Delving into the allure of fictional criminals perpetrating fictitious crimes, I posit a theory that encapsulates our fascination. We are enraptured by shows like "Breaking Bad," "Better Call Saul," "The Sopranos," and "Boardwalk Empire," as well as films such as "GoodFellas," "The Godfather," and "Ocean's Eleven," because they present a captivating tapestry where individuals grapple with intricate personal and professional dilemmas, unfettered by the shackles of conscience. When murder, theft, and deception become viable options, do these underworld protagonists truly attain their every desire? Or does the looming specter of equally devastating retaliation spur them to unprecedented levels of ingenuity?
This contemplation arises from my observation that "Mayor of Kingstown" often struggles to transcend from a pulpy genre show into a deeply nuanced TV drama. The crux lies in Mike McClusky, our antihero, who falls short of the iconic figures like Walter White, Michael Corleone, or even Tony Soprano. He lacks cunning schemes or audacious long-term strategies. Instead, Mike's days and nights are a relentless cycle of managing explosive crises, with his go-to tactic, time and again, being to plead, often futilely, for everyone to stand down.
Granted, this portrayal might offer a more realistic glimpse into the tumultuous life of a criminal powerbroker. But does it consistently ignite that adrenaline rush, that insatiable urge to see what unfolds next? The answer is, at best, intermittent.
In this week's episode, "Marya Was Here," the epicenter of Kingstown's turmoil revolves around a group of Eastern European teenagers, destined to be trafficked across the Canadian border to join Konstantin's stable of dancers and "hostesses." However, their journey is abruptly cut short when a construction crew, on the Kingstown bridge, deliberately rams a forklift into their vehicle, sending the girls plummeting into the river below. Amidst the chaos, one girl, Marya, scrawls her name on the back of a seat, a poignant testament to the human cost of gang warfare. Throughout the episode, that seat haunts the background of shots, a constant reminder of the tragedy lurking beneath the surface of this criminal underworld.
The tragedy casts a profound shadow over Iris, mirroring her own vulnerability in the tragic figures of those drowned children. It also serves as a stark reminder of the futility and destructiveness of the arrogant, condescending men who populate her life. Her relentless obsession with this bus "accident" stirs up turbulence in Konstantin's tranquility, who repeatedly implores her to avert her gaze from the relentless news coverage, only to later hallucinate, amidst a drug-induced haze in his bedroom, an accusing Iris staring him down, threatening banishment.
Yet, the living, breathing Iris appears to harbor a deeper ire towards Mike. In a poignant scene etched in memory, she stands resolute on the riverbank where the girls lost their lives, her gaze frigidly fixed on Mike, distant across the waterline... as if silently challenging him, "What purpose do you serve?" Perhaps, I am but projecting my sentiments onto Iris, for this episode underscores the stark incompetence of Mike in the guise of a job he inherited from his brother.
As is his wont, Mike's instinctive response to crisis is stagnation. At the site of the crash, he directs Ferguson to classify it as an accident, echoing the same refrain to Evelyn, urging her department to abstain from investigation. Mike declares that justice in this case transcends the American legal system, a stirring sentiment marred by the fact that he is bereft of any clue regarding the perpetrator behind the bus mishap, rendering his vengeful proclamations hollow echoes.
Once more, the suggestion looms that Mike ought to cast a more discerning eye on Bunny Washington. Despite his tentative steps towards accountability by allowing SWAT to raid the Colombian drug-packaging facility supplying contraband to the Crips, the other factions in Kingstown remain skeptical, convinced that Mike's proximity to Bunny blinds him to the threat he poses to the city's safety and security.
The predicament confronting Mike—and perhaps the very foundation that undermines the notion of a peacekeeping "Mayor" in Kingstown—lies in the impossibility of satisfying any of the warring gangs as long as he stands in the way of their unfettered criminal endeavors. Bunny, in particular, harbors no delight. With the Aryan prison-guard faction, the White Knights, hot on Raphael's trail, the Russians ruthlessly taking down Rhonda, and Mike's incessant pleas to the Crips to refrain from retaliation, Bunny feels far from indebted to Mike's supposed interventions.
The boiling point arrives in the episode's highlight, where Mike navigates to the Crips' clandestine arsenal and confronts Bunny on two prickly issues: firstly, the reason behind Bunny's sudden silence on the phone; secondly, any involvement in the bus incident. The latter query stings so deeply that it effectively disintegrates their tacit alliance. Bunny allows his old friend to depart the warehouse unscathed but with a clear message: they are now adversaries.
Indeed, the Mayor's reign is far from idyllic. Though the looming climax of this season's final trio of episodes promises intense drama and intrigue, "Marya Was Here" largely indulges in lengthy conversations about Kingstown's woes, with precious few scenes depicting concrete action. It's a pot that simmers vigorously yet remains largely unconsumed.
The episode concludes with Mike, solitary at the bridge, gazing silently upon the scene of the crime. What thoughts churn within his mind remain an enigma. Is he strategizing? Based on the past two-and-a-half seasons of Mike's demeanor, the odds are heavily stacked against it.
