The climax of Better Call Saul's latest episode was the poignant portrayal of "the day Jimmy died." The birth and death of a person's identity are intricate affairs, requiring a measured and meticulous approach to even attempt such a feat. Gilligan and Gould have undoubtedly crafted a masterpiece that is so profound that it makes life itself bow in reverence. This is no ordinary episode; it defies traditional beginnings and endings. It is a narrative without a conclusion, filled only with the sorrow that speaks to your very soul. More on this in the recap and the thoughts that follow.
"Howard is dead, and life goes on." That, in a nutshell, summarizes the opening montage of episode 9 for Better Call Saul's season 6. The lawyers – Kim and Jimmy – resume their work at court and office, respectively, with the memory of last night's horror still slightly tinted in their minds. The suffocation of knowing the truth lingers, but will it endure? Can a conscience as morally upright and philosophically ideal as this bear to remain sealed? If so, for how long? Time is the ultimate answer. Meanwhile, Mike diligently cleans up the bloody mess in their apartment, striving to leave it as it was, even using a photo to get the tiniest detail right.
As the lawyers return to normalcy in the apartment, everything appears clean and in place, just as it was before. But Kim and Jimmy react differently to their return. Kim is almost paralyzed by the sight of Howard falling dead on the floor, as if time itself has stopped for her. Jimmy, on the other hand, acts as "expected," doing what he's supposed to do.
A few moments later, the pattern repeats itself. Jimmy mentions something about "one day, we won't even think about that day," while Kim lies motionless with her back turned to him. Mike burns away the secrets from the apartment on the beach, his contemplation taking place in pitch darkness with the fire's light barely illuminating his face. His mediation is internal – always has been – and not disabling, unlike most of us.
He stands there, a task still unfinished, and no one could ever do it with the same perfection. The camera angle from beneath the flames reveals him peering down, ensuring every last ember is extinguished. Is this a religious shot? Who can say for sure? You are free to interpret it as you wish. All I will add is that salvation is the most elusive when you actively seek it.
As for the story, Gus is summoned by Eladio to address Hector's accusations. The Salamanca boss is found wanting, lacking any solid evidence to back him up. His nephews, Leonel and Marco, sit behind him, watching helplessly as Eladio dismisses the allegations and forces Hector to "bite his tongue," at least for now. The supremo also issues a warning to Gus: "Hate is acceptable. But never forget who the boss is."
Back home, Gus breathes as if he has been reborn. The weight of the accusation lifted from his shoulders, he is now focused on his grand plan to build the meth lab. In another life or universe, perhaps, Gustavo Fring could sit elegantly in a bar, sipping wine and discussing vintages with another connoisseur. His own curiosity would facilitate the conversation and he would feel right at home. He could do this all night. But Fring has chosen a different path. And he must abide by the rules – and so he does.
The discipline not to slip up leaves a smile erased from his face, and the reality ruthlessly lifts him from the stool, throwing him back into the dark, unforgiving depths of "his" world. In that moment, we see the tragic death of another man who "could have been."
The stoic demeanor of Mike, a man like a formidable rock seemingly incapable of feeling anything, occasionally slips, revealing a humanity beneath. We've witnessed it before, especially in this season's narrative arc, where the former policeman refuses to let his guard down. Banks' nuanced performance always leaves a slightly ajar door, inviting the audience in, gradually closing it as the tension mounts. Before we know it, he's back to being the muscle for an ambitious drug lord, but this time, we see Mike the father, Mike the human, trying to connect with another grieving soul—Felipe, Varga's father.
Mike's choice of words is poignant. He delicately guides Felipe to the realization that his son is never coming back, assuring him with marked sentences that his son "won't be found" and "it was quick and painless." He didn't feel a thing, you know. Varga was a good kid who fell in with the wrong kind of people but never became "them." Felipe looks at him from the other side of the fence, another beautiful metaphor for those of us who have faced similar dilemmas. "Revenge, not justice," he says. The man might just be a tailor, but his wisdom and sense of being belong in another man—probably one that should be calling the shots.
The lawyers still have to keep up appearances and attend Howard's memorial at the HHM offices, soon to be some unmemorable name. All those years of sweat and hard work have gone down the drain. The legacy of HHM now belongs in the hands of men and women who cannot be mentioned in the same sentence as the founders. Cheryl, Howard's wife, is still unconvinced of her husband's perceived fate. She feels a disconnect from the reality being forced down her throat. Jimmy rakes up his rustic charm to add strength to the lie, as he usually does. But when that is not enough, Kim intervenes.
Again, the two faces in a frame trope. The director is trying to tell you something. Even before she starts saying something, you imagine she'd say the exact right thing. Not just for the moment but the right thing as it should be said. But this time, her superficial story betrays our idea of her. We look at the screen, incredulous and indignant. Kim probably looks at herself like that in hindsight. But at the moment, she doesn't have the advantage and trudges on.
In the parking lot, Jimmy proposes they have done enough to "keep up their innocence." Kim is quiet again, kisses him, and drives off in her car. It feels like a tipping point in their relationship. For once, it felt like Kim was done playing Jimmy's script. Jimmy feels it too. He doesn't move after she is gone, wondering if she will "come back" this time.
The nightmare comes true the next morning in court. Kim, restlessly and uncharacteristically taps her pen against her submissions. The judge comes in, but Kim asks to be excused. "I am no longer an attorney." Cut to the balcony of her apartment where she calmly smokes a cigarette, anticipating Jimmy's arrival. He does, in a haphazard fashion. But it won't make a difference. Kim has already made up her mind. She is LEAVING him.
