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“Jessica Jones” recap (1.1): Who can turn the world on with her smile

Welcome to your new Jessica Jones recaps. Please settle in and pour yourself a bottle of whiskey or two. I’ll be your tour guide through this new Netflix series based on the Marvel comic. Please keep your arms and legs inside the ride at all times, lest Jessica has to rip one off.

Now the first thing you’ll notice are the wonderfully noir opening credits. If you didn’t know already that you were about to watch a show about a hardscrabble private detective living in the mean streets of New York’s Hell’s Kitchen, you could probably guess from its stylish, Rear Window-esque theme. But you probably knew, because you aren’t living under a rock. And even if you were, Jessica probably lifted it with one hand already and threw it at some idiot who probably deserved it.

Now meet Jessica Jones: The aforementioned hardscrabble private detective who excels at “looking for the worst in people.” She puts an unhappy client through her door’s plate-glass window because sometimes dudes need to be put through the plate-glass window. Amirite, ladies? Also, Jessica’s broken front door is practically a recurring character on this show.

Jessica Jones is like the Yin to Buffy Summers’ Yang. Both are tiny women with unprecedented strength. Both pair caustic wit with kicking ass. But while Buffy started out as the sunny cheerleader at the homecoming game, Jessica was the dark dropout smoking underneath the bleachers.

Krysten Ritter, with her jet-black tresses and pale skin, is like a grown-up Wednesday Addams in a leather jacket and skinny jeans. Her Jessica has resigned herself to the fact that people do bad shit. So, like any good misanthrope, she avoids dealing with them—until she can’t.

One of those cant’s is with a powerful lawyer and frequent client. And, for those keeping score at home, that means less than 4 minutes in and we have our first lesbian sighting of this series. Now meet Jeri Hogarth: The aforementioned powerful lawyer and frequent client and also a gay lady with a chic alternative lifestyle haircut. Carrie-Anne Moss, girl, you are a sight for sore eyes.

After trading various barbs with each other, Jeri gives Jessica the job of serving a summons to a sleazy nightclub owner, as if there is any other kind. Jessica goes about this task with phone calls on the toilet, sorority girl shtick and sheer muscle. It’s a sampling of how she deals with most cases—minus perhaps the sorority girl shtick.

We also get our first glimpse at Jessica’s hard-drinking ways. But her considerable nightcaps do nothing for her circadian rhythms, or sleep cycle. So our restless heroine gets up and heads back into the darkness with a thermos full of her good friend Jim Beam.

This is also our first glimpse of Jessica’s “special skills,” which involve jumping from the sidewalk up several stories to a fire escape with ease. That she has an iron liver is also heavily implied. From her vantage point she surveys the sad assortment of humanity still up at that hour, as well as the handsome Luke Cage. We technically don’t know he is Luke Cage just yet, but since he is getting his own Netflix series next year, it’s no big secret either.

We’re not sure why Jessica is watching him, but as the neon lights around her flash to purple and a shadowy male figure appears out of nowhere to whisper ominously into Jessica’s ear, we know it’s nothing good.

Damaged characters are nothing new on television. But, by and large, the most acclaimed anti-heroes of the contemporary small screen have tended to be men. Tony Soprano. Don Draper. Walter White. Whether Jessica will be worthy, or more likely allowed, to enter that critically adored pantheon is unclear. But, goodness, if I’m not already rooting for her to break through into that boys’ club with her bare hands.

Granted, they’re going heavy on the “damaged” business to start. Lots of booze, shitty apartment, bad attitude. The twist, of course, is her super strength. We see a peek of it again as she tosses a boot up at the ceiling to quiet some loud upstairs neighbors, only to be greeted back with a shower of plaster. Whoops.

Jessica awakens to find her junkie neighbor, Malcolm, stealing her peanut butter. These things tend to happen when your front door is covered with cardboard. Just then a couple from Omaha arrives at her broken door as well, asking her to help them find their daughter, a college track star.

Someone at the police station referred them to her, which seems oddly convenient. While the mom tries to explain their case, the dad is preoccupied with Jessica’s broken door. Because, you know, it’s not safe for a woman to live alone with no lock in the city. Aw, dads.

Jessica takes the case and like any good gumshoe in Facebook Era, Jessica relies on Google as much as footwork. The latter does take her to a former roommate of the missing girl and the former roommate’s annoying new roommate. Jessica does not appreciate his art/time-lapse filming project. But then, would anyone? She does, however, find out there was a man involved in college girl’s disappearance, because there is always a man involved.

Back on Jeri’s summons case, Jessica finds the sleazeball and his sports car leaving his club. She asks him for directions and when he blows her off and starts to leave, she just picks up his car. No, not over her head or anything. She’s not Supergirl.

The sleazeball realizes she is “one of them,” an allusion to this world’s knowledge of people with supernatural abilities. He threatens to expose her, but she tells him dryly—as she says everything—that this world doesn’t want to know or admit that a girl like her can lift a car. It finally takes a threat to melt him with her “laser eyes” for the sleazeball to take the summons. She leaves scoffing at the dude’s idiocy for believing in laser eyes. Yeah, you know you like her already.

Back at her home office, a passed out Jessica wakes with a start after having a vision of the same shadowy male figure licking her face. First, ewww. Second, shudder. She repeats what sounds like a series of street names to sooth herself. Get familiar with those street names, folks.

The phone rings and it is Jeri, who has received the photo of her serving the summons as proof for payment. They spar back-and-forth, because that’s clearly going to be their relationship in this show-adversarial yet symbiotic.

Jeri agrees to pay her for services rendered, while some other services are being rendered on her-if you know what I mean. Oh, you know what I mean. Jeri’s assistant, the one we saw earlier trying to stop Jessica from barging into her office, kisses her on the neck-slowly.

Mmmmm, neck kisses.

The only thing better than neck kisses is when you turn around and they become kisses kisses. You know, like this.

Now, I realize this is probably in violation of every sexual harassment workplace policy possible, but still-hot damn. Hot damn, hot damn, hot damn. Did I mention hot damn? Because hot damn.

So it’s another sleepless night for Jessica, who wanders aimlessly over to Luke’s bar and looks in the windows like a creeper. For a second I think Kanye West and Jamie Foxx’s exceptionally terrible “Gold Digger” is playing on the jukebox inside. But, whew, it’s not. It’s the song “Gold Digger” stole its greatness from-“I Got a Woman” by Ray Charles. Good, so now I don’t have to hate Luke’s bar.

Luke (played the very handsome Mike Colter—what? I’m gay, not blind) catches her snooping and says she should come inside and stop being such a weirdo. Jessica tells him she likes drinking her bulk booze out of a paper bag as all classy ladies do. He makes one final pitch, saying her being “local,” “hot” and “alone” will attract customers. So maybe he isn’t a romantic, but at least he’s pragmatic.

Jessica relents and dutifully warms a seat at the bar, knocking them back courtesy the new “Ladies Night” special. Luke comments on her drinking abilities (hello, rude) and Jessica confesses she doesn’t get asked on a lot of second dates. See, this is why guys are dumb. A hot girl who can hold her liquor? I’m keeping that number.

They cagily (or should I say Cage-ily-I know, I’m sorry) try to get to know each other with some 20 Questions. Jessica admits she is a P.I., which Luke doesn’t seem to appreciate. But Jess tells him it’s the only thing she is good at. Girl, don’t sell yourself short. Laser eyes and drinking, remember?

They non-flirt their way into the bedroom, which results in some pretty athletic sex. And when I say “athletic,” I mean don’t worry, I won’t break sex. It’s hard to imagine any of the Avengers having this sort of highly specific consent conversation. But they should—especially Thor. I mean, the dude is a God.

Afterward instead of post-coital snuggles, Jessica excuses herself to the bathroom. She rummages through Luke’s medicine cabinet and amid the toothpaste and Icy Hot she spots a snapshot. It’s a woman—a smiling, happy woman. But this smiling, happy woman’s face makes Jessica’s face do the opposite. Hey, I get it, sometimes happy people bum me out, too, Jess. But I have a very strong feeling something else is at work here.

She gets dressed in a hurry and leaves, saying only, “Sorry.” Once on the street, she proves she isn’t always great at holding her liquor. OK, so this is probably why she doesn’t get asked on a lot of second dates.

Jessica rededicates herself to finding the missing college student, who is named Hope, by the way. Oh, I see what they’re doing. Hope-got it. The trail leads her to a fancy lingerie shop and a fancy restaurant. But something is off at the restaurant. Jessica, starts to panic as a sickly realization comes over her. She has been to this place before, but when it was another place.

The host says he doesn’t want anymore trouble. Anymore trouble? He goes on to tell her of the girl’s companion, who got them to move a couple from their table, comp them a $500 bottle of wine and prepare his favorite pasta dish, despite now being an Asian fusion restaurant.

As this is happening Jessica flashes back to the restaurant before, when it was still an Italian place. And she was there with him. This slow burn reveal of our Big Bad, with all these subtle but purposeful hues of purple, is really fantastic. And terrifying.

Jess is equally terrified. So terrified she literally turns around and runs out of the restaurant. Outside her world blurs and whirls. She tries her street name mantras, but opts instead to just keep running.

She stops at the new Omaha couple’s hotel room and tells them to do the same. Pack up and leave, immediately if not sooner. But not before they tell her who referred them to her. They say it was a man with an English accent.

Jessica takes her own advice and packs hastily while booking a ticket to Hong Kong. When Hope’s card is declined (hey, I’m guessing the family hasn’t paid her yet anyway), she calls Jeri for an advance on her commission. But she declines because that’s not how she does business.

Her personal life, well now, that’s another matter. As Jeri is preparing to leave she sees her assistant who is all hopeful smiles. Oh, the coy thrill of office romances. But just then-wouldn’t you know it?-Jeri’s wife arrives. Yep, her wife. I see your office romance and I raise it with an illicit affair.

The poor love-struck assistant sees Jeri kiss her wife (who will be familiar to eagle-eyed gay lady viewers as Concussion and Deadwood star Robin Weigert) and head off to their dinner reservation together. See now, that’s the clear downside of having an office romance with your married boss.

A desperate, and apparently friendless Jessica needs money, but where can she get some? Not from her junkie neighbor Malcolm, though he kindly offers her his stolen TV.

Next meet Trish Walker: The woman on those billboards we keep seeing and host of New York’s No. 1 talk radio show. She is trying to get her assistants to book Madeleine Albright on her show. But they say they can’t, plus the gay male assistant would rather book Channing Tatum anyway.

It doesn’t really matter because out of the corner of her eye Trish spots Jessica pulling herself inelegantly onto her penthouse patio. Look, being able to leap onto balconies with a single bound may not sound as impressive as that whole “faster than a speeding bullet stuff,” but you try doing it in skinny jeans.

Trish walks over to the patio door and lets her in. The history between them is palpable, and broken. They haven’t talked in six months. Jessica says she needed breathing room, Trish says she shut her out. Now Jess is back asking for money. So, as reconciliations go this one is off to a rocky start.

Trish asks what could be so important and Jessica tells her, “He is back.” Finally, the ominous, unnamed, unseen he. Trish chalks it up to her PTSD at first. She is still having the nightmares and flashbacks after all. Maybe if she’d go back to the therapist. But all he had her do was recite street names. Birch Street. Cobalt Lane. Higgins Drive.

But this isn’t in her head. It’s real and it is repeating itself. He is taking Hope to the same places he took her for their one-month anniversary. He didn’t die a year ago, like they thought. He’s back.

Leaving him a mystery only makes it more horrible, yet it’s clear he did horrible things to Jessica, and made Jessica do something horrible. We’re just not sure exactly what. So now she is running. Trish lays on a heavy guilt trip. How she is better equipped to handle him than some girl from Omaha. How they’ll find a way to protect Jessica from him.

Yeah, I’m inclined to agree with Jessica on this one. Run away from the big scary thing. Run away far. But Trish lays on the guilt even thicker, saying, “You’re still the person who tried to do something.” This, we can only assume, refers to her trying to be a superhero. But, you see, that’s what got her in trouble in the first place. And she tells Trish, “I was never the hero that you wanted me to be.”

Now, some reviewers (namely some guy at Vulture) read into this scene that Trish and Jessica had possibly more than just a friendship, but a hug another woman with my legs in friendship friendship. To which I say, uh, maybe. It’s unclear and unspoken. But either way, I ship it.

Trish gives her the money, and as Jessica takes a cab to the airport saxophone music plays. But all Jessica can hear are the impassioned pleas of Hope’s parents. Dammit, she is a hero after all, isn’t she?

She makes a pit stop at the hotel. The hotel he took her to. This is such a terrible idea, I’m so glad she is doing it. The doorman recognizes her and she wordlessly makes her way up to one of the hallways. And then, while staring down the room at the end of the hall, she pulls the fire alarm.

As she makes her way to the room, to the claustrophobic blaring of the alarm, we get more flashes of purple terror and—for the first time—his voice. It says, “You missed me.” Look, nutjobs hell-bent on bringing forth the apocalypse are certainly scary. But there’s something extra unsettling about intimate terror of personal obsession.

She opens the bedroom door to find Hope. She is alive, but bound to the bed. But it’s not by rope or chains or straps or anything physical. It’s just by her total lack of free will. See, I told you this guy was terrifying. And now we know his name: Kilgrave.

After wrestling and then carrying Hope back to her apartment, Jessica calms her by teaching her the street naming mantra and making her repeat that it’s not her fault. The girl’s parents arrive all hugs and relief, and then Hope hugs Jessica and tells her she saved her. Hell, Jessica even almost cracks a smile. Oh shit, this is all going to end so badly.

As they step onto the elevator, Jessica gives her apartment one last look before closing it for what she thinks will be forever. But, as the elevator doors begin to close, Hope stops, stares at Jessica and then pulls out a gun. Shots ring out. By the time Jessica gets down to the ground floor, Hope’s parents are dead and their daughter just keeps pumping the trigger on her empty revolver. She turns, blood in her hair, and tells Jessica to, “Smile.” Then, as if a veil lifts, she drops the gun, surveys the damage and screams.

Nope, nope, nope, nope.

So now Jessica has two choices: Keep denying it or do something about it. They say with great power comes great responsibility. For Jessica Jones, it’s more than that. It’s personal.

Find more from Dorothy Snarker visit dorothysurrenders.com or @dorothysnarker

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