‘The Fall’ Felt Realistic — Is That bad?
What does it say about us when we thumbs-up deeply imperfect people and deeply disturbing scenarios?
This article contains spoilers.
Years ago, I watched Law and Order: Special Victims Unit as a bedtime routine with my wife, binging through a handful of episodes every night. It was sort of a hate-watch, consumed in the same way we eat McFlurries, which meant, at some point, I had to ask: “Why do I put myself through this?”
We don’t like to admit it, but something is alluring about grotesque content. Televised rape, murder, abduction, torture, and really weird fetishistic perversions are the guilty pleasures of the population. Game of Thrones is a testament to that, as well as SVU’s souped up bigger brother, Criminal Minds, which pulls out all the stops on the morbidly fascinating.
But no matter how awful the on-screen violence is, it stays behind the screen. There’s no intrusion into our own safety bubbles, especially not when the bad guys always get bagged at the end. From computer expert hackers and alleyway chase scenes, to the endless snappy dialogue and witnesses who are completely indifferent to police presence, the suspension of disbelief helps prevent the show from getting too real. The absurdity of these shows help us detach them from our otherwise violence-free lives.
When I watched The Fall, however, the walls fell down. And I don’t even live in Northern Ireland. Stretched over three long seasons, the chase of a single psychopathic serial rapist and killer dwells slowly on each morbid and hideous detail. We’re forced to sit through not just Paul Spector’s extensive rape/murder plans, but also his otherwise normal life, complete with the wife and daughter. The nauseating situation is made worse since DSI Stella Gibson has no SVU or Criminal Minds super powers or private jets to tackle him with. Instead, she plods through mind-numbingly boring evidence in the gray, corrupt, bureaucratic nightmare that is the Northern Ireland police. Cue in the alcoholic police supervisor, the shady criminal connections, the insecure and sexually forward babysitter, the random violently jealous bloke, and you’ve got The Fall.
You’d think that the worst part about a 3-season show about a serial murderer is the, well, murdering. It’s gruesome alright, with unmercifully long cuts, painfully loud gagging sounds of its victims, and the unbearably long build-ups to the acts themselves. But what makes it all worse is everything else. Spector tucks his daughter in with so much love and normalcy that you’d almost forget about the strangling, the macabre notebook, and the garish woman “dolly” in the attic. There’s also the overworked wife, who works around the clock with critical-condition babies, completely oblivious to her husband’s second life. And then, of course, there’s Spector, working as a counselor, listening to people talk about their issues, while doodling in his notebook and fantasizing about tied-up women.
Like watching Grave of the Fireflies, I spent most of this show mumbling the mantra: “Please end soon. Please end soon.” The show never sets itself up to end well. Consider Breaking Bad: every episode keeps you biting your fingernails as you watch Walter White make worse and worse decisions. It only works because you think that there’s a shot at redemption, that things could, however improbable, still turn out for the better. Consider Luther, where things also keep getting worse. But then, it’s Idris Elba. He breaks people’s arms and acts on genius hunches, solving cases like nobody’s business. The suspension of disbelief saves our souls.
There is nothing that comes off as extraordinary enough to help us distance the show from a local reality. Gibson has no super powers, even if she’s efficient, smart, strong, and empathetic when needed to be. She’s just barely keeping up, however, with her psycho target. But even Spector, however, doesn’t have superpowers. We want to wall him off, dismiss him as a murderous pervert. But between his own therapy sessions and our discovery of his traumatic past, we sickeningly have to admit that he, too, is human. When other people, from the misguided Katie to his fellow childhood co-victims at Gortnacul House, throw their own lives in the way to save him, we find ourselves pulled further into that dark world.
There’s been some recoil due to the way the show ended, and I believe the discomfort is due to The Fall’s unrelenting grip on our imaginations. It couldn’t give us a neat ending. We wanted to either see Spector punished or redeemed, but his sudden suicide stole any absolution we could’ve hoped for. Gibson and the others have, of course, nothing to reap in his wake. No one is happy or relieved, and no additional meaning to the world has been found. Sitting alone in her living room, drinking wine, Gibson, like us, is left with no answers; still in the dark, haunted. Like Spector has done to his victims, The Fall has shattered our sense of security.
