The Americans: Season Three


For those who aren’t familiar with The Americans, now entering its fourth season on FX, it follows the lives of Philip and Elizabeth Jennings (Matthew Rhys and Keri Russell, both superb and now married in real life),  an attractive, All-American couple living in Falls Church, Virginia, in the 1980s. They have a travel agency, a lovely house in the suburbs, two kids and every outward appearance of respectable normalcy.

They’re also deep-cover Soviet spies.

As I’ve mentioned before here (often, on the order of a broken recorrd), I haven’t kept up with much modern television. Generally speaking it’s just too much time and money for too little reward. Among those who do keep up, several whose opinions I respect, including Steven Rubio, count The Americans as one of, if not the best, shows going.

I can believe it.

For starters, it doesn’t have any major weaknesses, something I can’t say for 24, Deadwood, Justified or even Homeland (to mention the “serious” shows of recent vintage I’ve seen at least a fair amount of…you can catch my various thoughts here, here and here) and can’t imagine ever saying for The Sopranos, The Wire or Mad Men (all of which make my ears bleed and eyelids droop whenever I try to attend them for more than five minutes). The casting, acting, writing, direction, visual style, story, conception and just plain Zeitgeist in The Americans are all compelling and have sustained beautifully throughout three full seasons, with some key elements actually improving over time. I don’t know how the show would fare on a revisit–I’ve basically binge-watched each individual season after it became available on DVD–but on first acquaintance it has the additional pull of being a thriller that is actually thrilling. A near disastrous cock-up at the end of Season One might be the most gut-wrenching “action” sequence I’ve encountered on-screen, movies included, because, for once, the danger is both palpable and personal. It wasn’t until that very moment I admitted to myself I didn’t want the protagonists, who are, after all, cold-blooded killers working for a monstrously evil cause, to be caught–not a common reaction to a car-chase.

Having scaled that height, it seemed almost inevitable that a drop-off would follow.

Instead, the series has only gotten better and better. Every potential trap that has snagged other similarly compelling sympathy-for-the-sociopath narratives around the ankles at some point has been avoided. That’s in part because somebody on this show–presumably creator and overseer Joe Weisberg–has a real feel for narrative structure which, remarkably, has not so far given way, even for an instant, to the usual crippling demands of cliffhanger plotting. It’s also in part because the cliffhanger plotting has not been undermined, even for an instant, by the considerable demands of the narrative.

Pulp narrative to be sure. This ain’t War and Peace. But true narrative just the same.

I can’t say how rare this actually is in television. I simply don’t watch enough to know.

But I can say that, until I encountered The Americans, I didn’t think it was possible at all on television, where too many cooks–producers, writers, directors, stars, show runners, network suits–are forever spoiling the stew. For me, part of the tension that set in around the middle of Season One, when I had accepted the far-fetched elements of The Americans as part of a legitimate really-no-stranger-than-life vision (much like 24, which, albeit in often entertaining ways, began falling apart almost immediately thereafter, with only Season Five managing any kind of transcendence), was in wondering just how and when it would all go wrong this time.

It hasn’t. And, after three seasons of what is apparently going to be a five-season run, I’m now convinced there’s a real chance it won’t.

One of the very smart elements that has given the show this kind of space–the key element I think–is the extent to which, in a show called The Americans, America itself is felt in every frame while being barely glimpsed visually, and then in only the most obvious and superficial ways. Since the protagonists are the spear tip of a sleeper cell which has essentially infiltrated the American security state and, with the Cold War raging under Reagan, are under intense pressure to act, the audience is drawn into a claustrophobic world which really does present itself as the unseen reality while everything going on around it, including what’s beaming forth from the ubiquitous televisions playing in background after background, is reduced to a series of illusions.

Add to that a nuanced view of the KGB which never devolves into romanticism, or lets us forget that some secret police forces really are worse than others, lots of first-rate acting (this is the kind of show where even Frank Langella doesn’t stand out), and an editing style that actually creates its own tension (any scene you enter might last thirty seconds or ten minutes and, unlike any other show I’ve actually watched, there really is no way to predict) and you can maybe begin to understand why this highly praised show has a lot of frustrated followers, now including me, who feel it hasn’t been praised nearly enough. It’s just possible that, narratively speaking, it asks too much of a world which has been preconditioned, especially and specifically in the matter of narrative, to accept much, much less from shows that rate far more chatter.

By way of example, we need only examine the element in that narrative that was most fraught with peril, which is the character development of the Jennings’ daughter Paige, who is first drawn to, then immersed in, evangelical Christianity.

Normally, even a hint of Hollywood using evangelicalism as a plot device just makes me sigh and roll my eyes. I’ve never seen anything remotely resembling a fair or accurate treatment of the world I grew up in on screen, and, to be clear, that’s not exactly what happens in The Americans either. If the show does have a weakness it’s in the portrayal of “Pastor Tim” (Kelly AuCoin). He’s a kind of reformed hippy type which was, in fact, pretty common in evangelical churches during the seventies and early eighties. But either the casting or the conception is off base. As played by AuCoin, Pastor Tim is pretty much a Hollywood idea of the type. He has none of the charisma or feral intensity (often fueled by self-doubt which was not infrequently compensated for by the loudest “halleluahs” and “amens” in the hall) that was typical even for youth ministers and choir directors (the more common positions an ex-hippy was likely to hold), let alone the occasional leader of a flock.


This fly in the ointment is redeemed, however, by Paige Jennings’ own character and the remarkable performance of Holly Taylor who has caught, or perhaps just embodies, a certain fresh-faced American type–so at odds with her cynical, devious parents and with the ridiculous parodies of teen angst that have frequently undermined narrative in 24 and Homeland–to a tee.

For all she talks about Pastor Tim, it’s pretty evident Paige is really caught by the message, not the messenger (in that sense, Pastor Tim’s drab qualities may be a narrative strength, though I have to believe it’s accidental). Since Christian ethics are the elephant in the room in the fight going on at the heart of The  Americans, the never-to-be-admitted, two-thousand-year-old reason why some secret police forces are better than others even if it all leads to the same place in the end, Paige’s ever-greater certainty that something is rotten in Falls Church (and the KGB’s nagging insistence that her parents start training her as a second-generation agent, which presumably will mean subjecting her to the same soul-killing horrors they endured during their own “training,” of which the show offers occasional chilling flashback glimpses), it’s hard to believe this is merely a plot device. It might have started out that way–but it hasn’t stayed that way.

And so, as I watched Season Three, it became more and more evident that Paige was coming to represent something more than youthful innocence. I have to admit that, based on the seeming superficiality of the “Christianity” on display in the first two seasons, and the show’s usual concessions to graphic sex and violence (tame by modern standards but still plenty strong enough to offend what’s left of the church crowd), I assumed some serious missteps would accrue.

Not only did that not happen, but the handling of the Paige element made an already strong show measurably stronger. I won’t give away the details–no spoilers–but seeing an American teenager presented so ably and credibly on American television (let alone a devout Christian, let alone one who is now in a place where the moral shield of her faith is likely to invite real physical peril, let alone in a show that takes place in the eighties and is very definitely about the way we live now and how much cultural time has stopped and stagnated since the period in question) is refreshing to say the least.

The quality and quiet depth of Taylor’s vulnerable performance, though, presents another possibility, one that will have me on the edge of my seat a year from now when I catch up with Season Four. I don’t want to oversell the likelihood of this happening, but I wouldn’t be caught entirely by surprise if the resolution of Paige Jennings’ character arc were, at some point, to match the power and poignancy of Judith Hutter going among the British at the end of The Deerslayer, or Caddy Compson being glimpsed among the Nazis at the end of the revised edition of The Sound and the Fury.

The Americans is that good. And that unexpected.


  1. NDJ

    Life’s weird, y’know? I started watching DEADWOOD and don’t remember why, so I figure that it was something I read at The Round Place In The Middle, and so I came here a lookin’. I typed “deadwood” into search and end up here, with a cuppla minor coincidences.

    First, you got me reading about another series I haven’t seen, THE AMERICANS. Well, earlier this evening, we watched DRAFT DAY for the second time and one of the trailers on the DVD was for a show called AMERICA, which is based on thee writings of Deenesh Deesooza.

    He is a rightwingnut “thinker” (and no doubt, a “fellow” at some rightwingnut “think tank”) who wrote a best-selling book proving that racism no longer existed in these here United States (THE END OF RACISM from 1995).

    Frankly, I can’t imagine a more racist argument for a book, but a few million rightwingnut readers bought the book and bought the argument and now they’ve bought Donald Trump as a politician so what do I know?

    The second ittybitty coincidence is that one of the actors in DRAFT DAY is Frank Langella. A truly outstanding actor in that no matter what role he plays and what the surroundings, he always stands out. (What a voice!) And here he is in THE AMERICANS!

    And all of the above was a lead-in to an observation: your parenthetical description of Mr Langella makes no sense: “this is the kind of who where Frank Langella doesn’t even stand out.”

    It’s 4 AM and time for me to go watch the fourth episode of DEADWOOD and count how many times Al Swearengen says the f-word this time . . .



    • Well, if you are still interested in what I had to say about Deadwood, you can find it here

      …(be forewarned, I was not kind…western fiction is something I’ve put a lot of thought and sweat into and I was extremely disappointed overall, though I loved Keith Carradine’s Wild Bill.)

      On Frank Langella…first of all, I garbled the sentence. Should have been “show” instead of”who” so that’s fixed now. And, yes, Langella’s always great and he’s great here. I just thought the overall quality of the acting was good enough that, for once, he didn’t rise head and shoulders above the crowd. (And I also changed “Frank Langella doesn’t even stand out” which sounds too dismissive, to “even Frank Langella doesn’t stand out,” which better reflects my true perspective.)

      All of which leads me to the odd fact that I was pondering just yesterday (somewhere between here and the grocery store) whether I should write a post on the use of language in historical novels (or movies and TV shows) that involves me once trying to shove the word “cocksucker” into a character’s mouth in 1881.

      I’ll have to ponder it a bit more.

      As for Dinesh D’Souza, all I can say is the hucksters all look alike to me.

  2. Oh, your appreciation for the ever-fabyooluss Mr Langella came through perfectly.

    Yes, you nailed the great imperfection in DEADWOOD language: everyone knows that cocksucking hadn’t been invented yet in 1881.

    I am enjoying the show: all the actors come though but my faves at this time are Carradine as Hickock and Robin Weigert as Calamity Jane … when Ian McShane isn’t chewing up everything in front of him. (Trying to get my sister to watch a western, I described McShane in this role as Al Pacino in the body of Edward James Olmos.)

  3. Hey! Started reading your piece linked above and you get into episodes I haven’t seen yet so I stopped. (And now I know that Will Bill gets killed.) (Of course what I really want is for Calamity Jane to get laid.)

  4. Sorry about not issuing the spoiler warning (I usually do, don’t know why I forgot it there)…FWIW, I think Wild Bill’s demise was the only spoiler….of course it was!

    “Revisionist” might be oversimplifying I guess. My memory is that the show was sold as being more “realistic” than the old Hollywood/pulp westerns (that’s usually what revisionist means in this context…a revision back towards “reality” from the romantic revisions away from it that past generations made). On that level, I didn’t find it very realistic at all. As I say, I’ve had occasion to do a LOT of research on this subject and John Ford and Louis L’Amour got a lot more right than Deadwood did.

    That said, I think you’re alternative reality theory might well be the case. But on that score I didn’t find it nearly as entertaining as the best spaghetti westerns….I think what mainly stood out with Carradine;s performance was that he seemed to almost be moving through a different space than the other actors. They all seemed to be trying to sell Milch’s concept a little too hard while KC seemed concerned with portraying someone who might have actually lived in the Old West. I’m thinking his being the son of one of Ford’s stock company might not be a coincidence in this regard….

  5. Okay, just watched the fourth episode of DEADWOOD and my only question is: What in tarzanations was Bill Hickock doing sitting with his back to an open room? Hell, I have sat with my back to the wall since I was old enough to walk into a bar as a man beacuse you just never know …

  6. Your remark that Carradine “seemed to almost be moving through a different space than the other actors” reminds me of another western we recently saw that got slammed; THE LONE RANGER.

    I don’t know what everybody else saw, but Berni and I watched a delightfully schizophrenic movie in which Johnny Depp and Armie Hammer were directed to make a comedy/spoof while the rest of the cast was led through a predictable western drama.

    We had avoided the movie because of the bad reviews but I would place it with BLAZING SADDLES and RUSTLER’S RHAPSODY as Best Westerns To Watch While Smoking Dope …

  7. We were amazed that ANYONE took the movie seriously. Depp’s Tonto is poker-faced delusional and wears what looks like a prop from an Alfred Hitchcock movie on him at all times that no one else seems to notice.

    Come on up here and you won’t have to hurt your lungs by smoking dope: you can eat it or even drink it as sodeepop!!!

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