Hey everybody, it's John. Look, we're all improvising at the moment, so I'm gonna
do my breakdowns from home. This is the actual basement that gave the Breakdowns their name.
And people ask me how I see all these things in Better Call Saul—
well, I'm showing you my secret right now. You've just got to sit really close to the TV.
Okay, let's talk about Howard. Let's talk about Jimmy. Let's have another
Basement Breakdown.
All right. Season five, episode four, "Namaste." The focal point of this episode for me is
this lunch with Howard and Jimmy. And I want to set that up first by looking at
Jimmy's state of mind as the episode begins. Jimmy comes into the restaurant
with a chip on his shoulder, and we get a glimpse of this because the lunch
sequence begins with a close-up of Jimmy's ring. And this is Marco's pinky ring.
That story we saw of his days back in Cicero. His salad days as Slippin' Jimmy.
That's what he remembers when he touches this ring. How does Jimmy feel in
this moment, as he fills himself with those memories? Well, the camera tilts up
to show us. And look, his jaw is set. His guard is up. And then we get this
point-of-view shot of Howard, who he's gazing at so intensely. I think that the ring
exemplifies not just who Jimmy is, but who Howard isn't. And Jimmy is really
feeling that distinction in this moment. That ring gives Jimmy a reassuring sense
of identity as he goes into this lunch that he's clearly nervous and uncertain about.
He's really looking for that sense of identity right now isn't he? We see it
in the scene when he's in the lockup with his twerp clients. And listen to how he insists:
(SAUL) You twerps even know who I am?
I am Saul Goodman!
Maybe he's asking himself, do you know who you are, Jimmy-slash-Saul? But he says it with such
force. He really needs the name Saul Goodman
to mean something. He needs it to mean everything right now. At the same time,
Saul Goodman is asserting himself here. Jimmy McGill is disappearing, right? Saul
tells the kids to essentially give their grandma the shakedown that he just gave
them. It's such a betrayal of the Jimmy McGill who built his fledgling legal
career by championing the elderly. Now he's victimizing them. Saul is, at least.
Notice the mug in this scene. This is the "2nd Best Lawyer" mug, right? Jimmy hides
the "2nd Best Lawyer" that's painted on it. He hides that number two from them
this whole scene. It's like he subconsciously doesn't want them to see it.
It's a subtle indication that all of Saul's bluster is acting as a defense
around Jimmy, and that's a defining conflict in this character right now.
I want to call out one part of the dinner scene where Jimmy rattles off this list
of dramatic cliches by way of explaining who Saul
Goodman is. And he starts out by saying:
Saul Goodman is, he's the last line of defense
for the little guy.
Now, Jimmy means "the little guy" here in the colloquial
sense, but in another more telling sense, Jimmy is the little guy. The little guy
inside here who's wounded and lost. And this "last line of defense" image really
highlights this psychological reality that Saul was constructed to protect
Jimmy. It was so painful for Jimmy to see Jimmy McGill falter again and again.
Disappoint. Disappoint himself, disappoint his brother. The fresh slate of Saul at
least ensures that Jimmy can never fail again.
it'll just be Saul or whatever identity comes after that, right? That gives you a
sense of the emotional armor that Jimmy brings to this lunch with Howard. Now, I
want to focus on Howard for a few minutes, beginning with the first line we
hear when they sit down at the table.
(HOWARD) And I'll have the sole.
(SERVER) No butter, side of steamed veggies?
(HOWARD) You got me.
Howard says, "I'll have the sole." Now, this is a guy whose license plate says
"Namaste," so replay that line in your head. Calm, centered Howard Hamlin sits down at
the table with shifty, defensive Saul Goodman, and Howard says, "I'll have the
soul." It's not only a nod toward Howard's soulfulness. It also raises the question,
does Saul have a soul? Is Saul a soul? Jimmy has been selling little pieces of
his soul all season. We've seen it. "50% Off." The cracked gnome. The ants eating the
ice cream cone. All these images of Jimmy coming apart, being consumed. The question
is how much of Jimmy is left? It's a question that recurs throughout Better
Call Saul, and it's being highlighted here at the top of this dinner. The
waitress even makes the image of Howard's "soul" order more specific, right?
She says, "No butter, side of steamed veggies." Howard's soul is as clean and
healthy as it can get, right? And you don't need the play on words to see it.
He's come a long way since we saw him in the middle of season four. The episode
"Piñata," after Chuck's public meltdown and death,
he and the firm were really suffering. And Jimmy offered his helpful guidance.
(JIMMY) You're a shitty lawyer, Howard,
but you're a great salesman. So get out there and sell.
(HOWARD) Fuck you, Jimmy!
We saw Howard only briefly in the season
four finale, but when we saw him, he said that "HHM is back," and now we're seeing, A,
it's true, and B, the personal effect it's having on Howard. He's at peace and Jimmy
resents the hell out of it. He makes this sarcastic remark about it.
(JIMMY) I am glad you had this cleansing moment of clarity.
And what in particular has Howard been
cleansed of? Well, Chuck McGill, I think. The subtext of all Howard's
reconciliation and reflection is Chuck. When he's talking to Jimmy in this
conversation, he's saying how much he regrets Chuck's influence on him, but
note he never speaks the word "Chuck."
(HOWARD) Hamlin Hamlin McGill did you wrong.
Your name is a part of that firm. Now it's tainted.
That's how thoroughly he's been purged from Howard's being. He's even been
purged from his vocabulary. He never says Chuck, but Chuck's there. He's present.
Jimmy and Howard were set on a path to this moment when they encountered each
other in the episode "Quite a Ride" last season. We saw Howard looking in the
bathroom mirror, haggard, sleep-deprived, overwhelmed with
grief. But in therapy, working through his emotions. Howard was on a journey, and
this was just one stop on it. Jimmy looks seemingly put together, but he's in
denial. He's flushing the therapist's phone number down the toilet, right?
Howard looked in the mirror. Jimmy didn't. Howard did the introspection, the hard
emotional work, to deal with Chuck's death, and Jimmy avoided it. And now,
at this lunch, we're seeing the results. Howard is uplifted. His trajectory is up,
and Jimmy, we know—Jimmy / Saul—is spiraling. Howard's offer to become a big
player at HHM, in a role where Jimmy's showmanship and ingenuity would be
treated as assets rather than embarrassments—this is mail-room Jimmy's
dream come true, right? Howard conjures that memory of the mail room when he
calls Jimmy "Charlie Hustle," the same way he did back in the day.
(HOWARD) Jesus, Jimmy, you're a regular
Charlie Hustle.
Howard offers everything that Jimmy
wanted back then, but now Jimmy's on life support, right? Saul's in charge, and what
is Jimmy gonna do here? He can't go to HHM. What's he gonna do,
bring the Lala Salamanca account to HHM? He's stuck. So it's excruciating for
him to sit here and listen to Howard paint a picture of all the possibilities,
beyond his dreams just a few short years ago, because Howard doesn't just have
what Jimmy wanted then. He also has what Jimmy wants now, right? He has a sense of
himself and the freedom from all the pain that Chuck McGill caused him. Jimmy
doesn't have that. He really wishes he did. So it's very easy for us, the
audience, to watch this lunch, this exchange, and see Howard as someone being
kind and thoughtful. But Jimmy looks at him and he sees everything he doesn't
have. Everything he never could have and everything he never will. And that's why
he reacts the way he does in this conversation—and toward the end of the
episode. Howard doesn't quite get Saul Goodman, does he? He misreads Saul
Goodman as a way for Jimmy to move on from past pain. I think that he looks at
it as just another name for the same Jimmy McGill soul that he knows and that
he seems to appreciate more than ever, right?
(HOWARD) Couldn't Jimmy McGill do all that?
(JIMMY) Maybe he could, but Saul Goodman is.
Maybe he assumes that Jimmy has gone on a healing
journey similar to his own. The trouble is that he sees himself and Jimmy as
this complementary pair. Howard can navigate the genteel spheres of the
legal world better than Jimmy can. We see that in this brief exchange with Judge Lawler here.
(JIMMY) Your gavel work is legendary.
(JUDGE LAWLER) Uh, thank you?
(HOWARD) I'll let you get back to your lunch, Ian.
But Jimmy has this showmanship and moxie that could really create
attention around HHM—a talent that straitlaced Howard doesn't have.
It's this harmonious union between two people. Namaste, right? But there's a third person.
Chuck McGill is still present in this dynamic here, and it's shaping the way
that Jimmy sees Howard. The third person makes Howard's vision impossible. Because
his license plate doesn't quite say "Namaste," does it? It says "NAMAST3," and
that's just a perfect little visualization of the presence of that
third party.
(JIMMY) How much for this?
All of this is why, tortured by the dream come true
that he can never have, Saul decides that at least he can take Howard down to
his level, right? He can bring Howard down to his
level of misery, so he buys the three bowling balls at the store with the
three bells and does his best to shatter Howard's inner peace.
We know Jimmy was a pioneer of the "Chicago sunroof." Maybe this is the
"Albuquerque sunroof," throwing the bowling balls through the car window. Luckily
there were no kids in the backseat this time. I want to turn now to Kim.
Kim reacts differently in the wake of that bottle hurling moment that ended the
previous episode. Jimmy gets so exhilarated when Kim joins him in
giving a middle finger to the world that for him, it tends to reinforce his Saul
instincts, as if Kim's validation emboldens his lawless side. And we see
that in this episode. But Kim's pattern is more often to experience the thrill
of transgressing with Jimmy and then pull back. For her, "fuck the world" is a
release. And she wakes up from a night of passion ready to put herself back
together, tighter than ever before. I'm really struck by these shots of Kim
slowly, deliberately spitting out this massive toothpaste foam. I took note of
it because Kim mentioned spitting when they were in the bathroom at that
white-house sequence a couple episodes back.
(JIMMY) Two sinks, so plenty of room for brushing.
(KIM) And spitting.
That might be the only line in the whole sequence that I didn't analyze,
but it comes up now. And the toothpaste routine is a recurring image throughout
the series that gives us a sort of status check on Kim and Jimmy's
relationship. In the season two premiere, it's a picture of them happy together,
although ominously Kim does talk about how she doesn't want to be infected by
Jimmy's germs.
(KIM) No, that's gross!
Then in last season's "Something Stupid" montage, we saw them
brushing together and then apart to illustrate the growing distance
between the two of them. And now, spitting. This time, the toothbrush scene
emphasizes spitting, especially Kim. She seems to savor her spit. It's almost
ritualistic for her. I love the moment. To me, it's this visual representation of
Kim's purge. She feels cleansed of her lawless side
after the beer bottle catharsis, and to emphasize the point, she cleans up her
mess. We see it contained in this gold dust bin—gold being a color of
transgression on the show—against the backdrop of this cloudless blue sky. And
this is Kim's day ahead of her, right? Blue sky. Blue being the color of law and
what's right. Kim is going to do right by everybody today. And she's going to do it by
talking. I think overnight her hatred for mr. Acker transformed into merely
another challenge, another opportunity to prove herself. Because if she can find a
solution that works for both her client and this person who she has every right
to despise, well then, she's practically a legal saint isn't she?
(KIM) Paige, there's one more piece of call
center business I feel we need to discuss.
So she sets to work. And you have to admire how hard Kim works to find a
solution here. This is a good presentation. She puts on a show.
The light of the projector acts as a sort of spotlight here.
She's even using color in a very Better Call Saul way. Look, Mr. Acker's lot is
red, and then the alternate site is green, yes, go, let's go with that one. We see you,
Kim. None of this stagecraft matters in the end, though, does it? Because Kevin
Wachtell, the bank CEO, he doesn't even understand her premise.
(KEVIN) Is Lot 1102 our land, or not?
His reaction to her attempt to protect Mr. Acker really
reminds me of Lalo's reaction when Saul tries to protect Krazy-8. Lalo's reaction
is like, what do you care? And Kevin Wachtell's reaction is much the same. In both
cases, the implicit question is, "Why are you worrying about the human cost here?"
"You got me what I want, so your work is done."
Kim, though, wants the win-win. Kevin Wachtell only wants the win. She wants the
win-win. Kim really struggles to look at her work the way Kevin wants her to look
at it. Her job is just to represent her clients interests, but sometimes Kim just
thinks she knows better. She knew better for that wayward kid at the courthouse
in the season premiere, and she feels like she knows better now. She's gonna
get her win-win. She's gonna do right by everyone because to her, that's who Kim
Wexler is. She makes the world better. She leaves everybody better off. And she is
very good at it, right? When people stay out of her way. But this time, to get the
win-win, she's going to have to enlist Jimmy's help. When she watches Saul's
cheap switcheroo stunts in the courtroom, I think she's there to confirm something
that she already believes—that Jimmy is a lost cause. Maybe Kim reasons that
having Saul dupe Mr. Acker minimizes the harm of their duplicitous scheme, right?
Because by sacrificing this piece of Jimmy's soul,
she's breaking something that's already pretty well damaged right? That feels
like the calculation here. It's a cynical one, but that feels like the calculation.
As for this hilarious scene with Mr. Acker, I'll just note that the moment
Saul has Mr. Acker's attention—and we all know how he gets it—
but the moment Saul has Mr. Acker's attention, he looms large in the frame,
the same way that Mr. Acker loomed when he was getting Kim's attention in the
previous episode. Kim has turned the tables here, but to do it,
Kim had to outsource her unethical, shadier instincts to Jimmy. She's using
him to get the solution she wants while staying relatively clean herself, or so
she might like to tell herself. Speaking of staying clean, of course we have to
talk about Lyle and Gus and the world's cleanest chicken fryer. The context for
this sequence is a risky bait-and-switch operation with the DEA. And it's made
necessary by Lalo's maneuvering right? There's an essential exchange here with
Lyle in front of the fryer.
(LYLE) I'm not seeing anything. It's—
(GUS) I understand.
And Gus really does understand not seeing, right? Gus cannot see anything tonight.
He is flying blind and can only stare at this stupid phone. And he's helpless. He's
a control freak contending with a force, Lalo, who he can't control. Well, if he
can't control Lalo, he can at least control Lyle—with the smallest effort,
right? A terse remark like "I understand," or even a little gesture like rolling up
his sleeves, makes Lyle do his bidding. That need for a sense of command that so
eludes Gus on this night can be assuaged a little bit through Lyle. The upshot is
that Lyle becomes the human embodiment of Gus's nervousness. Gus needs to clean
up this developing mess, but he has no visibility into the situation, so
accordingly, we see Lyle trying to clean stains he can't see. By intercutting
between Lyle, Gus, and the DEA stakeout, the show amplifies the suspense of the
cops-and-robbers action with the visceral portrayal of Gus'
psychological tension. His obsessive, probing, scouring mind. Man, you can feel
it. Gus would never let anyone see him sweat, but at the end of the scene,
spent, withered Lyle is a picture of what Gus looks like on the inside. And
Gus's relief is not complete. Is the fring operation totally clean? He can't
know. The most he can say is:
(GUS) It is acceptable.
Hey, I hope you found this
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