, some hint as to Nick’s internal goings-on, or perhaps, a better actor. The idea that this fateful urge led Nick to murder a child is horrifying no matter how shakily rendered. Nick’s character is not unlike Of Mice and Men’s Lennie Small: gentle yet disturbed, aware of his difference in the world, yet not in control of his own impulses. We knew this was coming - it’s been obvious since episode two - and I wish that it had been written with more nuance and enacted with greater subtlety. Still devastated over the loss of his new bike, Nick tracks down the little kid who may or may not have stolen it, and kills him with the hammer he carries around like a club. And soon, the pretense behind his theatrics is stripped away. It’s difficult to watch someone so young as he desperately claws his way into dystopian adulthood. He rolls around the lobby in a robe, tosses muffins in slow-motion, talks about titties, and drinks 40s on the hood of their new car. Having shunned the South Side for a mid-range hotel with his large, brooding companion Nick, Carl thinks he’s living in a hip-hop video. The most painful moments of “NSFW” circulate around Carl, who has struggled to reconcile his newfound gangster identity with the world he left behind for juvie. And to cope, one must simply scooch forward. If anything, Shameless tracks how families cope in the most bombastic, disproportionate ways. Yet, however oddly, things always work out for the Gallaghers.
Characters may surprise or disappoint us at the turn of a dime, making decisions we never saw coming. Stories rarely develop along the path of least resistance. Over the course of five seasons, I found it easy to assume that certain family members would be fated to follow in the footsteps of a forebear - the ever-uneven Ian after Monica the criminal Carl after Frank the obligatory parent, Debbie, after Fiona - but Shameless is not predictable in the usual melodramatic ways. They each face a choice: Either scooch forward, or slowly retreat down the ladder. Macy as Frank, Emma Kenney as Debbie.Īs we arrive at mid-season, each Gallagher tiptoes a high wire.
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