The place beyond the pines
Thanks to the magic of 99p Kindle book sales, this author is well acquainted with the weird world of Wayward Pines. As a result, I wasn't prepared to enjoy the opening two episodes of Fox's television adaptation of Blake Crouch's best-selling novels quite as much as I did. Like Lost and Twin Peaks, much of Wayward Pines appeal comes from its sense of mystery, and if you already have the keys to unlock that mystery, you're missing out on a large part of what makes a series like this so compelling. Still, despite knowing where the rabbit hole leads, I was curious enough to give Pines the benefit of the doubt, and --so far, at least-- I'm glad that I did.
Anyone worried that I'm gonna spill the big one and blow the mystery of Wayward Pines wide open can rest easy: the following review will stick to discussing the content of the show's first two episodes only.
Secret Service agent Ethan Burke (Matt Dillon) is having a very bad day. On the trail of two missing federal agents, his investigation leads him to Wayward Pines, an unassuming wee hamlet whose scenic streets and cosy coffee shops hide a dark secret. Before he can get a handle on what is going on and pin down the location of his erstwhile colleagues, Burke is swatted by a truck. He awakes sometime later, lost and confused, in the local hospital. Seeing to his various bumps and bruises is Nurse Pam, a cryptic creature whose smiling malevolence and perky prevarications soon tip Burke off to the fact that something very weird is going on in this cosy little mountain town. Pam, who seems more likely to administer an ass-kicking than an injection, refuses to give Burke the straight dope, and our hero decides to ditch the hospital and seek answers elsewhere.
Before long Burke finds himself at the bar of a local pub and in the company of bubbly barkeep Beverly (Juliette Lewis), the only other person in town who seems to be alert to the fact that something very fishy is going down. From here on out, we accompany Burke as he bounces all over town, slowly uncovering the mysteries that make this sleepy Idahoan suburb tick. He finds speakers nestled in bushes mimicking the sounds of chirping crickets, a never-ending road that dumps him right back where he started, and an eccentric town sheriff (Terence Howard) who is more interested in the charms of rum raisin ice-cream than he is in the dead body Burke brings to his attention. It all begs the question: just what is everybody trying to hide?
Despite knowing how the whole thing eventually shakes out, I was impressed by how quickly Wayward Pines sunk its hooks into me. The lurid, Twin Peaks-esque atmosphere is a lot more pronounced in the show than it was in the books, endowing the series with a quirkiness and eccentricity that will immediately endear it to devotees of Agent Dale Cooper. There's the proprietorial hotel manager, inordinately pleased with his position as a glorified bellhop, and the sheriff's chilly receptionist who doesn't so much drip sarcasm as she does smear it on with a trowel. Much of the enjoyment in these first two episodes comes from Burke's interactions with the townsfolk, all of whom seem to know a lot more about him than he does about them.
And it's this undercurrent of oddness, the sense that nothing or no one is what they seem, that makes these opening episodes so compelling. This is a show that does a fantastic job of wrong-footing the audience, littering Burke's path to the truth with a steady stream of weird reveals and fresh mysteries. Just when you think you have a handle on what's going on, a new head scratcher will hove into view and pull your attention in a completely new direction.
In these early stages at least, this is enough to distract from the thinly sketched characters that inhabit Wayward Pines, who --outside of their entertaining eccentricities-- fail to make much of an impression. Burke is neither that complex nor particularly interesting, his only concession to character development lingering flashbacks that suggest the town might be nothing more than the product of his broken mind. Luckily, Dillon gives a robust performance, imbuing Burke with enough crumpled charm and dogged determination to keep us invested in his plight.
The rest of the cast fare a little better, with Terence Howard, in particular, seeming to relish his role as the recalcitrant Sheriff Pope. Unlike the character from the novel, who was your usual small-minded, small-town sheriff, this version of Pope seems much slyer and more manipulative, feeding Burke a steady stream of half-truths and veiled threats. Pope soon emerges as the show's primary antagonist, defying Burke at every turn and demonstrating, in grisly fashion, what happens to people who don't follow Wayward Pines' rules at the end of episode two.
As far as cliffhangers go, episode two's is a doozy. Up until this point, the citizens of Pines have come across as odd, but slightly harmless, so it's a bit of shock when they all take up their pitchforks and watch with a mixture of horror and prurient fascination as one of their own is killed for breaking the rules. The past, it seems is completely off-limits, and the good folk of Wayward Pines would rather commit murder than let it intrude on their lives. It's meant as a warning to Burke: dig too deep and people will get hurt, but, if anything, I'm sure it'll only make him, and us, all the more more desperate to uncover the dark truth beating at Wayward Pines' heart.
The worry with a show like this, of course, is that it will wallow in ambiguity, leaving the audience with more questions than answers. Thankfully, Wayward Pines isn't just being weird for the sake of being weird; there's a good reason for everything that's going on and --if the show continues to be faithful to the books-- all will become clear in a few episodes' time. Whether or not audiences will be satisfied with these answers remains to be seen, but anyone concerned that there's little more to Wayward Pines than smoke and mirrors can rest assured that this isn't the case.
It may not be the most original show on the airwaves, but with its unsettling atmosphere and escalating sense of mystery and danger, Wayward Pines is an oddly compelling little thriller that fans of shows like The X-Files, Bates Motel and, yes, Twin Peaks, will savour like a damn fine cup of coffee.
Despite knowing how the whole thing eventually shakes out, I was impressed by how quickly Wayward Pines sunk its hooks into me. The lurid, Twin Peaks-esque atmosphere is a lot more pronounced in the show than it was in the books, endowing the series with a quirkiness and eccentricity that will immediately endear it to devotees of Agent Dale Cooper. There's the proprietorial hotel manager, inordinately pleased with his position as a glorified bellhop, and the sheriff's chilly receptionist who doesn't so much drip sarcasm as she does smear it on with a trowel. Much of the enjoyment in these first two episodes comes from Burke's interactions with the townsfolk, all of whom seem to know a lot more about him than he does about them.
And it's this undercurrent of oddness, the sense that nothing or no one is what they seem, that makes these opening episodes so compelling. This is a show that does a fantastic job of wrong-footing the audience, littering Burke's path to the truth with a steady stream of weird reveals and fresh mysteries. Just when you think you have a handle on what's going on, a new head scratcher will hove into view and pull your attention in a completely new direction.
In these early stages at least, this is enough to distract from the thinly sketched characters that inhabit Wayward Pines, who --outside of their entertaining eccentricities-- fail to make much of an impression. Burke is neither that complex nor particularly interesting, his only concession to character development lingering flashbacks that suggest the town might be nothing more than the product of his broken mind. Luckily, Dillon gives a robust performance, imbuing Burke with enough crumpled charm and dogged determination to keep us invested in his plight.
The rest of the cast fare a little better, with Terence Howard, in particular, seeming to relish his role as the recalcitrant Sheriff Pope. Unlike the character from the novel, who was your usual small-minded, small-town sheriff, this version of Pope seems much slyer and more manipulative, feeding Burke a steady stream of half-truths and veiled threats. Pope soon emerges as the show's primary antagonist, defying Burke at every turn and demonstrating, in grisly fashion, what happens to people who don't follow Wayward Pines' rules at the end of episode two.
As far as cliffhangers go, episode two's is a doozy. Up until this point, the citizens of Pines have come across as odd, but slightly harmless, so it's a bit of shock when they all take up their pitchforks and watch with a mixture of horror and prurient fascination as one of their own is killed for breaking the rules. The past, it seems is completely off-limits, and the good folk of Wayward Pines would rather commit murder than let it intrude on their lives. It's meant as a warning to Burke: dig too deep and people will get hurt, but, if anything, I'm sure it'll only make him, and us, all the more more desperate to uncover the dark truth beating at Wayward Pines' heart.
The worry with a show like this, of course, is that it will wallow in ambiguity, leaving the audience with more questions than answers. Thankfully, Wayward Pines isn't just being weird for the sake of being weird; there's a good reason for everything that's going on and --if the show continues to be faithful to the books-- all will become clear in a few episodes' time. Whether or not audiences will be satisfied with these answers remains to be seen, but anyone concerned that there's little more to Wayward Pines than smoke and mirrors can rest assured that this isn't the case.
It may not be the most original show on the airwaves, but with its unsettling atmosphere and escalating sense of mystery and danger, Wayward Pines is an oddly compelling little thriller that fans of shows like The X-Files, Bates Motel and, yes, Twin Peaks, will savour like a damn fine cup of coffee.
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