The Deal

Nevertheless, in the best tradition of DS, The Deal manages to weave seamlessly the comic with the tragic; the opening scenes with Francesca in the choir constitute, IMHO, her finest hour. "Move it or lose your foot!" - the printed word cannot do justice to a delivery which conveyed enough venom to bring down a good-sized caribou, and the line has become an indispensable catchphrase in our house (mother and sister also being diehard DS fans - Dad continues to observe us with incomprehension; "When are they going to do an episode that's just about the dog?"). And the "So - you wanna have sex?" line was a truly cathartic moment for us all, even if OFM had never been so glad to jump off a balcony in his life (only a more literal rendering of the sensation I'm sure he experiences every time Francesca appears on the horizon, that of the ground opening up under him) - the woman speaks for a generation <vbg>

Then we have the by-now-almost-compulsory riff between Ray and Ben as the latter gleans what he can about the crime via various waxy residues and wood striations, in a manner to gladden the heart of any city forensic laboratory and to bring any volatile Chicago cop to the brink of Krakatoan fury.

But for a while after that, things deepen and darken as Zuko and his cronies are introduced and Ray's relationship with the former is established, in the dark, oppressive house where generations of pseudo-Mafiosi have lived and gone about their unlawful business. Ray's hostility towards Zuko is obvious - at this point it seems his is the heightened contempt of a man from the same background, suffering the same absence of an admirable father-figure, who nevertheless took the harder, better road and triumphed. Later, of course, we learn that the relationship is complicated by Ray's failure to help the kid Zuko was beating - and the fact that Zuko knows that this still haunts him. Ben's role - as so often before - is to prevent this hostility escalating and jeopardising the case without breaking faith with Ray, and this he does with his response to Zuko's implicit invitation to side with him ("You know what I mean you come from one of those cities where people respect each other "); "Yes - although it has been my experience that many people live their lives thinking that they are respected - only to discover that they have been merely feared. And fears can be overcome'. Thus he manages to convey - without (heaven forfend!) being rude - that he neither approves of Zuko or accepts his overtures, and attempts to point out a necessary truth to him which, if he only chose to hear it, would show him the fatal weakness of his position. And all in two well-chosen sentences - is the man a genius or what? What do you mean, he has scriptwriters? Well, then they're geniuses too <g>

But, as we leave the darkness of the house to emerge into daylight as Ben and Ray walk to the car, we gradually slip into comedy again, with our first glimpse of Ben's traumatically otter-ridden past, as he tries to show Ray that he understands bullying - an effort whose good intentions and yet utter uselessness in the present context are both recognised in Ray's relatively gentle comeback, "And I thought we had nothing in common". Other instalments of the otter saga tend to be delivered whenever Benton is having his wounds dressed by gorgeous women - to Elaine later this ep, and to the physiotherapist in Letting Go - and Stetsons off to whoever thought up this truly inspired piece of madness <g>

And talking of truly inspired - the basque scene; vintage Ben, vintage Due South, and has me ROFL every time. His face is so perfectly neutral, Ray's face is so incredulous, and her face well, I can't quite define her expression - something like wry understanding (of the fact that she does actually have a true innocent staring at only the fine stitching on her underwear) mixed with personal certainty that, given the opportunity, she could initiate him into an even more rewarding field of study, I think. Hey, I never promised it would be pithy <g>

A further challenge to OFM's virginal take on life appears in the form of Francesca at the lingerie counter; having evidently overcome those last vestiges of a Catholic upbringing, she is laying the groundwork for what can only be described as a full-frontal assault to get her man - tonight. In fact, I might just skip ahead here for a moment and make, for what it's worth, my contribution to the 'Did he / did he not sleep with Francesca?' debate. To my mind, the only possible argument that could be made in favour of 'Yes, they did' is that Fraser is too polite to turn her down - but this is to misunderstand the nature of Ben's politeness. His manners stem not from an unthinking acceptance of relatively arbitrary social conventions but from a fundamental personal integrity that allows 'do as you would be done by' to be his credo, and from a deep belief in the duty of every human being to stay faithful to his or her conscience. He conforms to common standards of politeness because most of the time they are an appropriate way of following his inner standards and philosophy - and not because they allow him to avoid social embarrassment or ostracism; this is a merely incidental benefit. I think looking at OFM's manners in this way can help resolve a lot of the apparent conflicts which arise between some of his actions and the usual way in which we define 'politeness'. The only example I can think of offhand is the 'Well, I think I'll take this opportunity to urinate' line in Asylum; the taboo surrounding essential bodily functions is ridiculous and wholly artificial when you think about it - hence it does not appear on Ben's moral radar as a subject he should avoid. Ben would undoubtedly let Francesca down as kindly and gently as possible, but there is no way that he would compromise his morals by sleeping with a woman who is not the love of his life (pause for brief mind's eye re-run of relevant portions of VS - sigh).

But this comic threat to Ben's mental and moral integrity is soon submerged in the swell of tension as the situation between Zuko, his thugs and our two heroes begins to turn very nasty, as the minor confrontation between Fraser and Zuko in the gym escalates until we have Ben on his knees, arms outstretched, and beaten to a pulp (the similarity with the standard crucifixion pose is, I think, intentional - if not, then I would argue that someone subconsciously recognised that it fits with the religious undertones running through the rest of the ep), and if anyone can tell me what time the BBC originally broadcast this ep, I'd be very interested.

But of course the resolution of the story is Ray's, and Ray's alone. After recounting the full story of his failure to help Marco during his suffering at Zuko's hands his confession to Ben ('He's looking at me with those eyes those eyes that say help me, call the cops - do something'), a monologue which clearly follows the form of the Catholic confession, with Ben in the role of the priest. But unlike the priest, Benton cannot grant absolution; Ray must face - and face down - his demon, make atonement by saving the shoemaker and earn his redemption that way, and alone.

He goes into the gym deliberately stripped of all protection to confront Zuko and use the bully's cowardice to defeat him and Ray emerges the physical and moral victor; the shoemaker is safe, Ray has absolved himself of past failures and Zuko is vanquished - and the finishing touch is that wonderful line 'What are you looking at?' 'Nothin''.

Ray goes home with Zuko's last threat ringing in his ears - 'I never said nothing about you being safe' - but unloads his gun and puts it away nevertheless. Fears can be overcome.

It's already been established that Francesca and Fraser did *not* have a sexual relationship at the end of 'The Deal'. What hasn't been established is: 'why not'. Some evoke Fraser's sense of morality. I think it's something all together different.

We are given no evidence that Frannie knew that Fraser had been beaten up, nor would there be any reason for her to know. I remember a scene from 'Flashback' where you see Ben in 'The Deal' rising in his bed. The shadows move from his face, and the incredible damage he sustained at the hands of Zuko's thugs is revealed. I hadn't seen the beating scene at that point, and I almost fell off my chair when I saw the bruises and cuts.

Now, imagine Francesca who has one thing in mind: a full frontal assault of the Mountie. She comes in and says 'Don't be afraid' (which is silly because Fraser is scared to death, he has even bought locks, although he has decided to not allow the fear to rule his life and thus will not be installing them.). Fraser gets up, and she gets a good look at his face and at his chest.

Personally, if something like that happened and I saw this icon or paragon of beauty and virtue all banged up, a superman on his knees, so to speak, well sex would suddenly be the last thing on my mind!

So, I doubt that Frannie went any further in her plan. The sight of Benton Fraser like that, all banged up, must have shocked her, to say the least. She might have asked him what happened, she might have run out of the building shocked. But the last thing I'd imagine she would have done is tried to seduce him. I think that she is too human to have used Fraser's vulnerability against him.

Anyway, that's how I see it!

I like it when DS explores the darker side like this - it more forcefully delineates the differences between Fraser's world and Ray's, and makes you appreciate their friendship all the more. It shows how they bring very different backgrounds, experiences and outlooks into the relationship. The masterful ending allows Ray a chance to vindicate himself for his childhood failure to help a friend, yet it isn't a pat ending. The bad guy doesn't go to jail, and Ray must realize he will be putting a huge bulls-eye on his back for smashing Zuko's face in. Still, he does it with courage and conviction and a sense of righteousness that is normally associated with Fraser. It also beautifully sets up the achingly poignant Juliet Is Bleeding episode.

Putting Francesca's pursuit of Fraser as a story-within-the-story in this episode was an excellent idea. It allows that plot to advance, without the demand for a resolution like there would be if it was the central plot, and gives a light contrast to the darkness of the Vecchio-Zuko fued. That's the sort of balance I fell in love with.

A note on the casting - making Zuko boyishly handsome instead of hard-looking was a good idea. It shows how he is a child in a lot of ways - bullying, demanding and whining for respect, all the while doing nothing to earn it.

For me, one of the greatest charms of the first year of dS is the boyishness of it, and I mean that in the best sense. There is remarkably little testosterone in the show: its gunless hero far more often outwits than outhits the bad guys. When I picture Paul Haggis sitting down to write "The Pilot," I see him recreating a story he imagined first as a boy: a tale of Mounties and detectives, wolves and Rivs, dead fathers and beautiful, mysterious women with long dark hair . . . in short, the story of a boy's hopes and fears.

If "The Deal" is any indication, Peter Lefcourt must have shared this vision. This is very much a story about childhood hopes and fears, just as fairy tales (which are repeatedly mentioned) explore the hopes and fears of children. Add to that Fraser's distinction between respect and fear, Ray's taunt about Zuko being unable to instill fear with a banged-up face, Fraser Senior's tale about letting go of fear, Fraser's otter tale and Ray's basketball tale, Ray's final admission that he was "scared to death" and Ben's panic at Francesca's "Don't be afraid," we have a story that more specifically explores the two biggest fears of boys: the playground bully and the pretty girl.

Fraser's half of the story is, of course, the latter, as he finds himself in uncomfortably close proximity to not one but THREE pretty girls: the lingerie shop owner, Elaine, and Francesca. The lingerie store scene has something of the classic "you show me yours" feel of a playground dare (complete with Ray the geeky best friend exclaiming "How'd you do that?"). The scene with Elaine, however, is much more intimate -- this is a "nice" girl, after all, the girl at the desk next door to whom a boy like Ben can confess his otter failures with an expectation of compassion and without fear of ridicule. She also fixes scraped knees (and foreheads)!

With Francesca, Fraser faces his greatest fear: A GIRL IN HIS ROOM in "less than requisite attire." His vulnerability in this scene is beautifully established with little details: of course, there are his injuries, but in addition we have the image of him (for once) without a shirt and (for once) with his arm around Diefenbaker, as if need of reassurance and comfort. We then see his decision not to allow fear to rule his life: bolstered by his father's advice, he puts aside the door lock and blows out the light, and almost immediately his courage is tested in what for Fraser must be the most terrifying challenge ever: Francesca! Let me pause here to ditto the reasons given by Lucy and Marie-Andree for believing Fraser did NOT sleep with Francesca, and to add another one: this is a story about overcoming fear, not submitting to it. Ray put away his gun; my guess is that Ben never took his out. (oooh, sorry)

The boyhood fear of the playground bully faced by Ray is of a different sort, and this is where the episode really gets to me. If we look at the first two years of dS, we can chart the developing maturity of Ray Vecchio, from the bumbling lounge lizard of the early episodes to the "very clever" cop who masters wilderness survival ("North"), outwits the Bolts ("RWB"), and even refuses to let Zuko be unjustly charged ("JIB"). "The Deal" is one of the biggest steps forward for Ray Vecchio, the equivalent of "Eclipse" for Ray Kowalski but IMHO a simpler, more honest, and thus more resonant portrayal of a man confronting and overcoming fear.

What is amazing about this episode -- and much of dS -- is how the stories get to the heart of the conflict between criminals and society. I remember when I first saw the book "Everything I Need To Know I Learned in Kindergarten" (or some such title); my first reaction was "Not me. I learned it in junior high." So many of the drives and desires behind criminality are played out in junior high classrooms, cafeterias, and playgrounds: the drive for dominance, the desire for intimacy, the hope for happiness, and the fear of failure. By setting this tale of a cop and a mobster in a basketball gym rather than a courtroom, Lefcourt dramatized the core impulses of the conflict.

As did David Marciano. I first saw DM in an episode of the old TV show "Wiseguy," in which he played a very crazy, very scary bad guy. He was mesmerizing, absolutely brilliant. In the climactic final confrontation with Zuko, I saw bits and pieces of that same streetwise edginess ("You see a badge? I ain't wearin' no badge!"), only it was tempered, under control, for this character was a good guy and his motives were just. Sometimes in dS (well, fairly often), DM is called on to play the clown (and his comic timing is marvelous), but there's nothing of the goofball in this scene. He really tapped into the emotions of the scene: Ray's anger and determination, his fear and his courage.

OK, so maybe I had a little more than $.02 in my pocket. I hope you'll forgive my long-windedness. Blame the writers of dS. If they didn't write such great stories, I wouldn't have anything to say!