If one were to venture a guess regarding the genesis of the Gemstone clan's foray into the biblical arena, the most intuitive storyline might lean towards a treacherous descent, a tale of generational decay where the Gemstones indulged too freely from the bounty of collection plates, eventually losing their moral compass amidst their gluttony. Picture, if you will, Abel Grieves, a minister from Virginia during the Civil War era, who kicks off this unexpectedly enthralling and inspiring premiere episode with a sermon extolling the Lord's endorsement of the Confederate cause, only to subsequently sift through the cash he's wrung from war widows with a self-satisfied smirk. ("No contribution is too meager," he assures them with a smug grin.) Asserting that God champions states' rights is a well-worn facet of religious hypocrisy, where the Gospel's flexibility bends to accommodate whatever vile political rhetoric happens to be in vogue.
Yet Danny McBride, who co-penned and helmed this episode, envisions the Gemstone lineage from a reversed perspective: not as the virtuous who succumbed to corruption, but as the corrupt who stumbled upon righteousness. In a guest appearance meticulously concealed in the months preceding the premiere, Bradley Cooper transforms into Elijah Gemstone, a degenerate hustler who pierces through Abel Grieves' lucrative racket before planting a bullet in his forehead. Though Elijah's sole intention is to make off with the money and scarper, fate bestows upon him the chance to embody his own version of Abel Grieves, a venture that could keep him in the lap of luxury if he can cloak his true identity and dodge Union bullets whistling past. Considering the Gemstones' storied history of weathering scandals and other existential threats to their ministry, it's hardly surprising that Elijah seems shrouded in an invisible aura akin to Robert Duvall's character in Apocalypse Now.
Post-Grieves' demise, Elijah finds himself enlisted by the Confederate unit as a chaplain, a gig that appears less optional and more a matter of necessity, albeit one that comes with a not-unreasonable $50 monthly stipend and free meals, an arrangement too lucrative for him to resist as he feigns his way through prayers and Sunday sermons. One of the episode's most humorous facets lies in Elijah's profound laziness as a grifter, unwilling to exert much effort into crafting a credible ministerial facade. When tasked with ministering to the war-wounded for the first time, a dying soldier beseeches him to pray for his soul. In quintessential Danny McBride fashion, Elijah responds, "I already did. Yeah, it's squared away. I've been praying the whole time, silently in my mind." Pressured to utter something regardless, Elijah scrambles to conjure the appropriate words, only to realize too late that the soldier has passed before he could muster a single syllable. This becomes his modus operandi thereafter: whenever confronted with someone on the brink of death, his strategy is to run down the clock.
The sheer brilliance of Elijah's deceit lies in its ability to render anyone hesitant to confront him, for fear of being branded a sinner. Imagine a Christian confronting him with incriminating truths about his night of drinking and gambling; Elijah, with an unwavering denial, swiftly labels this individual a blasphemer. Is he unaware that the Bible doesn't proclaim damnation for those who confront a minister of the Lord? (Though the man has perused the Bible and knows it doesn't say such a thing, he still grants Elijah the benefit of the doubt.) Armed with the gold-plated Bible he lifted from Abel Grieves—an object that has come to symbolize his continued evasion of justice and his swelling pockets—Elijah's Sunday sermon may be concisely delivered, yet none dare to challenge his credentials.
But trouble finds him in the guise of Ned Rollins, a soldier who recognizes Elijah from a prior encounter in a gambling den and knows he's not a genuine preacher. However, Rollins harbors a scheme they can execute together: A major, avid for cards, is expected to pass through the camp that night in search of a high-stakes game. They can swindle him out of all his money. No one would suspect the minister as he stacks the deck and surrenders cash to Rollins, just like everyone else at the table. And when Elijah snatches the night's largest pot from Rollins, it merely seems like the arrogant youth has received his just punishment. Yet, what Rollins fails to comprehend is that Elijah is ruthless enough to kill for money, and the notion of "honor among thieves" holds no sway over him, especially when the other thief poses a threat to his exposure.
Yet, "Prelude" isn't merely about a Gemstone slipping through the cracks of a religious racket. Such a tale would be too mundane for a family that is grotesque, compromised, yet intricately tied to the faith they exploit for profit. When Elijah is captured in a Union ambush and his beloved Bible saves him from execution by a firing squad, the comforting sincerity of his words to his eleven unfortunate comrades astounds even him. These words also hint at a pivotal aspect of the Gemstones' future: Elijah possesses a genuine talent for preaching. He absolves them for murdering individuals, justifying it as "something they had to do," rather than for monetary gain, which we've witnessed him do twice. He offers them his "highest recommendation" for heaven, akin to penning a Yelp! review, but momentarily pauses, contemplating the injustice of his life being spared despite his greater sins. "Maybe that's your grand plan," Elijah remarks. "Perhaps the rest of us sinners must linger a bit longer before joining you in your everlasting glory."
With that, Elijah Gemstone transforms into a genuine man of the cloth, even if in future generations, that cloth will shimmer with silk, be adorned with jewels, and catch the stage lights of a megachurch. Granted freedom by the Union army, Elijah could have vanished like an outlaw, but instead, he loads the eleven bodies onto a wagon and heads back to a Confederate fort, where he can resume his role as chaplain with a newly polished halo adorning his head. "It was God who saved me," he informs the other men, who ponder why the Yankees spared his life. This phony act of divine intervention undoubtedly strengthens his deception, but later that night, Elijah retrieves his gold-plated Bible and begins reading it. A cynic might argue that reading the Bible actually reduces the likelihood of him being exposed as an imposter. However, a small, humble fragment of him is beginning to embrace the faith.
