Archive

“The Handmaid’s Tale”-S1.E2: The Birthmobile

Before we begin, let’s take a moment to talk about one of the narrative decisions made for the show; specifically, the decision to drop into the start of the story without a preamble about how we got here (other than a couple crashing their car for no evident reason and then getting kidnapped by dudes in ski masks). For viewers who have not read the book The Handmaid’s Tale, I imagine the first episode of the show could be pretty confusing. If you’re not paying attention, for example, Aunt Lydia’s spiel about Rachel and Bilhah as the justification for Handmaids could go over your head and then the awkward sex scene with Commander Waterford, Repressed Blond Woman (true name: Serena Joy, although I don’t think we know that yet after episode 1), and Offred wouldn’t make much sense.

It would have been easy to have Offred, in her opening monologue, provide the backstory for the setting: a coup, a harsh religious regime, the loss of individual freedoms, and the official stratification of society. Instead, that backstory is interwoven with the present in each episode through dialogue, voiceover narrative, and flashbacks. Although this approach will be more confusing to some viewers, there is good reason to do so: by telling us what happened in pieces rather than at once, it’s like putting together a puzzle: we can see bits and pieces, but we don’t see the full picture until the end. Right now, we are presented with the broad outlines of a situation: five years after some sort of strange military/political/social event, women are walking around a world in which supermarkets are guarded by militiamen with assault rifles, bodies are left hanging by a river, and Handmaids kill an accused rapist like a pack of dogs falling on a hare. The question is, how did they get there and why is everyone going along with something that no one seems to believe in?

One of the goals of book, and therefore season one of the show, is to show how a society can pivot from a liberal democracy to a repressive theocracy. Not just any democracy, either, but the United States. A convincing backstory is therefore crucial to the show proving that this is a plausible if highly unlikely future. (For political science buffs, the book/show might be seen an envisioning of political theorist Hannah Arendt’s work on how totalitarianism emerges in democratic societies.)

When last we left off, Ofglen (who will inevitably find and date Moira because there is a two lesbian rule for all TV shows, which is: there shall be two lesbians, and they shall date. Three lesbians there shall not be, nor one, but two the number shall be, and they shall date. Four is right out.) was whispering through the fence to Offred that there was an Eye in her house and Offred was like, “Yeah duh, but also yay because now we’re besties and apparently you don’t have a stick up your…um yeah, see you tomorrow.” Offred then went inside and watched Serena Joy get shut out by her husband and we all realized the symbolism that everyone is always watching everything in Gilead. Everyone is an Eye in their own way, including the viewer.

At the start of episode two, Offred is staring at the ceiling musing about blue. She is remembering the pre-Gilead past and all her associations with the color and word blue from that time. In some ways, she’s unconsciously tethering herself to that past so that she won’t lose it by forgetting these things. More immediately, she’s escaping her present reality, because once again the Commander is attempting to impregnate her and it’s easier to escape mentally then be present for it. As in episode one, no one is enjoying this civic duty. Serena Joy can’t watch it, and the Commander looks almost bored. Offred thinks, “I wish he’d hurry the fuck up,” and Serena Joy is clearly thinking the same thing. We, the viewers, are given to understand that this is what sex looks like when it has been completely stripped of emotion. Or rather, of positive emotion. Instead, this is a combination of anger, contempt, and an emotional emptiness. This ritual violation has quickly become so normal as to be almost banal. Boring.

The scene changes to Offred meeting Ofglen outside and OMG you guys, Toyota Priuses have survived the theocracy! (Which, when you think about it, is actually unexpected given that environmental conscientiousness in the U.S. is culturally associated with political liberals, who were probably the first to go in the post-coup purges…but I digress.) The presence of modern cars is yet another purposely discordant note in the harmony of the scenery in “The Handmaid’s Tale”: we are in a familiar world, with recognizable, recent makes and models of cars. This is not the far future, nor an alternate universe, but our own reality. This story could be taking place tomorrow, based on the visual cues. Ofglen hails Offred with her usual “Blessed be the fruit” greeting and Offred, empowered by the knowledge that Ofglen doesn’t believe that hogwash either, almost doesn’t respond, but does when she thinks Nick the possible Eye is paying attention.

At the hanging place, where they sit after going to the grocery store (morbid much?), new men are being strung up (one is Jewish, based on the Star of David on his hood). Offred and Ofglen decide to take the long way home so they can talk. Offred is from Brookline, Massachusetts, and Ofglen is from Missoula, Montana (they now live in what was once Cambridge, Massachusetts). Offred, a former assistant book editor, remembers when her company edited a nine-volume series on the history of falconry. Ofglen wryly notes that she’d willingly read it now.

Clearly, it’s been awhile since they’ve been allowed any sort of intellectual stimulation. Ofglen was a lecturer in cellular biology before the coup. Male scientists were sent to the Colonies, but she was kept because she was deemed fertile; breeding stock. The two stop to watch a church being demolished, and Offred notes it was her father’s parish and the place where her daughter was baptized. Evidently, the women weren’t moved away from their previous neighborhoods when the coup happened and they were turned into Handmaids. Ofglen notes that another church in New York City was dismantled and its bricks thrown into the Hudson River. The theocratic regime evidently is sectarian, although which religious sect exactly isn’t clear.

Ofglen’s unexpected knowledge about the church in New York City finally gives Offred an opening to follow up on Ofglen’s insider knowledge about the Eye in the Commander’s house, but before Ofglen can answer, a black van pulls up in front of them and men in black with earpieces jump out, grab a man walking on the sidewalk and shove him into the van for no apparent reason. As they arrive back at the Commander’s house, Ofglen says it’s okay for Offred to feel relieved that it wasn’t her who was taken, but Offred nevertheless feels bad for those who have been taken. Ofglen says there’s a way to help them: join the resistance network. Offred demurs, saying she’s “not that kind of person.” Not the brave kind who risks her life by resisting, she means.

“No one is until they have to be,” Ofglen replies. Ofglen knows that the Commander is very senior. She wants Offred to be a spy for the resistance. Offred’s mind is blown as Ofglen departs. There is an “us.” There is a resistance. Offred then provides us a few more setting/context clues: the Guardians of the Faithful, presumably Gilead’s Army, are fighting in the ruins of Chicago, and Anchorage is the capital of what’s left of the United States. The flag that flies over that capital, however, has only two stars, meaning that only two states remain of the original 50 and we don’t know what has happened to most of the U.S. outside of Gilead.

Nick seeks out Offred in the dining room. She is taking off her shoes and her dress rides up her left thigh just above the knee. Nick, who looks like he’s 27 (the actor who plays him, Max Minghella, is actually 31) and probably hasn’t seen that much skin on a woman in at least five years, can’t stop staring, and Offred re-covers herself after letting him look for a second and making eye contact. He warns her to be careful of Ofglen, but doesn’t provide any explanation. (As a side note, the dining room in this scene looks like a fairy tale where vines and roots have begun to grow and sprout on the inside of the house.

This begs the question of who has been doing the interior decorating. Serena Joy probably hates plants and puppies, and Rita seems to hate mostly everything. Who’s been keeping a secret Pinterest board?) Nick informs Offred the Commander wants to see her alone in his office at 9. Back in her room, Offred panics. Does he know about Ofglen and the resistance?

Outside, a red van arrives with a siren blaring to pick Offred up. It’s the Birthmobile (seriously). Inside the van sit the other neighborhood Handmaids, whose levels of excitement about the upcoming birth to which they’re going vary from what looks like contempt to exuberance. Janine, also called Ofwarren, is in labor, and Offred pessimistically thinks the baby is going to be a genetic mutant because the chances of a healthy birth are 1 in 5…if you can get pregnant at all. She flashes back to when she is in labor and her husband Luke is driving her to the hospital. Religious fanatics stand outside the hospital, presumably praying for the health and survival of babies. Things had already started to go terribly wrong back then.

The Handmaids arrive at Ofwarren’s house, where the neighborhood Wives, who all wear blue, are already present. The Wife there is simulating childbirth herself, panting and grunting even though of course she’s not actually pregnant, while the other Wives play along with it with greater or lesser commitment (one wife is casually drinking coffee), providing gentle encouragement. Serena Joy and Offred’s eyes meet, and Serena Joy’s face is almost inscrutable…but just a little, she expresses recognition of the ridiculousness of the situation. Upstairs, the Handmaids are chanting “Breathe, hold, exhale” like a Greek chorus to Janine while the Aunts, including Aunt Lydia, act as midwives. Offred flashes back to Hannah’s birth. Hannah is taken to the nursery, and we see that there are no other babies there. The few others that were born have all died.

Offred comes back to the present in the giant, sunlit kitchen of Warren’s mansion and is met by Ofglen, who notes that at least someone spiked to juice to make the ceremony more bearable. Offred hesitates, then tells Ofglen that the Commander wants to see her. Alone, which both of them understand probably means bad news. Ofglen says maybe he did it with the last Handmaid (perhaps insinuating that he may be seeking to break the code of always having his Wife present during sex), but promises to ask around the other Handmaids present at the house and leaves. Serena Joy then appears and asks Offred to come with her.

They go to a room with two other Wives, who ask about Janine’s labor. The Wives treat Offred like a dog or a child, using similar condescending terminology. In only the few years that Gilead has existed, they have already stopped seeing the Handmaids as regular human beings and coequals (if this sounds unlikely, in the famous Stanford Prison experiment, by day two of the experiment subjects placed in positions of power were already engaging in dehumanizing the subjects places in positions of submission). Offred almost cries as she is reduced to asking for a macaroon, which Serena Joy wields like a blunt instrument of power over her.

Serena Joy knows that Offred isn’t an inferior animal, and her need to establish dominance and control over her speaks to her feelings of having no control. In a world where she is ostensibly in the privileged class of Wives, she is in reality at the mercy of the Handmaid, who has the potential ability to create a child, a capability Serena Joy herself lacks. As she walks away, Offred hears one of them say that the Handmaids are “Whores. All of them.” As Offred looks in the mirror, however, she is unbowed.

Back in the birthing chamber, Janine is about to start pushing. Warren’s Wife is brought in to…pretend she’s giving birth. Her legs are around Janine and although she’s “pushing” and squealing, definitely her experience is nothing like Janine’s. It is a grotesque pageantry of giving birth and Serena Joy, standing at her side, is mildly creeped out by the not-rightness of the situation. The baby emerges and everyone from Wife to Handmaid to Aunt leans in, counting fingers and toes, praying for a healthy child. Janine’s face is radiant as she looks lovingly on her child. She is overwhelmed. But the girl is bundled up and immediately handed to Warren’s Wife, and Offred distracts Janine, who has realized that the child is not and never will be hers. Warren’s wife has named her new, perfect baby girl Angela. It’s a gut punch to watch.

There are tears in Serena Joy’s eyes as she looks over at Janine and Offred. She’s happy and sad all at once. She may play petty power games with Offred to try to fill the emptiness inside her, but she understands what has just happened and what it means; how this is fundamentally wrong. For the second time in this episode, we see that Serena Joy and Offred aren’t so different: both are trapped in a system that subjugates them: Serena Joy in a gilded cage, and Offred in thinly veiled sexual slavery. The Handmaids, who have all given births themselves and know what Janine must be feeling, cluster around Janine, who has buried her head in her hands, weeping, and their role seamlessly transitions from encouragers to comforters.

Riding the Birthmobile home, Offred flashes back again to the hospital after Hannah’s birth. She awakens alone and pads out into the hall, where Luke meets her with snacks from a vending machine. An alarm goes off and nurses run past, then Luke takes off running, too. He’s spotted their nurse, lying facedown in a pool of blood. A woman is cradling Offred’s baby, convinced it’s her own child who died. Luke and some hospital security manage to wrestle Hannah from her and pin her to the ground. Hannah is safe, but it’s another symptom of a world gone mad.

The other Handmaids are sleeping in the Birthmobile, but not Ofglen, who reports that none of the other Handmaids knew what the Commander might want with Offred. “If he accuses you of something, don’t defend yourself, don’t explain, just apologize. They love to be forgiving,” Ofglen recommends. Ofglen also warns that lots of Drivers work as Eyes. This prompts Offred to finally inform Ofglen that Nick said not to trust her. Ofglen is surprised. This is unexpected news, and it’s not good news. “He’s right. Trusting anyone is dangerous,” she says, but she’s worried. She adds, “Especially a carpet munching gender traitor.” It should be funny, given how self-deprecating it is, but she’s not laughing.

Meanwhile, back at Warren’s house the new baby is screaming. A Martha brings her to Janine to nurse. Highlighting the difference in wealth between the Commander and whoever Warren is, Janine sleeps in a large, well-lit room with carpet and a chic bed (in contrast, Offred’s room looks like a spartan attic room). Janine has nursed a son before this, Caleb, and she knows what to do. As Angela nurses, Janine begins to sing to her. Janine’s not entirely insane, and in those moments she knows what she has (a child) and what she’ll lose (that same child), but for now there is a child who needs her.

 

That night, Nick watches Offred through the window. She catches his eye and closes the shade (remember that always watching theme?). At 9 pm, she heads to the Commander’s study. It is a place where no one else may go, not even Serena Joy (I believe this is the first time Serena Joy is actually named on the show). Offred wonders what “male totems” the Commander may have in there. He must want something of Offred, and the act of wanting something may be a weakness she can use against him. This gives her hope, she tells herself, but she knows it’s false hope because really she’s thinking of how in horror movies the female victim never understands that she’s about to be killed. She goes blithely to her death. Offred is wondering whether she is about to go blithely to her death. “That girl’s a fucking moron. Please God don’t let me be a fucking moron.”

She enters the study. The Commander is standing at the fireplace like a college professor, a sheaf of papers in his hand. The walls are lined with books. He pulls a chair out for her and it looks like she’s about to be interrogated. Encouragingly, he says she can look at him, and she recites obediently that she’s not supposed to. “In here we might be able to bend the rules-just a bit,” the Commander replies. She looks up at him and he says, “Hello there,” as though they are equals, not a master and slave. “I imagine you must find this strange,” he says. He means that he’s invited her there against the rules, but he might as well also mean that she’s a sexual slave. That five years ago she lived in a democratic United States.

The Commander, it turns out, wants to play Scrabble. The scene is temporarily mundane: just two people flipping tiles to see who will start, but of course, this isn’t an ordinary social exchange. Offred’s tiles almost spell out “Montana” and she is overcome with emotion. Montana doesn’t exist anymore. Instead, she spells out “NATION.”

The Commander has been watching her, his face curious. The final score is almost dead even, with the Commander barely pulling off the win. He offers a rematch, to which Offred unthinkingly jokes, “I’ll check my schedule.” She realizes her slip immediately, as does the Commander. She has broken the illusion that they are equals, in control of their own lives. He replies, “Well, see if you can squeeze me in.” Offred dares ask where he’s going next week.

He’s going to meetings in Washington, D.C., so they’ll have to play again the week after. He calls it a “date” and suggests it’s time for her to “go home,” as though they were on a real date and she could leave to another location. He walks her to the door and she timidly thanks him for the game, then they shake/hold hands (his hand is huge compared to hers, or else it’s a weird camera angle) and stare into each other’s eyes for far too long, perhaps because eyes are the windows to the soul and the Commander is showing Offred that she can trust his humanity and compassion.

Back in her room, Offred laughs and cries with relief. The next day, she emerges defiantly from the house while the 1980s song “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” plays. The song is memorable from the final scene in the movie “The Breakfast Club,” and its presence here is probably intended to evoke that association among viewers familiar with that movie.

Nick emerges from his apartment over the garage and in slow motion the two begin to walk side by side as Offred thinks, “Does he know what the Commander and I did last night? Our illicit journey into the world of triple word scores. Does he care? I think he does.” Nick is not her priority, however. Offred is planning all the things that she’ll tell Ofglen about what she learned from the Commander, but when the red-caped Handmaid in front of the gate turns, it’s not Ofglen. Offred’s face says, “What the faaaaaahk?” Gamely, she asks if Ofglen was transferred to a new post, and definitely-not-Ofglen says, “I am Ofglen.”

Fuck.

 

Lesbian Apparel and Accessories Gay All Day sweatshirt -- AE exclusive

Related Articles

Leave a Reply

Back to top button