Samuel brings the carnival to Central Park and plans to bury its audience. Doyle puppeteers Emma into playing her cello and gathering a crowd, but Sylar overpowers Doyle and Peter confronts Samuel.

One question raised repeatedly over the past week is whether this will turn out to be the show’s final episode. It’s an unfortunate predicament, firstly because it leaves the show’s writers no opportunity to bring their story to a fitting conclusion, secondly because it leaves the show’s fans with no sense of closure.

For both of those reasons, I hope very much that this isn’t the show’s final episode. If it were, it would in turn raise the question of whether this will be my final review for the show. Which is also an unfortunate predicament, firstly because I’m not sure how sentimental I’m supposed to be, secondly because giving an overview of 78 reviews and half a million words is too daunting for me to contemplate.

So I’m not going to. I’m going to live in denial until the show’s network makes an official announcement, and I’m reviewing this episode as a volume- and season-ender rather than a series-ender. And, all things considered, that’s probably in the show’s best interest, because if this episode were to serve as a series-ender, it would leave more unresolved storylines than I can count.

It’s not the weakest finale the show has delivered, but it’s close. There’s nothing catastrophically bad about it, and nothing that plunges it to the depths of awfulness that the Sylathan Debacle reached last season, but there are inconsistencies running throughout it, there are aspects of the plot that aren’t developed anywhere near as far as they need to be, and if there’s a central criticism to be made, it’s that the absence of awfulness doesn’t make this a successful finale. Like almost every episode, it showcases superb performances from its cast and some profound ideas in its plot, concluding the volume with a suitably open-ended development that all but begs the network to consider renewing the show for another season. But within the context of the volume — and, yes, the series as a whole — it’s a by-the-numbers, seen-it-all-before finale. It has nothing to match the level of tension and drama that made the previous finales remarkable, it leaves multiple character arcs unresolved, and its pace is such that the volume doesn’t march to a conclusion so much as hobble.

There’s also something eerily familiar about the idea of someone announcing the existence of people with abilities to the public. I figured at first that the familiarity was down to Claire’s threat to publish The Company’s files and Nathan’s ill-fated attempt to call a press conference. But even then, it felt like we’d seen or heard something similar to this before.

I started to think about how reckless and irresponsible Claire’s actions are, and how no other character on the show had ever possessed quite that level of arrogance, but it was several days before I realized why it seemed so familiar. It’s because Claire’s plan to out specials everywhere goes all the way back to the first season, to a character I’d pushed to the furthest recesses of my memory.

This isn’t Claire’s plan: it’s Simone’s!

Alas, this finale has no Nathan to kill off, which means Noah is saddled with the task of telling Claire that her plan to go public is insane, and that his dialogue becomes almost word-for-word the dialogue we heard from Nathan three seasons ago:

Nathan: “If people knew what we were capable of, they would drop a collective brick.”

Simone: “You think they’ll burn you at the stake?”

Nathan: “Yeah. Pretty much. Because that’s what I would do. I’d round us all up, stick us in a lab on some island in the middle of the ocean.”

A case of history repeating itself? A subtle tribute to the brother who died this season? Unintentional self-plagiarism? You decide. I’m still trying to get over the idea that Claire this week turned into Simone.

The Volume Four finale begins with Claire and Noah trapped in a trailer. There’s a certain whimsical irony to Claire beginning the volume at college and ending it 50 feet underground, but this is an opening that in many ways encapsulates what’s been great about this volume: a tense, claustrophobic environment that’s conducive to compelling drama. Also, lots of dirt. And ominous creaking sounds to remind us that the dirt is about to crush the trailer.

Lauren shows up at the site where the trailer was buried.

Beautifully shot, if a little too picturesque to come across as believable. It’s also regrettable that Lauren’s escape from Eli last week is shrugged off. I’m not sure whether that says more about Lauren or Eli, but since the show chooses to focus on Eli, it’s worth noting that Eli finds Matt burying a villain behind a brick wall, propping up a friend at the side of it and then…

… PREPARING LUNCH?!

So putting a mass-murderer inside a brick tomb and watching a friend trap himself inside that guy’s mind is the kind of thing that works up Matt’s appetite? I’m going to assume he was taking the food to the basement to force-feed Peter.

There’s something mildly amusing about the fact that the man with the all-conquering Parkman Whammy isn’t worth the attention of the “prime” Eli, but there’s also something delightful about the way Todd Stashwick plays each of the clones with a slightly different temperament. One is laid back, another is jumpy and neurotic, and, curiously, one of them leads Matt to believe there’s a trace of humanity inside him.

Is that a guilty face? The implication is Eli realizes he’s working for a tyrant and wants to back out, and this is where my disappointment begins. Eli’s not the most pivotal of characters, and his redemption after shooting Lydia is a very tough sell, but his storyline this week is ambiguous in the worst kind of way. It never becomes clear whether his decision to support Noah and Edgar comes from a genuine wish to repent or from a Parkman-Whammy-induced autonomic action.

We cut to the carnival…

… in a scene made spectacular by some staggering digital work, some superb photography by John Newby and some extremely subtle set work by Ruth Ammon. Samuel steps onto a stage that looks weathered yet sturdy, and it’s one of the nuances of this episode that the villain stands on a stage that’s filled with history and character. Compared to the pristine perfection of Pinehearst or the minimalist walls of Building 26, there’s something rich and complex about the carnival that I’ll miss once it’s gone.

The issues arise from everything and everyone that isn’t shown. Doyle and Ian are there, but Becky’s relegation to the graphic novels is disappointing, and Amanda’s absence since before Lydia’s death is baffling.

The really bizarre detail, however, is that Edgar is there.

How?! Didn’t Samuel pin Joseph’s murder on Edgar and scare the guy into exile? And suddenly he shows up to mourn Lydia and just goes back to being a member of the community? I guess we can speculate that Samuel told everyone it was a misunderstanding, but even if that’s true, Edgar knows that Samuel killed Joseph, and SAMUEL KNOWS THAT EDGAR KNOWS. There’s so much about this that’s unsaid, to the point where you wonder if you’ve forgetten a crucial scene or missed a webisode to explain it all.

Hiro wakes up in hospital, now fully recovered from the operation that saved him from an inoperable brain tumor.

Humor me. Read that last line again and tell me it’s not the most ridiculous thing you’ve read here all season. I’d buy it if Hiro was at least wearing a bandage over his head, but it’s as if the whole debilitating-terminal-tumor storyline never happened. If any other character on this show ever suffers from a terminal illness again, the lesson we take from this is that no terminal illness can kill a Heroes main character.

Hiro: “Life was simple once, wasn’t it?”

Ando: “It can be again.”

Hiro: “I’d like that. I’d like that very much.”

^ ^ ACTUAL DIALOGUE!

What a hypocrite! Putting aside the fact that Hiro clearly sucks at running Yamagato and needs his sister to run his financial empire, the reason this rings false is because WE’VE SEEN HIRO LEAD A SIMPLE LIFE. It descended into messing with Dad’s clock and opening Dad’s safe out of boredom, and then, when that got old, using company time and expenses to rescue cats. It would be understandable if Hiro genuinely wanted a simple life, but we’ve seen Hiro renounce that simple life in favor of inadvertently wreaking havoc.

Sylar pwns Prime-Eli, the copies dissolve, and Matt is saddled with the task of representing everyone who thinks the lifetime-in-an-empty-dream-city concept is absurd.

There are countless winning screensavers to capture the bond that now exists between Peter and Sylar, but the intriguing part is the characters seem to be of practically one mind. They explain to Matt that it’s “a long story” in unison, and throughout these scenes…

… Peter barely looks at Sylar. You’d think that would be a trivial detail, but when you consider the context, it’s significant that Peter trusts his brother’s murderer enough to look away for even a second, let alone to let his guard down for an entire episode.

It seems convenient that Eli happened to be here to provide Peter and Sylar with the details to Samuel’s plan. You have to wonder how they would have found Samuel without him. The only other way they would have found the carnival is if one of them had a Magik Comp-

Wait a second.

Wait a second.

WHAT HAPPENED TO THE MAGIK COMPASS TATTOO?!

Forget the part where Samuel wanted Peter to be Joseph’s replacement. Or don’t, but it was 16 episodes ago, so I think it’s safe to say the show has. But what happens to the tattoo itself? Is it branded into Peter’s arm and waiting to be reactivated? Does it vanish when Samuel’s power vanishes? Will it still lead Peter to any large gathering of supers?

One word, casting department: bravo.

Phenomenal casting. Like, Young Angela phenomenal, right down to the eyes and the shape of the nose and the angular jaw. There are peripheral details that help; the accent, obviously, and the necklace that Young-Charlie was wearing the day she walked out of the diner. But beyond the physicality, it’s in the way K Callan plays her — as lively and warm and effortlessly charming — that she sells the part. Which is to say, she plays Charlie exactly the way Jayma Mays plays her. The moment you see her, you know this is Charlie. Callan absolutely owns the character, and you don’t doubt for a moment that this is Charlie.

Claire reassures Noah that his actions don’t change the fact that he’s her dad…

… and Noah’s ferocious response conveys that he doesn’t believe he deserves her sympathy. This is remarkable because it sets him apart from the other characters who spent the volume trying to redeem themselves. Angela’s attempt at redemption after the Sylathan Debacle has been non-existent; Matt’s emotional fallout has been explored, but with vast chunks of his backstory left out. Oddly, Noah and Sylathan have been the only characters all volume to express any genuine guilt over their actions. In a volume entitled “Redemption,” these were the two characters who strove to atone for their actions, knowing all along that they couldn’t.

Noah: “It doesn’t matter what I believe anymore, because the whole world is about to find out about you. We can thank Samuel for that.”

Claire: “Maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe the world is more ready than you think it is. Things change.”

On the one hand, I have to praise the way the actors knocked this scene out of the park, because, really…

… Hayden plays Claire’s hope and resolve with endearing conviction.

It sadly behooves me to point out, however, that this earns her a *PING!* Dumb As Hiro Award. Come on, Claire. Samuel’s planning to kill thousands of people and leave a crater in the middle of Central Park. You really think that’ll go down well with the rest of the population?

Noah: “Sure, there might be curiosity for a while. But all it takes is one Sylar, and then the pitchforks come out and all hell breaks loose. I’ve seen it — they will turn on you, Claire. It’s human nature.”

Blueprint for the following volume? It’s the reality Claire will face by jumping off that Ferris wheel. She might not find herself on the receiving end of a pitchfork unless she becomes really obnoxious, but regenerative blood will surely be one of the most coveted commodities the average non-super will want. It’s hard to imagine her getting much further than the outskirts of Central Park before a hundred people mob her in a bid to save their dying relatives. Even if people are “ready,” they’ll be greedy, they’ll be opportunistic and they’ll be fixated on abilities like Claire’s.

Which is perhaps something Claire will be happy to put up with. The rest of the superpowered population might not be, and a lot of them will suddenly find themselves thrust into the limelight and forced to explain why they haven’t been donating their ability to the benefit of mankind all these years. It’s those people who’ll suffer from Claire’s actions, and it’s why Claire ends this episode looking selfish.

Sylar: “I’ve done so much wrong to so many people. Just give me a chance to redeem myself.”

I still can’t decide if we’re meant to take this seriously. The way the show sold the concept so effectively in “The Wall,” I want to believe it’s true. Adam Kane tries to convince us by way of a series of intense close-ups on Quinto’s eyeball. The upshot is that Matt rummages through Sylar’s head, and concludes…

… What, exactly? I can’t tell. Is that shock that Sylar’s head is devoid of deranged fantasies about slicing heads? Is it disappointment that Matt doesn’t have a reason to put Sylar into another empty mental landscape? Is it horror at the images of Sylar visiting kids at the orphanage, helping old ladies cross the street and donating clothes to the homeless shelter? And, really, if it’s not any of those things, there’s only one other mental picture Matt’s likely to glean.

Sylar looks so hopeful when he asks Matt if he can “see it,” and as disingenuous as Sylar has proven to be over the seasons, his disarming optimism is as affecting as his look of dismay when Matt shoots his hopes down.

While I’m betting the backbone of Volume Six will be another dozen installments of The Sylar Show — complete with Sylar-angst and Sylar-trauma and numerous Sylar identity crises — I choose to be hopeful, if only because this past week’s spin on the situation has added creativity to Sylar’s character arc. If this volume was about Sylar rediscovering himself, it seems the following volume will be about Sylar struggling to prove who he wants to be.

Matt tells Peter and Sylar to get out of his home, Parkman-whammies Eli and prompts me to wonder two things: firstly, whether Eli’s whammy is so extensive that it lasts up to and beyond his decision to turn on Samuel, effectively negating his redemption and turning him into a permanent lemming; and secondly, whether this is really how the show intended to wrap up Matt’s character arc for the volume. One imagines he’ll head to the nearest hospital to be treated for the dislocated leg, but after that time he evaded police custody, I’m not even sure that’s a viable option.

Which leaves Matt in agony, stuck at home, with Janice and Baby Matt in hiding and an entire volume’s worth of development unresolved. None of the focal points of Matt’s character arc have been brought to anything resembling a conclusion by the end of this episode, and it’s disappointing to know that most of them didn’t even lead to any tangible development for him. If anything, the person they served is Sylar; as Sylar acknowledges, the ghost experience helped him to see “what it takes to be a good person.” In effect, Matt’s character arc this volume has existed solely to serve Sylar’s.

Claire huddles with her father while he slowly runs out of oxygen. It’s a scene that offers the same overwrought drama we’ve seen a hundred times, but it speaks to the caliber of the actors that, after all those variations, they still succeed in making these scenes affecting.

One word: aw.

Noah: “When I said I was the product of my experiences, I left out the most important part: you. You came into my life, and you changed everything.”

… Just like what’s-her-name?

… And what’s-his-name?

Never mind. Somewhere, in someone’s fanfic, they’re living out their lives in a giant house with Heidi, Simon and Monty, their walls adorned with pictures of They Who’ve Been Wiped From All Established Canon. ALL of them.

Noah: “The man you saw in those memories could never have died a happy man. But I can, because of you.”

It’s a heartfelt moment, but isn’t Noah basically saying the family he was starting in his flashback wouldn’t have made him happy? Am I the only one feeling bad for dead Kate and her unborn baby right about now? Thanks a lot, Noah!

Noah: “I want you to promise me something. That you’ll hide.”

Claire: “What?”

Noah: “You can stay hidden. You can blend in. You can pass, Claire. You know how to do it.”

Oh, Noah. She broke her neck just to scare a mean cheerleader. She jumped out a window with lights switched on up and down the campus. She sliced her arm open in front of a stranger at Thanksgiving dinner. Why on earth would you believe she can stay hidden?

The heartbreaking part is this is Noah’s dying wish. Claire doesn’t deny it outright at this moment in time, but with hindsight, knowing Claire disregards the wish within hours, this scene loses a big part of its impact. Claire should know by now that even when Noah has his ethics backwards, he ALWAYS knows best, and in this case her decision to disobey him could have global repercussions. Even if Claire goes into seclusion immediately after revealing her ability, there are countless supers all over the world whose lives will be turned upside down by her stunt.

Still, Claire frantically scraping at the dirt outside the trailer and watching water pour in? Regardless of the context, it’s awesome. You cheer because the moment the camera focuses on the water, you know what’s coming.

Gorgeously shot, and with such a neat symmetry when the volume began with Tracy trying to kill Noah and ends with her saving his life.

Welcome back, Ali Larter!

It’s sad that I have to say that, given that it’s an exclamation usually reserved for recurring or dead characters rather than, you know, regular cast members.

Tracy points out that Noah’s going to have to “get through 30 feet of dirt.” Judging from Noah’s look of semi-coherent horror, I think he appreciates that this is the equivalent of what I’ve endured during every Troah scene this season.

Tracy water-drills a tunnel to the surface and then… disappears. Well, thanks for stopping by, Tracy. It seems like just two paragraphs ago that I welcomed you back. I have no idea how you even found that trailer 50 feet underground, but it’s been fun reviewing your scenes this season. You met Noah in a sushi bar after trying to drown him, shared clam chowder with Noah in hospital, tried to get your old job back and then decided you didn’t want your old job back, watched a kid get dragged around town and, finally, you froze Claire’s foot off.

That’s about it, isn’t it? Besides the material in the graphic novels, that’s Tracy’s character arc this season. And that’s with Bryan Fuller’s best efforts to give the character a more prominent role. I shudder to think what the show would have done with her otherwise.

Farewell, Tracy! We hope to see you again. Someday.

I have to credit Lauren for her resilience given that she took a gunshot wound, stumbled through a forest and was only superficially patched up before finding the exact spot where Noah was buried, directing Tracy to the carnival site, calling a chopper and helping to haul Noah out of the water before flying to Manhattan and taking it upon herself to tend to the PR damage control.

But she’s also a martyr! She called Tracy! The Lauroah bowed down to the might of the Troah! Now that’s admirable. That’s like swallowing your pride and admitting that The Other Hot Blonde is more useful than you are. Can you imagine how sorry Lauren must be feeling for herself right about now?

Noah: “Tracy saved us.”

Lauren: “I know. I called her.”

Noah: “Where is she?”

Remember, fanfic writers: the Troah is a spark that fizzles, but the Lauroah is a candle that will burn forever.

Aw.

The amazing part here is there’s chemistry between them. Not in the creepy 90-year-old-lady-making-eyes-at-a-30-year-old-nerd way, and not in the so-adorable-your-heart-melts way, but in a way that transcends time and definition. You can see intimacy between the characters, and it’s the kind of intimacy that made the romance between Hiro and Charlie so heartwarming. Again, it goes to show what spectacular casting this was.

Old-Charlie describes how she got a job in 1940s Milwaukee, but perhaps what’s more relevant is what she unwittingly reveals: that in spite of comprehensive knowledge of the 65 years ahead of her — not least because of an ability to absorb information at a superhuman rate — Charlie stayed under the radar. And given the enormous opportunities she had — to make groundbreaking discoveries, to invest in software development, to warn authorities of impending crises — that says a lot about Charlie’s respect for the timeline. It’s also worth noting that Old-Charlie made no attempt to visit the Burnt Toast Diner to intervene on the day her younger counterpart was captured by Arnold. Which, again, says a lot.

Not that Hiro appreciates any of this. But the point is he should!

Perhaps even more relevantly, Charlie achieved what Noah hoped Claire would achieve. Which is to say, she got on with her life and kept quiet about what she could do, even under the bizarrest of circumstances. This is evidence that people can get a handle on their ability and live out their lives without the melodrama the rest of the characters have put themselves through. And, in the context of this episode, this is the kind of individual whose prospects of a happy family life will be nixed by Claire’s actions. Instead of being surrounded by family, it’s more likely Old-Charlie will be surrounded by a team of doctors drawing blood samples and trying to figure out how her ability works before she dies.

Old-Charlie seems to have forgotten that Hiro’s “weird doctor friend” is a serial killer. You’ll recall that she was standing in the storage room when Hiro described the circumstances under which the brain-scalping mass-murderer would die. I categorically refuse to assign a Dumb As Hiro Award to Charlie, so I’m going to assume that with old age came some convenient forgetfulness.

Hiro: “I can fix this.”

?!?!?!?!

?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Just so we’re sure…

Yes, I know: he learned his lesson before the end of the episode. BUT WHAT ABOUT ALL THE LESSONS HE LEARNED BEFORE THIS EPISODE? Did Hiro take anything from his experiences this season? The repercussions of screwing with time? His responsibility to not tamper with history? The near-death hallucination in which he was brought to account for EXACTLY THIS KIND OF SELFISHNESS? Should it really fall to Ando to tell Hiro that he’s incapable of changing the timeline without colossally and selfishly screwing it up? Has Hiro been Haitian-whammied? Did Ando’s electro-charge to the head cross some wires? Has the brain tumor effaced everything he went through over the course of this volume? Because it seems like Hiro’s as happy to mess with the timeline now as he was when Samuel found him in “Jump, Push, Fall.”

Beautifully shot. I have no idea what it means — whether it’s a reflection of a villain’s vanity, the hero who’s ready to stab him in the back or just a moment committed to film for sheer aesthetic value — but it looks amazing.

Emma’s blood trickling down the cello string? Still looks as awesome now as it did two weeks ago. Disconcerting, but incredibly well realized.

Noah and Claire make their way through the carnival. The obvious reason to assign Noah a Dumb As Hiro Award would be his failure to consider contacting René, but for obvious reasons that would be a very tactless complaint. If we’ve indeed seen the last of the man who was known for most of the past four years as the Haitian, it seems fitting to acknowldge that Jimmy Jean-Louis played his character with inimitable charm and wit, and that his real-life efforts in Haiti make him twice the hero he’s played on this show for the past four seasons.

We’re now blessed with some of the finest dialogue we’ve heard all season.

Yes, that is sarcasm.

Noah: “We’ve gotta find the backstage area. Do you know where it is?”

Claire: “Yeah. [Points to the back of the carnival.] It’s back that way.”

You have to be a showrunner to come up with dialogue like that.

The actors salvage the material:

Noah puts his hand to Claire’s head, and Claire pushes her head into his hand. It’s a brief moment, but it captures everything that’s effective about the dynamic between the characters.

The script then nosedives when Peter and Sylar arrive on the scene.

Peter: Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait…”

^ ^ ACTUAL NUMBER OF WAIT’s!

Peter: “The dream!”

[DRAMATIC BEAT]

Peter: “All these people — they’re all here!”

[DRAMATIC BEAT]

Peter: “Like lambs at the slaughter!”

Was Kring stoned when he wrote these scenes? Did he hand off scenes to freshmen drama students to ghostwrite them for him? Because this is not the dialogue that made this season great. As valiant an effort as Milo makes to render it meaningful, it’s some of the most awful dialogue of the series. The fact that it’s credited to the showrunner doesn’t just speak volumes. It speaks oceans. It speaks entire continents.

What the episode lacks in dialogue, it makes up for in nuance:

The Magik Popcorn stand has been repaired!

One assumes there’s no longer a Tattoo Girl, but the poster of an “illusionist” is a neat detail. You have to wonder whether that’s a reference to Disappearing-Act Teddy, or to a Candice-style illusionist we never got to meet.

Claire finds the backstage area… out back.

Samuel’s look of composure reflects the confidence that made him a superb villain throughout the volume. He’s the superpowered villainous version of Noah: he always has a plan, he always thinks 10 steps ahead of everyone else and he always banks on his ability to sweettalk his way out of a crisis. It’s part of the reason his sudden downfall seems so contrived.

We cut back to the hospital, where Hiro furnishes Charlie with a plan to retrieve her from Milwaukee. Sally appears, and again…

… the only word that springs to mind is aw. Much to Hiro’s credit, he finds it in himself to force a smile as he greets the kid who represents a life Hiro never got to be part of.

It’s possible some of these children and grandchildren have abilities, but perhaps they should consider themselves lucky to have had any kind of a life before the crapstorm that’s inevitably about to begin. Once again, thanks, Claire.

Hiro looks like he finally realizes that meddling with the timeline causes more harm than good. I feel obligated to point out that he should have come to this conclusion long before now, but the way it’s written and the way Oka plays it, I want to look past the time it took for Hiro to mature and instead appreciate what is, at heart, a moment of surprising selflessness from the character.

Sylar goes from slitting throats and ripping open heads to politely asking the puppeteer to release the cellist. Interestingly, Doyle does clarify that he’s planning to keep Emma playing “long enough for Samuel to finish the show.” I don’t think it’s clear whether Doyle knows what the show actually involves, but the implication is he’s willing to follow any plan Samuel wants to go along with, irrespective of absurdity.

Which, oddly, makes for a character who redeemed himself before the volume titled Redemption, and who now overturns his redemption and goes back to being a villain. It strikes me as a step back from the complexity of Doyle’s material in the webisodes because it effectively saddles him with the role of the mindless carnival lackey. As perfectly as Lawrence plays this side of Doyle, it’s disappointing to watch the character revert to something akin to his Volume Three personality.

The flipside…

… is we now see Emma sound-streak-whipping Doyle across the tent. It’s an empowering moment for Emma because she’s the one who overpowers Doyle, and Sylar’s merely the guy who takes care of him once he’s on the ground.

But then, Sylar TK-choking Doyle…

… is ultimately what makes Sylar the hero of the finale. Which, with hindsight, seems to have been where much of this volume was leading. As with Matt, you could argue that Doyle’s role — his vilification as a carnival drone — was ultimately in service of Sylar’s redemption.

Samuel insists to Claire that his family won’t desert him after all he’s “done” for them. It’s intended to come across as dishonest because of Samuel’s hidden motives, but I can’t help feeling bad for Samuel in light of how much he has done for them. These are people who’ve formed a community, and as false as their sense of belonging might be, it’s a community, and it’s a community Samuel’s been responsible for sustaining after Joseph’s death. When Claire tells them to “walk away now,” it’s played as a moment in which the heroine convinces the troops to walk away from a tyrant. And on the surface, that’s more or less the truth. But there’s a dimension to the story which the show never addressed, the one involving the life these individuals face once their community fractures. They’re going to emerge into the world with nowhere to go, no money, no friends, no family and no idea how to cope without the father figure they’ve depended on.

This, more than anything else, is what dragged this finale down for me. There’s a difference between open-ended and unresolved, and the conclusion to the carnival storyline struck me as decidedly unresolved. The way the episode wraps, you know you’re meant to feel a sense of victory: the villain was defeated, the people he used and lied to have been liberated, and everyone is still alive. The problem is this feels like a very short-lived victory. The people who were unwitting accessories to Samuel’s plan will be thrust into a world they don’t understand and without any idea how to reintegrate. To add to the adversity, they’ll now have to contend with the public’s awareness of a carnival populated by the kind of individuals whose injuries miraculously regenerate. And as Noah pointed out in the trailer, it’s a small step from fascination to mistrust, and in turn only a small step from mistrust to persecution.

Claire tells everyone about Joseph’s murder, and suddenly Samuel loses his unshakeable influence on the community. For whatever reason, Samuel’s immediate response is NOT to remind everyone that, per the story he previously ran with at Thanksgiving, Joseph was murdered by Edgar. It wouldn’t have helped when Edgar and Noah show up to incriminate him, but the fact that he doesn’t even try to stick with that story is what seems so strange.

The community’s sense of betrayal grows, but it falls to one individual to cement everyone’s perception of Samuel as a liar.

The guy who’s been Parkman-whammied!

Or not?

If you go with the theory that this is another of Matt’s industrial-strength Parkman Whammies, this isn’t really Eli taking ownership for his mistakes, but rather a guy who’s saying stuff because he’s been brainwashed into saying it.

But then, if that’s true, it means a big part of the grand conclusion to the carnival storyline — the carnival members deciding to abandon their leader — was facilitated by… a Parkman Whammy?

So, not the whole collapsing-a-town-and-killing-all-of-its-inhabitants thing?

Of course not! That would be so petty.

Does anyone else feel cheated? Call me crazy, but is turning the community against Samuel with a Parkman Whammy any less objectionable than maintaining a community with false declarations of love and family?

On the other hand, if this is a genuine expression of guilt from Eli, does it even begin to atone for his actions? Besides killing Lydia, we this week watched him nearly slice Matt’s limbs off. And you’ll note that this a guy who, along with everyone else, teleports into the normal world and who we assume will blend into the rest of society. A more accurate assumption would be that he’ll go into the real world and become something even worse than he is now. The problem is this isn’t even addressed.

Eli’s confession gets the job done. Claire shepherds the carnival members away, and Samuel is left alone in the backstage area… out back… and forced to melodramatically bellow that they’ll NEVER GET FAR ENOUGH.

Here’s where the episode falls apart. And by “falls apart,” I wish I could say I meant it was so riveting that it literally tore itself apart. Sadly, the climactic confrontation is so unmemorable that it doesn’t cause the scene to rock so much as disintegrate. I sympathize with the crew who were working with a limited budget, but given that the volume appears to have been building towards this moment since the premiere, you’d think there’d be something more spectacular at the finish line.

This is a villain who, three episodes earlier, leveled an entire town. A villain who, providing he’s pissed off enough…

… will bury mansions and raze police precincts.

This week, the scale of the villain’s anger and fury reach heights so unimaginable that they enable him to confront Peter with…

… a lump of dirt.

This is what we’ve been building up to all season?! Peter and Samuel terrakinetically pushing a lump of earth back and forth between them?!

It’s kind of like a tennis match, but with clumps of earth instead of balls.

I suddenly realize there’s a double-meaning in that last sentence. It wasn’t intentional, but it does seem quite apt.

To Milo’s credit, he tries to make it look like wielding a wheelbarrow’s worth of dirt with his mind is the most strenuous challenge Peter’s faced all season.

Knepper seems to have resigned himself to the fact that his character’s best material is behind him, and resorts to just smiling villainously.

Samuel: “Peter, you of all people should know they have to fear us! It’s the only way they’ll respect us!”

This from the villain whose defining trait all volume was his underhandedness? This from the villain who gently pressed compasses into his prospective members’ hands and left it to them to decide if they wanted to join a group filled with love and camaraderie? This from the villain who defended his family to Gretchen by insisting that, if nothing else, they offered unconditional love.

Apparently the character’s entire demeanor throughout the volume was a pretense. Perhaps this was the point. Perhaps we’re meant to look back on Samuel over the course of the volume and say, “Ooh, that Samuel — he was a clever one! We thought we knew him — but we were wrong!”

I’d like to know how a wonderfully complex, multi-faceted villain became a one-dimensional caricature for the sake of fulfilling his role in the finale. Because, really, judging from the dialogue in this scene, apparently all it’s ever been about for Samuel is inspiring fear.

Samuel: “We both know what it’s like to live in the shadow of a brother. Joseph destroyed my potential! Kept me down! Just like your brother!”

Peter: “My brother didn’t let me down. He built me up.”

It’s a nice throwback to Nathan, but somehow, when you put it in context, when you look back on Peter’s eulogy over Nathan’s coffin and realize that his resolve to be “ready for anything” amounts to a dirt-pushing contest, this showdown devalues what came before it.

Claire ushers the carnival members to Hiro and instructs him to immediately teleport all of them away. This, we gather, is a challenging feat for Hiro to pull off.

Ando supercharges Hiro, the carnival’s members teleport away, and Samuel finds himself devoid of power.

?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Wasn’t he terrakinetic to begin with? Isn’t that how he turned the mansion into a sink hole and brought the police precinct down? Wasn’t the whole deal that he just became more powerful when he surrounded himself with other abilities? And even if he only needs a few of them, shouldn’t Peter, Sylar, Doyle and Emma be amping him up right about now, if only by a little?

Samuel struggles as much as we do to reconcile this development with the volume’s internal continuity. Perhaps we should all just go with the “battery charge” theory and assume the terrible shock of losing his community was such that he found himself unable to recover his initial ability. In any case, I refuse to believe this character is Samuel. He’s so out of character that he bears no resemblance to the villain we watched develop over the course of the volume. I instead choose to believe that this is a shapeshifter, and that the real Samuel has been trapped in 1944 Milwaukee, where he got a job in a munitions factory and married a wonderful man woman and had four children and seven beautiful grandchildren.

All of that said, credit should be issued where it’s due, because this…

… is an incredible shot. The way the camera pulls back and back and back, taking in the scope of how alone Samuel is and how much he lost. It’s the kind of moment you want to take out of context and appreciate for what it is — exceptional photography and directing to support the character.

If you put it in context, this volume ends with the carnival arbitrarily walking away from Samuel — not because he destroyed a town, and not because he was absorbing the carnival’s super-energy and planning to use it to inflict horrific casualties, but because he got angry and killed his brother back in the day. And as bad as that is, it apparently trumps mass-murder and plans for a massacre.

Volume Four ends with Samuel reverting from a compelling, fully-developed, three-dimensional villain to a caricature who mwa-ha-ha’s his way into near-victory and is only stumped when someone mentions a murder which Samuel had already pinned on someone else. And that, above all, is the tragedy of this finale.

Samuel staggers into the middle of the carnival and falls face-down. It’s an unfortunate reflection of the show’s own trajectory, stumbling at the eleventh hour and undermining what was otherwise a solid volume. This finale provided a fitting resolution for Peter, Sylar, Claire and Noah, but it gave us only a brief glimpse of Tracy, a couple of scenes with Matt, no Mohinder, no Angela, and ultimately no sense of closure to a storyline revolving around a carnival whose members will now find themselves in the real world without any of the skills they need to survive.

We reach the end of the volume with a finale that was at times profound, perceptive and well crafted, but also deeply flawed.

3 out of 5

Looking back, the strongest volumes seem to be the ones preceded by a teaser with a clear idea: Nathan betraying the people closest to him, Sylathan struggling to understand his fixation with clocks.

The cryptic teasers seem to precede the weakest volumes: Hiro landing in a 17th century field, Sylar regenerating in an alley.

Volume Six begins with promise, at least insofar as it introduces a clear idea of where it’s planning to go. Claire’s naïve idealism is established, Sylar’s confidence in his capacity for good is articulated, and the prospect of people with abilities becoming common knowledge looms.

If there’s a reason to be skeptical, it’s because previous volumes have concluded with ideas that were either brushed aside or outright ignored.

All of these were dramatic starts or finishes to volumes, and in the end it’s been sad to see how little they resonated in the following volumes. The New York explosion was brushed aside. Nathan’s death was mysteriously undone and never referred to again. The president’s awareness of the superpowered population led to funding to track and imprison them, but in the end neither an assassination attempt nor plans for a new Company organization generated any significant advances to the ensuing story.

I’d like to think this next volume will be different, if only because Claire jumping off the Ferris wheel is so far-reaching. It has the potential to change the tone and format of the show in much the same way the fourth volume’s teaser did. The great part is that, as with the fourth volume’s teaser, this change is underpinned with potential for character exploration.

Samuel is driven away in a car with a siren, but according to Noah it’s old-school Company. I find it sad that a year after the prospect of a new, high-minded and enlightened Company was introduced, we’re now talking about the old Company again. Putting this disappointment aside, let’s hope there’s a Magik Power Dampener in the Level 5 cell that Samuel finds himself in, because otherwise it won’t be long before he absorbs enough super-magnetic energy to bury the building.

What the heck, though. That’s so last volume.

Sylar strings up Doyle and prides himself on not killing him. Given that this is the fourth occasion that Sylar has passed up to kill him, I’m starting to wonder if Sylar has a soft spot for the guy. In any case, I find it questionable that Eli gets to teleport to freedom while Doyle is strung up and humiliated. In terms of their crimes and their role as Samuel’s lackeys, there’s very little difference between them.

But hey, that’s so last volume.

It’s telling that Sylar gets to be the one to voice the title to the next volume, but it’s a choice that hints at the creative possibilities, if only because Sylar will be both the poster child for special abilities and the first target of the witch-hunt. Hilariously, though, Sylar’s claim that it felt “right” being a hero takes place in front of a stall with a slogan that reads “KNOCK ‘EM DOWN.” Unintentional humor from the set dressing if ever there was such a thing.

Noah: “Is everyone safe?”

Claire: “Yeah, Hiro’s taking care of them. They’ll be fine.”

Was that intended to reassure us? Because I can’t help thinking those two statements are antithetical.

Lauren provides damage control by spinning a story about a gas rupture and an elaborate special effects show. This in theory makes Lauren look like an adept PR agent for The Company, but given that the news crew now rushes to Noah and Claire to demand the REAL story, whatever attempt Lauren made to misdirect them clearly had very limited success.

But then, perhaps that’s the segue-way to Claire deciding it’s time to stop lying. As selfish as her decision to out the superpowered population might be, it represents an optimistic view of human nature — one that appeals to people’s tolerance and understanding.

It’s naïve, and at this point Noah’s prediction strikes me as infinitely the wiser, but there’s an admirable quality to Claire’s willingness to make herself the first guinea pig.

Claire looks apologetic, and although I think she owes the apology to everyone whose life is about to be turned upside down rather than to Noah, it’s established right away that she has an inkling of how horribly wrong this might turn out.

Claire gives one final look at the man who did everything he could to protect her.

Noah gives one final look at the daughter who’s about to expose everything that he, Angela and all of the ElderSupers agreed to keep under wraps.

And as arrogant as that makes Claire for thinking she knows better, it’s also tantalizing as a volume teaser. It carries the implication that this will lead to significant change.

As a bookend to the series, this would be about as perfect a way to go out as it’s possible for the show to come up with. I hope it’s not the final image of the series. If the show gets the fifth season it’s planning on, this is a moment that leaves the story and characters in a perfect position for development.

That’s a wrap on HeroSite’s reviews for Heroes Season Four. As near as I can tell — and assuming I’ve done the math correctly — the average score for this volume was 3.89 out of 5. That puts it behind the average scores I gave Volume One (4.24) and Volume Four (4.08), but ahead of Volume Three (3.85) and Volume Two (3.68). Which, on balance, sounds about right. It’s been a consistently good volume, but one that never quite matched the consistent brilliance of the first and fourth volumes. It’s a volume that included Hiro reuniting with Charlie, Sylathan begging Peter to let him go and Peter delivering a eulogy over his brother’s coffin, but also one that consisted of Nerdspeak!Hiro, Claire doing her laundry and Matt getting wrecked. Beyond the best and worst moments, however, it’s a volume that features Claire giving Tracy a bath, Lydia asking Hiro to touch her and Peter climbing inside Sylar. Which, if nothing else, offers enough innuendo to fuel a lifetime of scary fanfic.

Let’s hope the show gets a chance to produce an outstanding Volume Six. In the meantime, this season’s reviews wrap with a rundown of the volume’s Dumbest moments.

A grand total of 25 Dumb As Awards were issued this volume. That’s more than Volume Four’s 18 awards but less than Volume Three’s 26. While this might make it sound like Volume Five represented a step back in character intellingence, it’s worth noting that Volume Five was of course longer than Volume Four, and, consequently, if you’re judging it episode by episode, the characters in fact end up looking smarter. The characters earned an average of 2 Dumb As Awards per episode in Volume Three. This dropped to an average of 1.5 awards per episode in Volume Four, and, bearing in mind that this season’s 25 awards were distributed between 19 episodes, the characters in this volume earned an average of only 1.3 awards per episode. In short, this volume might not have been as strong as the previous one in terms of quality storytelling, but there’s some comfort to be taken from the fact that the characters behaved less idiotically in Volume Five than they did in Volumes Three or Four.

Needless to say, the key offenders are the same ones that racked up awards in previous volumes. The characters who earned Dumb As Awards this volume, in order of rank, are as follows:

Hiro Nakamura: 7 awards

Noah Bennet: 5 awards

Claire Bennet: 5 awards

Peter Petrelli: 2 awards

Matt Parkman: 2 awards

Ando Masahashi: 1 award

Kimiko Nakamura: 1 award

Mohinder Suresh: 1 award (and with appearances in, what, TWO EPISODES?)

Lydia (R.I.P.): 1 award

A few observations to note from this: first, Matt seems to be getting smarter each volume; secondly, Noah seems to be getting progressively dumber each volume (which may be the result of constantly getting shot, slashed open and hit over the head); and thirdly, despite an often shockingly inconsistent character arc, Sylar continues to evade my Dumb As Awards.

On that note, I bid everyone a fond farewell for the hiatus. I said I wouldn’t treat this as a final review, but if this does end up serving as the show’s final episode, it’s the conclusion to something that goes beyond description. It would be impossible for me to condense four seasons of reviews and articulate what an amazing journey it’s been. Hopefully, if you’ve followed HeroSite’s reviews this far, you know what an amazing journey it’s been. It’s a journey which started out with reviews discussing comic-book comparisons and crazy theories, and which somehow ended up with Shakespeare-quoting turtles, purple flags, election campaigns in the underworld and electric ferrets. And Maya.

I’d like to state the obvious by issuing a heartfelt thanks to everyone who’s gone on this journey with me. Thank you to the cast and crew who’ve been kind enough to get in touch with me over the years. Thank you to the writers for enduring my criticism with such good humor, and for creating characters who’ve at times been so stupid that the Dumb As Awards practically assigned themselves. And thank you to the readers who’ve visited HeroSite and read its reviews over the years, because you’re the reason this site has been such an enormous pleasure to support and why it’s come to feel like home.

Dammit. I said I wouldn’t.

Have a great spring and summer, and I hope to see you all again in September.

In the climactic season finale, everyone bands together in an effort to stop Samuel (Robert Knepper) from taking the lives of thousands. Peter (Milo Ventimiglia) joins forces with his most unexpected ally to save Emma (guest star Deanne Bray). Meanwhile, H.R.G.’s (Jack Coleman) life hangs in the balance as he and Claire (Hayden Panettiere) find themselves trapped underground with oxygen quickly running out. Elsewhere, Hiro (Masi Oka) starts to come to grips with the decisions he has made and is called into action to help stop a disaster.

Greg Grunberg, Ali Larter, Zachary Quinto and James Kyson Lee also star. Ray Park, Deanna Bray and Elizabeth Rohm guest star. David H. Lawrence XVII, Harry Perry, and Todd Stashwick also guest star.

Peter discovers that breaking out of Sylar’s mind is more difficult than he thought. Time moves a lot slower in Sylar’s head than in the real world, so it takes several years in an empty city before Peter accepts that Sylar’s a changed man, at which point the two of them work together to knock down the wall trapping them inside Sylar’s head.

We start out with a shot of Matt’s basement, establishing that Matt finished the brick wall around Sylar, propped Peter up against it and went out for groceries. Thanks, Matt.

The zoom through the wall was beautifully shot, and an early indication of one of the show’s most brilliant directors restoring his vision to the story.

The questions the scenario raises range from the critical to the obscene: are all of the books complete texts, or is it just Pillars of the Earth? If there’s no television or radio, has Sylar lined his apartment with books and returned to repairing watches to stave off insanity? Do the watches break themselves once Sylar repairs them, or is there a self-replenishing supply of broken watches? And most importantly, is there self-replenishing beer in that fridge?

Gorgeously shot, and the kind of moment that makes Sylar’s redemption plausible without trying all that hard. There’s no sweeping soundtrack or tearful lament to tell us how lonely Sylar is, but the visuals convey a guy who spent years trying to regain the identity he had before he became a psychokiller, and that he had to make a life for himself in a sprawling city with no one for company until now.

Peter shows up, and –

Zach Quinto deserves praise for a performance that encapsulates everything the character has gone through over the course of several years. It’s part of the episode’s weakness that so much of Sylar’s redemption is left to the imagination, but Quinto’s performance hints at how unhinged the character has become. We get a glimpse of Sylar’s suspicion and his paranoia, and, when Peter shows up, his disbelief at seeing the guy who probably plagued his thoughts that entire time.

The tinned food is intriguing, but the key part is the bloody handprint. On the one hand, it’s just a neat throwback to the time Sylar killed Emo-Trevor. On the other hand, there’s something to be said for how intricate Matt’s whammy must have been to come up with details like this. Assuming Sylar has tried and failed to scrub the blood out, it’s like a permanent reminder of his atrocities. The fact that it’s imprinted on the inside of his apartment door reinforces that no matter how civilized Sylar might feel when he surrounds himself with books and watches, there’s a part of his past he can’t ever escape.

Peter: “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Sylar: “I remember wanting my life to change. Thinking I was gonna spend all of eternity alone.”

As hard a sell as Sylar’s redemption might be, there’s something to be said for the character’s sincerity. His motivation is as selfish as ever because, ultimately, it’s still based inwards: Sylar wants to change for his own sake. He’s afraid of what an eternity alone will be like for him. But at the very least, after years of isolation, we can credit Sylar’s honesty. He’s got no reason to lie to a guy he thinks is an apparition. Even if Peter doubts Sylar’s ability to change, and even if Sylar’s actions over the past four years makes his redemption a near-impossibility in our eyes, it’s hard to deny that there’s a visible difference in Sylar throughout this episode. The character’s motives remain inherently selfish, but the context of the story, coupled with Quinto’s performance, mean his penance rings true.

Peter: “I need you to save her. My friend, Emma. In the dream, you save her before she kills thousands of people.”

Sylar: “You’ve got the wrong guy. I’m not the savior kind. You should know that better than anybody.”

Peter: “It’s gonna happen. And you’re gonna save her.”

It’s dialogue worth noting. None of it reveals anything we didn’t already know, but it reaffirms Peter’s fixation with saving one person before thinking about everyone else — à la Caitlin at the end of Volume Two — and it suggests that while Sylar knows he’s been trapped in order to pay for his crimes, he doesn’t really believe he can atone for them with good deeds.

We cut to the carnival, where Samuel basks in sympathetic nods and reverential gazes and unanimous support from his community. Claire batters the inside of the door to Samuel’s trailer. We can assume she tried throughout the night to smash the windows and break her way out using the trailer’s contents, but the real reason to buy Claire’s captivity inside this ramshackle trailer is because there’s no obvious escape route for her to –

Oh, wait a moment…

*PING!* That’s one Dumb As Hiro Award for Claire.

Samuel endures Claire’s Look of Indignation long enough to point out that Noah came to the carnival planning to gun down the community. Samuel’s ability to distort the truth remains as effortless as ever, but this scene captures exactly why Samuel has made for such a formidable villain: his perception of fundamental truths, and his capacity to tap into the insecurities of the people around him. As much as he twists facts to suit his agenda, there’s usually a grain of truth in his words.

Samuel escorts Claire to the hall of mirrors and explains that Damien has the ability to reveal memories and induce infuriating bouts of nerdspeak from characters who were already so annoying that they inspired idiocy-based awards. And OK, I might have added that last part, but looking back, the logic behind Damien’s whammy on Hiro still makes absolutely no sense.

The pretext to Noah’s flashbacks feels derivative, at least insofar as we’ve already seen someone extracting memories from Noah’s head against his will, but the difference is in the context. It’s another case of Noah’s past actions coming to light and vilifying him, but in this instance, instead of someone scavenging through Noah’s head for information, Damien’s whammy informs and, more importantly, hurts the family member who sees it.

Also, it’s a chance for everyone to laugh at Young Noah’s hair and nerdy glasses and jacket. And to ridicule the whole “penniless-playwright-struggling-to-realize-his-dreams-while-trying-to-feed-his-family” cliché.

Beyond all of this, however, I have to issue enormous praise to Jack Coleman for undertaking what’s surely the greatest challenge of his career: attempting to pass himself off as a character in his mid-twenties.

Don’t make me do the math and prove it with screencaps, folks. We saw Noah’s driver’s license in “Distractions.” He was born in 1962. And hence, we know a flashback to 1985 involves a Noah who’s 23 years old. Not to put too fine a point on it, but Coleman is more than twice that age.

In all fairness, it’s preferable to putting a younger actor in a role that no one besides Coleman will ever be able to play. It also speaks to Coleman’s success that we can suspend our disbelief as easily as we do. Coleman’s boyish charm bolsters the material and allows him to credibly sell the part of the youthful romantic.

Much of it’s the smiling and laughing, which is such a freak occurrence for the character that I recall pointing out how odd it seemed earlier in the season.

Sherri Saum does a solid job playing opposite Coleman, and although the focus throughout is more on Noah’s reaction to Kate’s death than either Kate herself or Noah’s relationship with her, the actress plays the character with likeable cheer and vivacity. If nothing else, I’ll ship the Koah long before I go anywhere near the Troah or the Lauroah.

Part of the success of this flashback is also the way Noah seems like he doesn’t have a care in the world, even though you know he’s worried about paying the rent and wondering if he’s going to be selling used cars for the rest of his life. Coleman plays Young Noah as carefree, at least to the extent that, for once, he’s not carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and frantically trying to save Claire from the latest apocalypse.

But I think the real reason we’re willing to suspend our disbelief is because these flashbacks hint at the person Noah could have been if it weren’t for the superpowered drama; that there was a time when Noah didn’t actively choose to spend his life hunting supers. Ultimately, the twist works because it suggests that Noah’s life was on a different trajectory. As with Sylar in his dreamscape, there’s a different side to the character in these scenes. There’s a sense of hope and idealism that convey the exact opposite of what Noah represents in the present. There’s something so appealing about the premise that it trumps a guy in his 50s playing a 23-year-old who’s speechless when he learns he’s about to become a father. As ridiculous as parts of this flashback might be, the spin it puts on the character is fascinating to consider, and the way Coleman plays the part is such that I found it almost easy to suspend my disbelief.

The cut back to the hall of mirrors in the present shows Noah looking like he doesn’t know how to articulate what he’s feeling — only that he realizes the magnitude of the secret that’s come to light. Claire looks shocked, sad and hurt, but never angry, which is a testament to Hayden’s success in capturing precisely the right emotions, and to the distance the character has come, because you just know that this time last year she would have been storming off.

Noah implores Samuel to let Claire go, Samuel zeroes in on Noah’s fear of what’s about to be revealed, and Samuel’s expression…

… is one of a guy who’s getting perverse satisfaction out of watching another man suffer. It could be that he wants to punish the guy who was willing to shoot supers, it could be that he’s intent on winning Claire’s loyalty by making Noah look like a monster, or it could just be that he enjoys destabilizing emotional bonds.

We get a flashback in which Noah and Kate are assaulted by a super posing as a delivery man, and I have to say right now that among all the details I found to complain about in these flashbacks — Noah looking much older than 23, another super-map that leaves Chandra looking dumber than ever, Noah’s relationship to Sandra being undermined — the idea of a TK-powered thief is by far the most ludicrous.

Kate gets TK-flung onto a coffee table and impaled, the mugger flees, and Noah is left to mourn the death of Wife #1.

On a creative level, it’s a scene that’s heartbreaking to watch, even when we’ve barely had a chance to grasp a part of Noah’s history we never knew about, and even when we barely knew the individual Noah’s mourning.

On a visual level, it’s also astounding to see how much Arkush captures in one shot. You enjoy it for what it is — exceptional directing — but it’s the kind of shot that makes you wonder whether NBC realizes what it sacrificed when it dissolved Arkush’s permanent role on the show. Frame by frame, everything about this episode was cinematic, and more importantly, everything about it supported the characters and the narrative. The only downside is this episode makes many directorial efforts this season look workmanlike at best and amateurish at worst.

The amazing part is the deeper you dig, the more brilliance you find.

The set looks a lot like a redressed version of the rooftop Sylathan threw himself off, and even if it’s not an intentional detail within the narrative, there’s something significant about the choice of location. The way it’s blocked out, with Sylar casually perched and Peter balancing on the ledge, it conveys the dynamic between them; Sylar as the guy who’s been forced to accept his fate and become comfortable with his solitude, Peter as the one who’s ready to flip out.

Peter: “You need to stop messing around and focus.”

Sylar: “Oh. Focus. Right. ‘Cause we gotta get outta here so we can go rescue… what’s her name, again?”

It would be funny on its own for the way it showed Sylar antagonizing Peter for kicks. When you see the reaction it gets, though…

One interesting detail is that Sylar reacts to pain, which raises the question of whether Sylar has any of his abilities inside his dreamscape. You’d think Matt would have been smart enough to remove all of them when he trapped Sylar in here, but if Sylar can’t regenerate, is there really anything stopping him from hurling himself over a ledge and ending his misery?

Sylar: “Maybe I deserve all this aloneness. This nothing. Maybe I earned it.”

What’s remarkable about these dreamscape scenes is the way they’re edited. Besides the rapid cuts that reinforce how meaningless time is here, there’s a minimalist quality to them, particularly when it comes to the sets, the costumes and the music, the last of which amounts to an eerie sound effect. The advantage becomes clear when we get a moment like this, when Sylar gets a chance to express his sadness without interference from emotive strings and piano keys. For once, he has nothing to gain from feigned sadness. There’s no one for him to trick into offering sympathy besides Peter, and there’s no reason for him to want Peter’s forgiveness other than to earn forgiveness for its own sake.

Which is why, against all odds and after a season of irredeemable atrocities, Sylar finds himself in a position to earn our sympathy.

It goes without saying that Quinto’s performance is affecting, but that’s only half of what makes this twist effective. The other half is the way the character is written. As unhinged as Sylar is, he’s free of the contrived trappings he was saddled with in the show’s “actual” reality. He’s under no obligation to go in search of a long-lost family member or uncover some obscure buried truth or concoct a convoluted reason for revenge. He’s been robbed of a reason to exist, and bizarrely, that’s exactly how his existence on the show justifies itself. Instead of an adversary whose villainy had long since been exhausted, we get a glimpse of a human being with a monstrous past, who’s spent years in solitude without anything except literature to distract him, and who’s been forced to reflect on what he’s done and to realize the extent of the horror he’s been responsible for. When he says he doesn’t think he deserves to escape this mental hell, we can believe he means it. It doesn’t earn him forgiveness — from either Peter or the audience — but it provides him with a legitimate way to earn our sympathy. The fact that he doesn’t think he deserves to be freed is ultimately what earns him his redemption. His self-awareness makes us believe that he really might deserve it.

All of which might — and probably will — be undone the next time Sylar has another parental issue or identity crisis. But after half a volume spent retreading the same ground the character covered at one point or another over several seasons, it’s surprising and delightful to witness a step forward for him: a step that in no way attempts to sidestep Sylar’s villainy, but instead provides a plausible scenario in which he can acknowledge his villainy and try to atone for it.

On the other hand, if oblique symbolism is a requisite part of Sylar’s attempt to overcome the barriers to redemption…

… this probably isn’t the subtlest way to visualize it. It is a suitably imposing version of Matt’s basement hobby, however, and when it segues into an aerial shot over the empty city…

… you’re again left in awe of the vision Arkush brought to this episode. When the homemade basement wall becomes a monolithic entity that stretches across town, the symbolism takes on its own symbolism. It’s a sign that the show has rediscovered the epic scale of storytelling it achieved in the first and fourth volumes.

Lauren wanders into the carnival looking for medical aid. It’s possible that everyone at the carnival recognizes her and pretends not to recognize her so she can maintain her cover and relay what she knows to Sa-

Ah, forget it. This nixes my Lauren’s-a-carnival-spy theory, doesn’t it? Damn you, show.

Emma wearing her hair down? Again, such a minute detail that you might only notice it on a subconscious level, but it says something about the way the character believes she’s found her true calling.

One curious detail about this scene is it’s shot with conventional camera angles instead of the hallmark tilted angle that’s been used for carnival scenes throughout the volume. It could be that Lauren’s role as an outsider breaks the illusion, or that the carnival is in such a state of flux that at this point the outside world is bleeding into the carnival. Whichever interpretation you choose, it’s evidence of direction and photography supporting the story.

Claire realizes that Kate’s death drove Noah to become The Company’s golden boy, and although it’s intriguing to learn the circumstances leading up to it, I got to the end of the episode wondering how much more could still be said: about Noah’s unwillingness to adopt Claire, about his reluctance to grow attached to her, and above all about Noah’s fear that his adopted daughter would one day telekinetically impale his second wife on the stand to a broken coffee table. As with Sylar’s prolonged period of isolation, it’s sad that we don’t get to see more of it on-screen, but it’s also wonderful that the show is once again crafting a story that’s as thought-provoking as this.

The HRG map… which makes HRG look like a genius and Chandra more superfluous than ever. It was bad enough when we found out that Chandra was cribbing his own research without realizing it, but the implication here is you don’t even need those fancy medical qualifications and human-genome-tracking algorithms and years of advanced expertise. Apparently, if you’re shrewd enough and keep a close enough eye on weird occurrences in newspapers, you can track supers every bit as effectively and without ever having to suffer mass ridicule from your peers.

Not trying to devalue Noah’s ingenuity here. Just saying, poor Papa Suresh.

The neat part about the performance is Coleman channels the cold, calculating aspect of the character he plays in the present. You don’t ever doubt the transformation from romantic idealist to heartless vigilante, but there’s something tragic to the subtext; the idea that Noah was effectively pulled into the world of superpowered crises through suffering.

Neat moment, if only because it shows us the Adventures of Young Evil Trenchcoat Guy.

I’m sorry to go back to this, people, but come on — look at that map. When you think back on the way Noah flew to India to analyze Chandra’s map, you have to wonder why he didn’t point at it and laugh, like, “Geez, what a joke! I was doing this 15 years ago!”

Noah tracks down and shoots some random schlub with an ability to produce seismic bursts. It’s never made clear whether this guy even knew Kate’s killer, let alone whether he was involved in the incident. What’s emphasized with clarity and grace, however, is the effect this encounter has on Noah.

Coleman plays the moment for all it’s worth: we get a sense of Noah’s shock and disbelief, but it’s over what he’s seen as much as over what he’s done, and judging from the previews to the volume finale, it’s a hint at what will follow if the superpowered population makes itself known to the rest of the world. We see Noah shooting a random super in self-defense, but that’s after Noah holds him at gunpoint, tells him he isn’t normal and associates him to Kate’s killer without any evidence. If Samuel does make the carnival’s existence known to the world, there’ll be lots of incidents under the same circumstances: a misunderstanding, a few frayed nerves and a light trigger. And although not everyone will track supers with a vendetta, chances are they’ll approach every super with a similar perspective as Noah — an instinctive distrust and a “you’re-all-the-same” preconception. Which, in the end, is likely to lead to the kind of mass persecution we saw in “Five Years Gone.”

Which takes the volume’s already bleak outlook and adds an even darker shade of pessimism. The tragic part is if this were to happen, this is probably how it would happen.

Welcome back, Eric Roberts!

It’s telling that no one in Make-Up seems too concerned with making him look 23. Perhaps Thompson’s just too cool for that, just as he’s too cool to buy a car from Badass-Salesman Noah. There is something faintly reassuring about that, however, because the impression this scene was creating until Thompson showed up was that watching your wife die and shooting an innocent guy in revenge turns you into a favorably hard-nosed businessman.

What’s also interesting is that The Company recruits Noah based on his ruthlessness. It could be that this anonymous repairman was using his ability to smash windows and threaten old ladies, but there’s something tragic about this situation when you put it in its broader context. When you recall how, in “1961,” Young Angela described a company that would “protect people like us,” it’s sad to see how they resorted to recruiting agents based on a talent for hunting and killing supers. It’s also ironic that Thompson manipulates Noah’s anger and hostility in the same way that Samuel’s now manipulating the collective anger and hostility within the carnival.

Thompson: “Seventeen cases. Three deaths. All attributed to you.”

Dialogue worth noting, because it suggests that Lauren’s criticism in “Let It Bleed” — that Noah was allowing himself to become emotional while interrogating Edgar — was part of an ongoing issue: that Noah constantly had to assert his calculating and level-headed personality in order to rein in his belligerent and trigger-happy streak.

Until he met Wife #2, whose purpose, it turns out, was To Make HRG A Better Agent.

The problem with this is it’s hard to pinpoint the problem. Part of it’s the idea that, as Claire points out, The Company effectively “arranged” Noah and Sandra’s marriage. The show’s reason for why we’re meant to be outraged struck me as only part of the reason, though. The other part is it devalues Sandra. It makes her look like a gullible fool who fell in love with a man and never realized that his motive for hooking up with her was, “Well, the boss told me it would make me better at my job.”

Between the dog obsession and the years that went by before she had any inkling of Noah’s real job, it’s not as if Sandra has ever been portrayed as especially astute. But even when she and Noah adopted Claire, the implication was Sandra knew Noah was hiding something and kept quiet because, despite the secrecy, they were in love.

This twist in the story undermines that. “I chose your mother because I loved her,” insists Noah. It rings false because we’ve just seen how Claire’s mother was chosen for him. The choosing part is the half of the issue that’s acknowledged by Claire, but it’s the never even realizing she was chosen part that grated with me. It suggests that Noah’s relationship with Sandra was built on lies from the start, and it shatters our perception of a married couple who, in spite of the secrets that drove them apart, had fallen in love without needing secrets to bring them together in the first place.

Claire rightfully gives Noah the Look of Indignation, although it’s telling that, the way it’s shot, she’s issuing that look to the glasses rather than to the man.

The reveal that Noah likes to sit in girls’ dorm rooms with the light turned off is something that doesn’t particularly surprise me. At this point, given Noah’s track record of watching couples have sex and skulking around sorority girls’ bedrooms, I’m not sure anything could make him more creepy.

And to think he had the nerve to berate Claude for doing stuff like this while invisible.

Gretchen is as disturbed as we are, albeit for different reasons. It seems this is the reason for the spontaneous moral stance Gretchen took last week. I hope it’s not the only reason, because it helped to define Gretchen as more than a walking plot device.

Gretchen: “I want her to be happy.”

Noah: “She is happy. With you, here, in college, living a normal life.”

Gretchen: “But that’s not enough for her.”

Great dialogue, because it underlines everything that Claire’s arc over the course of the volume has illustrated. The heartbreaking part is the way Madeline Zima delivers the last line with such simplicity; you can hear her accepting that a normal life isn’t enough for Claire, but also that, on some level, Gretchen’s not enough for Claire.

We return to Sylar’s dreamscape, where Sylar has delegated sledgehammer duty to Peter and presumably returned to the mountain of literature stacked around his apartment.

Do Peter and Sylar win Dumb As Hiro Awards for sledgehammering a wall that shows no sign of eroding? You’d think they would have realized it was futile and tried a different approach; finding some rope and making a grappling hook, for example, or climbing out of the window of an adjacent building, or perhaps just getting a ladder. But then, if the attempt to climb over only ended with them finding themselves standing in front of it the moment they tried, perhaps we’re supposed to assume they did try and discovered that sledgehammering an impenetrable wall was as effective a method as any.

Sylar: “I know that look. You have it all the time.”

Peter: “What look?”

Sylar: “Like when Howie Kaplan beat you in the 50 yard dash and you and I ran to school every morning and kept training and kept it up, right?”

Sylar: “Look, Peter, I know that I’ve said it before, but… I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I killed him. I’m sorry that I took him from you, I’m…”

Looking at it objectively, it’s laughable. When you consider the horror that Sylar’s responsible for, the notion of him apologizing and giving it even a shred of meaning would be remote. And that’s even if Quinto were delivering his finest performance of the series…

… which, this week, he probably does.

This actually works.

You could point to a number of factors, from Quinto’s performance to the script to the minimalist set-up, but in the end the success lies in the premise: the idea that somewhere inside Sylar is a piece of Nathan, that being stuck with Peter tapped into his remorse, and that several years was enough to rekindle something resembling Sylar’s humanity.

Peter doesn’t fall for it for a second, and it’s not as if we’re meant to either. But to the show’s credit, this episode succeeds in making the prospect of Sylar’s attempt at redemption plausible.

This worked for me, and that’s saying a lot considering I hated the ending to last season’s finale, that I’ve never found Sylar particularly sympathetic and that I firmly believe his character arc ran out of steam sometime in the previous season. This episode achieves the seemingly impossible. It asks us to buy into the idea that the bulk of Sylar’s suffering takes place off-screen, but the way the character’s remorse is written and portrayed, it’s a request I’m more inclined to grant than I would have been at any other point in the show’s run. The writing — coupled with Quinto’s performance — is enough to make the character’s transformation believable. It’s crafted in such careful, progressive stages that, instead of just seeming like another layer of muddled ambiguity, it feels like a genuine attempt to move Sylar’s storyline forward.

We cut to Lauren chiding Samuel. It’s a scene that becomes unintentionally humorous when Lauren tells Samuel that, despite his lofty goal to “take what’s rightfully [theirs],” he doesn’t have the right to “take” anything. As amusing as this is after Lauren “took” medical supplies from the carnival’s dispensary, there’s also something saddening about the way Lauren finds herself tasked with representing both The Company and the non-superpowered population. In an episode that explores Noah’s initial motives for joining The Company, it’s saddening that we have no idea what’s driving Lauren. We don’t know if she was the kind of agent who always wanted to find a peaceful solution, or the kind who thought every super should be captured, vivisected and locked in a cell, or if she joined The Company just to collect the paychecks and fawn over Noah.

Samuel: “We deserve admiration. Respect.”

If it weren’t for Samuel’s madman delivery, it probably wouldn’t seem like such a deranged request. But the way Knepper delivers the line, it comes with a hint of totalitarianism; of a world where the community that was granted evolutionary advantages has the right to quash the less genetically blessed.

Samuel: “What would you have me do? Continue with this life? Live in a carnival?”

Again, the brilliance is in the delivery as much as the dialogue. When Knepper gets to the end of that snippet, he delivers “carnival” with such distaste that you wonder how long he’s hated his home, and how hard it’s been for him to force a smile and pretend he wasn’t longing for something more.

Lauren: “Why not? You’ve lived here happily for years.”

Samuel: “Wasted years. Unfulfilled years. I could’ve been so much more.”

Out of context, it’s evidence of a guy who just wants to be the best he can be. In context, it’s the dialogue of a lunatic with an insatiable hunger for power, and it’s delivered with such quiet, terrifying menace…

… and such a civilized and rational demeanor.

Samuel deftly moves from menacing Lauren to spurring on Eli to apologizing to Claire. It’s a credit to Knepper that he moves between these facets of the character with such grace that it still seems like the same character, but it’s also remarkable that Claire now deflects the focus off herself and Noah and back onto Samuel, forcing him to explain why he’s so desperate to prove that Noah is a villain.

Samuel: “Maybe he didn’t pull the trigger last night, but does that negate all the times that he has? Your father to this day lies to you, deceives even you — his darling daughter — because he can’t trust any of us.”

Great dialogue, because as always there’s a grain of truth behind Samuel’s warped logic. It’s hard to argue with the misanthropy, but perhaps more importantly, it’s hard not to see how Noah looks from Samuel’s perspective: a guy who joined an organization that took it upon itself to hunt and capture people with abilities, to arbitrarily police the superpowered population and to decide which ones were dangerous, which ones needed to be eliminated and which ones didn’t have the right to exist without fear of persecution.

Ironically, these are the same decisions Samuel’s now making on behalf of the carnival.

Samuel describes what a joy it was for him to witness Lauren’s terror as he laid out his Nefarious Masterplan, and although the plan to move the carnival to Central Park in an awe-inspiring spectacle is villainous, what’s remarkable about the moment is the way Samuel revels in the thought of inspiring terror. It removes the final traces of moral ambiguity and cements Samuel as one of the show’s most spectacular villains.

Samuel’s motive for wanting Claire to be part of the carnival finally comes to light:

Samuel: “Claire, you will inherit this new world. It’s your legacy. And you will remind them what I’ve done long after I’ve gone.”

It’s a defining moment for the character, and one that adds to his lunacy, because you realize he was trying to immortalize himself through Claire. It’s hard to imagine Claire rallying a community around her with quite the same panache, but in principle it’s as effective a way as any for Samuel to ensure that his ideology survives as long as Claire does.

The one thing dragging this scene down? The disappearing blood.

There’s at least one continuity supervisor who did not earn their wage this week.

We return one last time to Sylar’s dreamscape, where Peter brings Sylar a gift. And as despicable as the villain has been for the majority of the show’s run, and as unforgivable as he’s been since killing Nathan, and as disgusting as his advances towards Claire have been…

… I defy anyone not to say “aw” when we see that look of surprise.

Peter: “I appreciate you being patient with me. Keeping me sane.”

Nicely delivered by Milo, if only because, the way he struggles to get the words out…

… it’s as if he’s trying to thank the guy who murdered his brother for being a good friend to him. Which, when you think about it, is pretty much what he is saying, and which is about as screwed up as it’s possible to be.

Should the show be praised for that? It deserves praise for not screwing up its attempt to create the most screwed-up situation it could possibly devise, but does that deserve praise? In a roundabout way, I believe it does.

Sylar thanks Peter and looks like he’s about to start bawling. What would usually be nausea-inducing is somehow discomfortingly… moving. Within the context of the story, you can believe it’s a sincere thank you, and that it’s a human, gut reaction from a guy who never believed anyone would thank him for anything again.

Sylar: “We’ve been here for I don’t know how many years. Together. I’ve changed. I’ve repented. I’m never gonna hurt anyone ever again.”

They’re empty words insofar as they’re based on a repentance that took place off-screen. They’re also meaningless until Sylar finds himself in a situation where there’s a temptation to go back to becoming Mr. Scalp-Slicing Psychokiller. But the way Quinto sells this dialogue when he tells Peter he’s “not that guy anymore”…

… it’s a very, very believable sell. And the way Peter looks back at Sylar when he agrees he’s not…

… it’s hard to doubt that even if we don’t believe Sylar’s a changed man, Peter definitely does. And for once, that doesn’t make him dumb or gullible or naively trusting so much as willing to concede what this episode achieved — turning a mass-murderer, Nathan’s murderer and Claire’s would-be rapist into a guy who’s dangerously close to earning his forgiveness.

Re-reading that last line, I realize how absurd it is. Which is a testament to how astonishing a leap this episode took, and how much credit the show deserves for making it even remotely plausible.

Peter discovers that the wall is willing to let itself be broken through, he and Sylar see the light…

… and apparently the Petlar transcends the Matt-whammied dreamscape and survives into the real world. Let the fanfic begin!

Was this intended to represent a threat to the Petlar? Surely all Peter needs to do is Parkman-whammy the clones into taking the day off, and failing that, all Sylar needs to do is Ellectrocute the lot of them.

Perhaps this will be Sylar’s first challenge in the real world: resisting the temptation to Ellectrocute the Eli clones.

The episode concludes with Claire and Noah buried in a trailer 40 feet below ground. The episode itself, on the other hand, elevates the season to new heights. It’s evidence of the show achieving a last-minute surge in creativity, infusing its characters with new material and propelling their arcs forward with developments that are compelling, surprising and intensely thought-provoking.

It’s a pleasure to see Arkush back on the show, and although one can only imagine what it must have been like to direct an episode after a year away, the episode is by far the most visually stunning all season, showcasing how effectively the images of an episode can tell a story of their own and how much the actors can achieve under the right director.

The extent of Samuel’s villainy finally comes to light, and Knepper portrays it with more flair and charisma than he’s demonstrated throughout the season. Coleman gives a winning performance as the guy who was dragged into a life he never wanted, making the character both more admirable and more pitiable than ever. And Quinto delivers what’s perhaps his finest performance of the show’s run, achieving the impossible by turning the show’s irredeemable villain into a character whose appeal for forgiveness is both believable and affecting.

If this turns out to be the show’s penultimate episode, it seems fitting that it’s one of the strongest.

5 out of 5

Noah and Lauren plan a raid on the carnival. Claire tries to persuade Samuel to surrender, but Samuel uses the situation to his advantage by assigning Eli to gun down everyone at the carnival and making it look like Noah is the shooter. This gives Samuel an opportunity to take charge when chaos ensues, and after Lydia bleeds to death, Samuel fuels the carnival’s hatred towards the outside world and tells them it’s time to reveal what they’re capable of.

So, it seems the general trend each season is to make the seventeenth episode one of the season’s best.

Yes, I know people will contend that. For one thing, not everyone bought into what the show was trying to do with “Cold Wars” last season. For another, it’s hard to say whether the second season’s seventeenth episode would have been awesome. And for another, not everyone will be willing to look past the issues dragging this episode down and agree that this one is awesome.

I’m not blind to those issues. They’re there, and for the benefit of fans who thought those issues were critical, I am going to tear into those issues as mercilessly as ever. Certain details are glossed over, others are ignored, and then there are the usual plot devices we’ve grown accustomed to. And by that, I do mean the Magik Compasses and the Magik Blood and the Prophetic Dreams That Signpost Where The Plot Needs To Go.

But where it counts, just like the seventeenth episode in previous seasons — even the debatable and non-existent ones — this episode works. It explores the volume’s central themes, it develops the character arcs, it advances the plot, and it achieves all of these with an elegance and momentum that’s been rare this season.

Also, Lauren gets shot. Any episode with that immediately earns bonus points from me.

The episode opens with Samuel making his way through the carnival, an opening rendered remarkable by the fact that he trades his confident swagger for an enfeebled trudge. The nervous looks from the carnival folk and the discordant piano tell us this is Very Unusual, but it’s Samuel’s wary, hunched-over, head-lowered-in-shame posture that tell us how far the character has fallen. It tells us that Samuel is overcome with guilt after leveling a town… or at least that he wants to look like he’s overcome with guilt. That’s where the brilliance of the script already begins to shine through, but if nothing else, the opening sets the scene for the rest of the story thread, establishing that although the carnival is discerning enough to recognize when its leader is a maniac, it’s also pliable enough to be worshipping him again by the end of the episode.

Samuel’s observation that Lydia has become “the empath to replace Joseph” seemed like an odd line. You could argue that with Samuel dethroned, his plan to bring Peter to the carnival had collapsed. The problem is Samuel approached Peter as a replacement for Joseph 14 episodes ago. If he only gave up on Peter now, you have to wonder what kept him waiting the rest of that time.

Lydia: “Nobody respects you anymore.”

Samuel: “Then I’m gonna win it back. I love them. I need them. And I’ll do whatever I have to to prove my worth.”

In the mouth of a villain, it’s dialogue that’s already potent with maniacal implications.

What makes it memorable is Knepper’s ferocious conviction, which evokes precisely the cult leader who can manipulate a community when it serves his interests.

Doyle, it seems, will be Samuel’s most stalwart supporter up until the end — which, if you’re passionate enough to watch this episode frame-by-frame, is a detail that emerges during Peter’s precognitive nightmare.

The gist seems to be that Emma’s frantic cello performance will be driven by Doyle’s puppeteering, that it’ll involve lots and lots of blood…

… and that it’ll be committed to film with the kind of precision that exceeds even this show’s usual cinematic flair. This may or may not be the footage the show uses for the finale, but if it is, I’m not sure who to credit for the striking visual style. If it was shot for this episode, Goodman and SJ Clarkson get the nod. If it’s footage from the finale, I guess the DOP and director for that episode deserve it. Whoever came up with this morbidly beautiful shot of the blood trickling down the cello strings, it’s a testament to their brilliance that one needs to submit the episode to frame-by-frame scrutiny in order to appreciate its details.

The other key detail in this flash of images is whether Sylar really is there to save Emma.

The fact that Doyle is focusing at least part of his effort on someone other than Emma suggests he’s puppeteering Sylar. Sylar’s look of anxiety would seem to support this, although another clip shows Sylar with an outstretched arm, which suggests that he’s TK’ing someone or something in the scene. If Sylar does recover his abilities before the finale, however, it’s difficult to explain why Doyle can control him now when we’ve already seen Sylar break through Doyle’s ability before.

Matt returns home with an armful of groceries, gets a witty one-liner from Sylar about “making two trips,” and elicits a maniacal laugh when he wonders whether Sylar is back to his ghost state.

Sylar: “That’s so two-months-ago. Here, lemme give you a hand.”

Funny, if an unintentional self-parody. I guess, from the writers’ perspective, this is evidence of the enormous creative ground the character has covered since the first half of the volume. In reality, it seems more like an admission that Sylar arbitrarily trades one villainous scheme for another from week to week. Hilariously, Sylar looks like he has to think extremely hard when Matt asks him what he wants. If you’re willing to cut the show some slack, this is because Sylar’s a deeply contemplative villain. If you’re cynical, it’s because even Sylar is struggling to keep track of what his latest nefarious scheme is.

All of that said, I have to acknowledge right now that this episode largely redeems the character’s arc in my eyes. It by no means redeems the character, but that’s precisely the point: the dialogue, performances and direction steer clear of the muddled ambiguity that ruined portions of last week’s episode, and what we see this week isn’t so much a redemptive arc as it is a damning one. Which, in the context of Sylar’s extensive list of atrocities, is exactly the way it should be.

Janice shows up sans Baby Matt, who, it’s established, is at day care. The reason why Baby Matt remains absent well into the evening is never provided, although given the sinister turn the plot takes, it’s probably for the best that the show avoids complaints about psychokillers threatening babies. One has to wonder whether the kid’s absence is a convenient coincidence, but the really remarkable coincidence is Sylar getting a chance to react to Janice’s hair.

OK, so maybe what he’s really thinking is “Boy, I’d love to rip that scalp open.” But she doesn’t even have an ability! Was Sylar so desperate to get back to his TK-slicing that he couldn’t keep his eyes off Janice’s scalp? Or is it just that his attention wandered because Janice really is that dull? Whichever it is, focus, Sylar.

One of the many great things about this episode is the way the previously-dull-and-one-dimensional-to-the-point-of-being-a-cardboard-cutout characters are suddenly imbued with depth and personality. Gretchen is the best example of this, trading in the role of the Supportive Best (Girl)Friend and suddenly taking a stance on Sylar, the carnival and Noah’s hunt for Samuel.

The hand-holding is the key detail here, because the moment Claire mentions the carnival…

… Gretchen pulls away. It’s a moment that helps to define who Gretchen is. It’s evidence of a reflexive reaction to something she feels strongly about, and unless you count her crush on Claire or her abrupt departure (followed by her equally abrupt return) earlier this season, this is the first time Gretchen has felt strongly about anything. It’s a pleasure to watch because it provides plausible conflict between Gretchen and Claire, but also because Madeline Zima brings as much authenticity to Gretchen’s resentment as she does to her affection.

Claire walks away from the car, and the camera…

… lingers on Gretchen. And as insignificant as this might seem, the way the camera rests on Gretchen speaks volumes about her importance to the story. It goes without saying that Gretchen has gone from an annoying (and possibly demonic) roommate to a likeable companion for Claire, but what’s momentous about this one, lingering shot is the dignity it affords the character. It says that Gretchen is worth that shot; that she’s enough of a personality and feels strongly enough about the situation to deserve that focus when Claire walks away.

The gist is that Noah was collecting a sniper gun from his storage unit when Claire visited him. This is an example of the plot functioning with just a little speculation on our part. I wish, however, that some kind of explanation could have been provided to establish how Noah and Lauren reached the carnival. Mohinder reiterated last week that the Magik Compass “would only work in the hands of one of us.” In the absence of Hiro and Ando (at the hospital) and Mohinder (rescuing his passive-aggressive ex from shady agents in the graphic novels), it’s not clear how Noah and Lauren managed to plot a map to the carnival and to set up a lookout on a nearby hilltop. Presumably someone helped them to gain access to the carnival’s impenetrable force field, but whether that’s down to another super is surely one of the episode’s critical plot points. There are niggling details like whether Noah really has the components in his apartment to build a Magik Compass in the first place, but this is more than just a hazy logistical detail. It was a crucial part of the plot two weeks ago, and this week it’s deftly avoided.

In a moment of amusing self-awareness, the show addresses Lauren and Noah’s relationship when Claire directly asks her why she’s there.

Lauren: “Oh, um… Your father and I are…”

There’s something remarkable about this scene. Unlike the scene at Peter’s apartment in “Thanksgiving,” Sylar isn’t just eating for the sake of taunting his company. He’s actually sampling the experience and trying to prove to himself that he can be something besides a serial-killing freak. The neat part about this scene is it remains faithful to the character. It reinforces that a lunch-eating, conversation-making Sylar is very much out of place, and by that turn it’s a development that never seems out of place. As much as Sylar’s deranged whim might lead him to want a normal life, this episode never once tries to fudge the notion that he might actually get it — or, more relevantly, deserve it.

That said, it’s hard to deny the appeal of Quinto’s comic timing when Matt offers “Gabe” a mock-affectionate pinch on the shoulders…

… and Sylar looks like he’s about to collapse under the strain. Even more entertaining is the endearing look of uncertainty “Gabe” gives Matt as he’s heading towards the door to the basement, as if he’s not even sure he’s found the right door. Tiny nuances, but they help to convey that, if it weren’t for Sylar’s psychosis, he might very easily slip back into the quirky, neurotic nerd that Gabriel used to be.

Sylar: “I had to make sure I remembered it right. Husband, and father… You’ve really figured out a way to live with your ability.”

It’s the first of several instances this week that, well written as they are, seem like oversimplifications. Given that Matt very recently scrawled death threats on a napkin and reached for a weapon to resist arrest, it’s not as if Matt should even have this life anymore. That’s as much of an ongoing criticism as it is an episode-specific criticism, and although I’ve made it before, it’s as relevant now as it’s ever been. Significant portions of Matt’s backstory have been ignored, and when someone like Sylar shows up and marvels at how delightful Matt’s straightforward family life is, it rubs salt in the wound that is internal continuity. Even if Matt hasn’t become the center of a media circus after he tried to blow up Capitol Hill, the reason for Matt’s separation from Janice in the first place remains unaddressed, the issue of their son’s ability and what it will mean to him throughout childhood remains unaddressed, and the many reasons Matt has to hide at home all day — chief of these being a fear of rampantly using his ability — remains unaddressed.

Put simply, to say that Matt has figured out a way to live with his ability is untrue, and while no one can fault Sylar for seeing it that way, it seems like the show wants us to see it that way. Which we would, if we hadn’t seen three-and-a-half years of material telling us otherwise.

The flipside is the way the show this week handles Sylar’s attempt to redeem himself. Sylar claims that he doesn’t want to be That Person anymore, and Matt’s deadpan “Oh” is so unconvincing that he’s practically voicing our own skepticism. There’s a level of self-awareness underpinning the scene…

… not least when Sylar freely admits that he’s insane. And although that kind of self-awareness pulls us out of the narrative, it also feels like an attempt to streamline an often convoluted character arc. It goes back to the original character who discovered he could be the most special of all; a guy who was rotten at the core to begin with, but who now wants to believe that if the temptation to steal abilities is removed, the psychosis will vanish with it.

Which apparently isn’t a theory we’re expected to buy at all, because Matt gets the line of the night when he points out that Sylar’s Ship of Redemption “sailed about 50 murders ago.” While neither Matt nor the audience believe that Sylar can go back to being Gabriel, Sylar apparently does.

Is it inconsistent? Very much. It goes against what little logic accompanied The Hunger and implies that anyone with multiple abilities — even an individual as good-natured as Peter — will inevitably be corrupted by the abundance of power. But in the process, this simplification removes all of the botched ambiguity about whether Sylar might really be a good person in spite of his murderous tendencies. As extreme as Matt’s actions at the end of this episode are, we’re not especially tempted to argue that he’s wrong, and we’re not especially inclined to argue that Sylar was only acting out of ability-induced insanity.

All of which comes back to the original point — that Sylar believes he’s being driven insane by his abilities, and that removing them will restore his sanity and his humanity. It’s hard to see a motive when Sylar’s singular objective throughout the series has been enhancing his sense of worth by usurping other people’s abilities. But if you buy into the idea that Sylar believes he’ll feel even more special by forming lasting relationships, this development somehow seems in-character.

Peter visits Angela and learns that his mom can’t decide on the wording for Nathan’s headstone. It’s one of the most ephemeral scenes of the episode, and in a way one of the most poignant, particularly when Peter pries Angela’s pen from her fingers and holds her hand to reassure her.

Angela: “Maybe it was selfish of me, Peter, but I just needed to see you. I needed to be sure you were OK.”

Peter: “Because of your vision? I had the dream too, Mom. I saw all the people. And Sylar. I think he was trying to help Emma.”

It’s a moment that serves a dual purpose. It sets up Peter’s desperation to explore every avenue that might help him save Emma. At the same time, it establishes Angela’s emotional fragility after losing one son and facing the prospect of losing another. Angela’s honesty when she tells Peter she needed to see him seems rare and surprising for the character, and it suggests that grief lowers her ability to deceive. For once, Angela makes no attempt to misdirect Peter. The implication is that Angela is beyond the ability to manipulate Peter; or, if not unable, at least unwilling. In an episode punctuated by ubiquitous deception, Angela emerges as the most surprisingly forthright character.

Angela: “Whatever this vision is, Peter, remember this: one isolated act of kindness does not make Sylar your friend’s savior.”

Great dialogue, and the way she replaces Nathan’s picture on the table so tentatively, we know exactly why she feels that way.

Curiously, this suggests a change of heart, because we’ve seen Angela try to manipulate Sylar’s killer instinct. It could be that Angela stopped believing in the capacity to change someone’s nature — probably as a direct result of her experience with Sylar. Or you could argue that Nathan’s death made Sylar so monstrous in her eyes that, even if she does believe people are capable of change, Sylar’s just too far gone to be considered a person. Whichever it is, this scene goes some way to explaining why Angela was so hostile to Emma in “Close to You.” Part of it comes down to Emma’s association with a massacre, but you could equally argue that Angela resents the way Emma indirectly makes Sylar look like a hero. By saving Emma, Sylar effectively demonstrates that he’s capable of nobility. And even though we’ve seen that same nobility in bizarre alternate timelines, the fact that Emma is associated with Sylar’s nobility is enough to garner Angela’s resentment. It’s not fair to Emma because it’s not as if she asked to be saved by Sylar, but it’s understandable that Angela would hate anyone connected with an event that redeems her son’s murderer.

Peter’s reaction is almost the opposite, because where Angela refuses to believe that Sylar can be involved in rescuing Emma, Peter is now apparently convinced that it can’t happen any other way. Again, you could interpret this as consistent with the backstory. Given the way Peter dreamed he’d explode and then eventually did, it’s understandable that he’d assume his latest dream was equally immutable.

The problem is that’s not the way Peter has been portrayed since then. He’s not the guy who accepts that the future can’t be changed — he’s the guy who fights to make the future whatever anyone wants it to be. By accepting that Sylar saves Emma, Peter’s not just accepting that he needs to work with his brother’s killer; he’s adopting a fatalistic stance and assuming that whatever he’s seen — and as open to interpretation as it might be — it’s pointless to look for another solution. It seems inconsistent with the guy who was smashing cellos two weeks ago in an attempt to defy his dream, and if it’s simply a case of Peter giving up on other options — those options being to use his Magik Tattoo to visit the carnival and preventing the dream from occurring himself — there needed to be a smoother transition. As it stands, it feels like an about-turn.

All of that said, let’s come back to the pretty:

Gorgeously shot. I have no idea when Angela switched from Petrelli Mansion to Petrelli Apartment, but that one shot captures everything that’s both heartwarming and tragic about the Petrelli saga. The cold loneliness of Angela’s world, the memories from the pictures she surrounds herself with, and the one remaining family member she’s now terrified of losing.

Claire tells Gretchen about Noah’s impending attack on the carnival, and Gretchen once again surprises me by all but rolling her eyes and telling Claire to shut up.

Claire: “Well, what do you think I should do?”

Gretchen: “Um, I don’t know, you’ve got a Humanities lecture in 20 minutes. Here’s a crazy idea — maybe you should go to class for once?”

I think Gretchen just won the admiration of Claire-haters all over the world. Who is this character? She’s awesome! She’s b**chy and heartless and insensitive and unsupportive, and I love it! It adds depth to the scenes between Claire and Gretchen, but more importantly it adds depth to Gretchen.

Claire: “I need to borrow your car.”

Gretchen: “No.”

?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

I’m absolutely certain that five episodes ago — or even two — Gretchen would not have said that.

Gretchen — marry me!

Gretchen: “You say you want a normal life, right? Just let your dad handle it.”

Claire can’t believe what she’s hearing. Frankly, neither can I.

By the look of it, neither can Gretchen.

I’m delighted, although I can’t decide whether this was meant to be funny, because “handle it” does seem like a convenient euphemism for “exterminate the lot of them to get to their maniacal leader.” But then, if that’s Gretchen’s way saying she’s basically OK with Noah inadvertently killing a bunch of people… Well, I’m twisted enough that I’ll gladly exchange the old, one-dimensional Gretchen for a clearly-defined (albeit morally reprehensible) Gretchen.

There’s something eerily similar to Matt’s decision two weeks ago, though, because Gretchen is more or less pleading with Claire to walk away, get on with her life and let the superpowered drama go on without her. What makes Gretchen’s rationale compelling, however, is that she’s in possession of as many facts as Claire and just interpreting them without the influence of Samuel’s persuasion. Where Claire sees the content superpowered community and the pretty valleys, Gretchen sees the calculated scheming and the moral laxity. The great thing is both characters are right, and hence the conflict feels plausible.

Noah returns to his apartment, discovers that Claire came and went and berates Lauren for letting her go.

Lauren: “What was I supposed to do, drag her back by her hair and lock her in your closet?”

Noah: [Priceless expression that says "YES! OF COURSE!"]

Apologies, folks. At this point I covered my eyes and tried to spare my eyeballs from permanent scarring.

GAAAAAAAAAAAAH! Don’t look, folks! Avert your eyes! Save yourselves! RUUUUUUUN! Run, Noah! Run like Tim Kring’s chasing you with the script to a Sylaire spin-off!

Claire arrives at the carnival and warns Lydia that Noah’s on his way, Eli overhears… and apparently, within seconds, Samuel and Eli devise their entire plan to frame Noah for the murder of numerous carnival members in order to once again unite the community through a shared sense of grief and loathing for the outside wo-

No, that’s probably not it. Odds are Samuel told Eli to stand on a hilltop and shoot, and Eli’s enough of a lemming to do whatever he’s told. But even that strains belief because it requires at least some moderate planning. The impression we’re left with is that Samuel had been planning this for a while and was just waiting for the opportunity to present itself.

Samuel’s story about the trapeze performer is moving, especially when he gets to the part about his brother being like gravity…

… and Samuel’s look of nostalgic fondness leaves us wondering whether he really is sorry he slammed a rock into Joseph’s throat. But there’s a darker meaning in the subtext. The implication is that Samuel sees himself as the center of the carnival’s gravity, and there’s something both fateful and prophetic about the way he eventually proves this to be true.

Noah and Lauren set up a watch on a nearby hilltop, Noah gets a call from Claire, and Samuel agrees to turn himself in. There’s a lot to be said for the way the scene was shot…

… because it brings back the same voyeuristic vibe that made Volume Four so effective. There’s even more to be said about Samuel’s look of trepidation, though. Looking back, you have to wonder whether even his anxiety was a part of the pretense and whether he knew he was on the verge of winning back the carnival’s loyalty.

But then, looking back, you also have to wonder whether Samuel counted on Claire arranging a non-violent surrender, which is why Eli was assigned to sniper duty.

Samuel takes to the podium, and the way the moment is captured…

… it’s as if he’s competing with the legacy that’s hovering in the background. Again, such an amazing nuance, so gorgeously filmed, and such a beautiful way to weave the story thread into the exploration of whether an individual is more than their ability.

Samuel: “I know everyone will not agree with this decision, but it’s the only way. The safety of each and every one of you, and keeping this family together, is what matters most to me.”

Great dialogue, and delivered by Knepper with a suitably urgent and self-important tone. You can see Samuel trying to make himself out to be a martyr, and in retrospect, knowing he never had any intention of giving himself up, you’re left to wonder whether his family’s safety ever actually mattered to him, or whether their safety only ever mattered to him insofar as they ensure his own safety.

At this point, though, Samuel is so swept up in his performance that he’s practically singing. It’s disturbing to see how effortlessly he wins back the carnival’s loyalty, but there’s almost something humorous about the way he achieves it within minutes, and with little more than a smattering of rhetoric.

It’s worth noting that Lydia remains decidedly unimpressed, which speaks to her resistance to Samuel’s persuasive skills and largely explains why Samuel wanted her dead.

Samuel takes a bullet strategically aimed at the shoulder, the carnival panics, and in the midst of the chaos Claire takes a bullet to the neck. For the majority of the shoot-out, there are very few cuts to Noah. It helps to sustain our uncertainty over whether this really is Noah’s work, but also forces us to wonder whether Noah’s become such a sloppy shooter that he hits his own daughter.

Amid the carnage, there’s a morbidly amusing undercurrent:

For one thing, it’s hard to tell whether Eli was aiming for Doyle or the stuffed bunny.

For another, one has to wonder why Eli thought it was important to take out the Magik Popcorn machine. You can understand the attempt to vilify Noah beyond all hope for atonement, but the Magik Popcorn?

Samuel’s reaction to Claire removing her bullet and regenerating was a curious detail.

He doesn’t look shocked or awed so much as peeved. Which might be out of envy as much as pain, but perhaps it also explains why the Magik Blood is never once raised as a prospective way to save Lydia’s life; the implication is that Samuel saw the option coming a mile off and made sure there were no syringes anywhere in the carnival to make a transfusion possible.

As clear as it is that Samuel wanted Lydia dead all along, there’s something earnest about his reaction to seeing her bleeding out. It could be that it genuinely hurt him to remove a subversive element from his “family.” Or it could be that Samuel’s in so much pain from the gunshot wound that his performance becomes even more convincing than before.

In any case…

… this doesn’t seem like a final act of malice so much as a last-ditch effort to repent. Samuel knows she’ll die hating him, but by confessing that he staged the carnage, Samuel seems to be hoping he can earn her forgiveness.

Which, of course, was never really an option, because Lydia’s response conveys incredulity and contempt as much as pain and nausea.

Samuel: “I’m sorry. They needed a villain. Someone worse than me. You gave that to them. Thank you.”

Great dialogue. Partly because it implies that Samuel was delusional enough to consider Lydia’s death a noble sacrifice, partly because, the way Knepper plays the moment with a concealed smile…

… you know he isn’t grieving so much as secretly celebrating.

Farewell, Lydia! You were a compelling (albeit criminally undeveloped) member of the carnival. We wish your Magik Tattoos could have been explained with greater clarity, but you were blessed with one of the season’s most memorable moments when you described Sylar as “impotent.” We hope to see you in many flashbacks and dream sequences… and webisodes.

The Magik Tattoos dissolving when the owner dies? Neat detail.

This?

Even better. Not just because the prolonged moment allows the full impact of Samuel’s villainy to sink in, but also because it captures the poignancy of the episode. In one shot, the episode illustrates the extent of Samuel’s deception, Claire’s powerlessness to stop it, the tragedy it brought on the carnival, and the broader focus on the way abilities define the personality. Despite her limited screen time and some occasionally clunky dialogue, Dawn Olivieri portrayed a sympathetic character who desperately wanted to escape the carnival. The tragedy is in the fact that, as distinct a character as she was, Lydia was always going to be remembered as “the Tattoo Girl.”

Eli shows up with Noah in tow, and although Todd Stashwick consistently delivers a charismatic performance, in this case…

… he really looks like he’s trying to earn his screen time with fiery intensity.

The carnival collectively brands Noah a murderer and condemns Claire for her association. Samuel seizes the opportunity he crafted, reigning in the collective bloodlust and making a display of his boundless compassion. It’s a moment that underlines the full extent of Samuel’s scheming, but also one that echoes the twisted aspiration which Angela and Linderman clung to when they wanted to blow up a city: the idea that a community united by grief and paranoia is a group that will work together with a singular sense of purpose.

We return to Sylar’s attempt to lose his abilities, which affords him the opportunity to TK Janice to a wall. It’s a moment that reasserts Sylar as the irredeemable villain, and as annoying as Janice might be…

… there’s something heartbreaking about the way Matt resorts to pleading with Sylar to let her go.

At the same time, there’s something insightful about the way Matt opts for such an ineffectual approach. You could argue that he’s too distraught to Parkman-whammy Sylar into submission. But given that we’ve seen Matt overcome his distress and focus his mind control when She Who’s Been Wiped From All Established Canon got shot, the reason for this pitiful attempt to stop Sylar can only be explained by the assumption that, on some level, Matt wanted to see Janice suffer.

What!? Just saying, Matt pulled himself together enough to stop those agents on the hill when she was in mortal danger. What’s stopping him when Janice is in danger? I think it’s obvious, and if anyone ever wanted proof that Matt cared about Daphne more than he cares about Janice, this is the proof they’re looking for.

Sylar: “One cruel thought is all it takes — these powers make it so easy.”

Matt: “I understand that, believe me. But you don’t have to use them like this.”

Sylar: “Except I do. The powers are me now. You’ve been there, dealt with the abilities, the constant temptation. Tell me, how do you compartmentalize? How do you keep them from overwhelming the rest of your life?”

Matt: “You start by accepting the fact that you’re more than just your abilities.”

Remarkable dialogue, and in a volume that explored in detail what it means to have an ability, this is a defining moment. It still seems like an oversimplification to suggest that Matt has become the model super-citizen, but the idea behind it — the idea that Sylar has latched onto Matt as a symbol of hope — is as tragic as it is absurd. But then, that’s part of what makes this episode phenomenal. The underlying impression is that Sylar’s dream is a hopeless one; firstly because he’ll never be content with it if he gets it, secondly because the glimpse we’ve seen of Gabriel is one of a guy who actively wanted to escape the “normal” life he was living.

The neat part about that is the way it ties back to Matt, because as much as this episode paints him as a well-adjusted super with a family life beyond his ability, it’s hard to ignore the fact that, until he discovered his ability, Matt’s life was falling apart. His career in law enforcement consisted of directing traffic and his marriage was on the verge of collapse. It wasn’t until he discovered his ability that he managed to cheat his way through a detective exam, and it wasn’t until he climbed into Janice’s head that he had the slightest chance of salvaging his marriage. When Matt tells Sylar that he’s more than his ability, he’s leaving out the part that involves his ability making him “more” than anything in the first place.

Which comes back to the dialogue in the scene, which culminates in Matt telling Sylar, “We’re people first.” It’s an optimistic notion, but in the context of Matt’s story — the one that involves a lunatic father with the same ability, a child who’ll grow up with crippling identity issues because of his ability, and an ability that has in turns repaired and destroyed Matt’s life — it feels very much like a rosy, romanticized version of reality. Matt might be a person first, but his ability determined who that person is.

Sylar releases Janice, Janice tells Matt to “bury” him, and Matt immediately complies. I can’t decide whether that’s meant to be funny, but if you can buy that Matt was planning to trap Sylar inside his own mind anyway, I guess this is intended to look like a moment when Matt and Janice Make A Difficult Decision Together.

The extraordinary part is that, like Morally Reprehensible “exterminate-the-carnies” Gretchen, Janice is absolutely right. It’s convenient for her that she doesn’t have to be involved in the act of “burying” Sylar, but her reasoning — putting an end to Sylar’s tyranny — is exactly the kind of reasoning that defined Noah and Angela’s character arcs. By agreeing to bury Sylar, Matt’s effectively subscribing to the ends-justify-the-means ideology that he was fighting against at the end of Volume Four.

Matt works his Parkman Whammy and generates a montage of images in Sylar’s head. Among them…

It’s difficult to judge whether that look conveys relief, shock, delight or disappointment. Mostly, the impression is that Sylar never considered that his Quest To Become Human would actually succeed, meaning he’s now faced with the prospect of returning to the life he trudged through before he got his shot at superpower stardom.

Matt, on the other hand, looks distinctly proud of himself. He should. As morally questionable as his actions might be, he just rid the world of a monster who wrought unspeakable havoc. It’s the reason why, when Matt reveals to Sylar that he’s going to spend eternity stuck inside his own immortal mind, Matt has every right to enjoy the moment and to savor it for all it’s worth. And although I doubt anyone would have guessed in the first volume that the donut-eating, leaky-pipe-fixing telepathic cop would be the one to defeat the show’s über-villain, it’s a testament to the distance the character has come that he now manages to channel his dark side and surprise us.

So, just to clarify: Matt realizes that his house is the perfect setting for eternal hell? I wonder what that says about the way he sees his life.

Beautifully shot, right down to the infernal light that reminds us how low Matt had to sink in order to beat Sylar. As muddled and aimless as the show’s moral stance has seemed in recent weeks, this is an instance of moral ambiguity at its finest. There’s no attempt to make Sylar a sympathetic victim — just a pitiful figure who’s been deservedly beaten. There’s no attempt to make Matt look like a villain, even though his actions are undeniably villainous. And although we know that Matt deserves to be plagued by the thought of what he’s done and what he was going to bury behind a wall in his basement, we’re hard-pressed to judge Matt for taking the kind of drastic measure that probably would have saved countless lives.

PROBABLY. WOULD. HAVE.

Oh, Peter.

Oh, Peter.

OH, PEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEETER.

Yes, yes, I know. “He did what he thought was right!” “He did it for Emma!” “He put his hatred aside for the greater good!” “He did what had to be done, and if he hadn’t, we all would have called him a dumbass for ignoring his vision!”

One word: WHATEVER!

This is stupidity on an unprecedented scale.

No, wait, it’s not unprecedented. We have seen this kind of immeasurable stupidity before. It was in an episode called “An Invisible Thread,” and it involved something called The Sylathan Debacle.

Peter going into Sylar’s mind to save him? I don’t care if he’s doing it for the greater good. He’s also risking countless lives by reviving the comatose psychokiller who murdered his brother, and he’s doing it on the off-chance that Sylar will do what he supposedly does in Peter’s dream instead of slaughtering another 50 people.

*PING!* *PING!* *PING!* *PING!* *PING!* *PING!* *PING!* *PING!* *PING!* *PING!* *PING!* *PING!* *PING!*

For those who tuned in after the review for last season’s finale, this is referred to as the TURBO DUMB AS AWARD. It’s a cut above the stupidity that would earn a character a traditional Dumb As Hiro Award. It’s the kind of award that’s handed out once a season, and although the purpose behind it is self-explanatory, it sadly behooves me to point out that you really have to be stupid to win one of these.

Nice going, Peter.

The premise aside, there’s no denying that this is a surrreal turn of events. It has echoes of Peter’s dreams in “Fallout” and “Out of Time,” but there’s something even more sinister about it when you realize it’s the inside of a mind that’s been warped by its own psychosis. The most disturbing part is that the inside of Sylar’s mind… is kind of beautiful. I mean, it’s not a sunset beach or an idllyic cottage in a grassy valley, but it’s peaceful, it’s tidy and awe-inspiring, and it’s about as far as it’s possible to get from the mental instability that Sylar exudes in the real world.

The episode draws to a close.

Emma shows up at the carnival, and Samuel scares her by smiling maniacally and babbling about creating A New World. It’s not clear whether Vanessa and the cottage were Plan A and World Domination was Plan B, or whether Samuel intended to make both plans a reality. Suffice it to say, Emma looks like she’s regretting showing up at the carnival within minutes of arriving.

Edgar shows up to mourn for Lydia, and although it’s ironic that only the murderer in this picture became a three-dimensional character over the course of the volume, there’s something inescapably poignant about a brainwashed hitman mourning for his great love while the killer sits behind them and pretends to mourn with him. It’s screwed up, but in the best possible way.

But here’s the part that a portion of the audience spent the entire hour waiting for:

SHE LIVES!

“Bennet’s friend”? That’s what she’s listed as on Lauren’s cell phone? What, the jealousy precludes first names?

Well, it was brief, but it made an impact. And perhaps it’s just several weeks of the Lauroah that make me feel this way, but suddenly the Troah doesn’t seem quite so appalling. Welcome back, “Bennet’s friend”!

Samuel delivers another speech peppered with words like “family” and “love,” fueling the carnival’s hatred for the outside world…

… while at the same time restoring Samuel’s own role at the center of the community and reasserting his role as the source of gravity within the carnival. And for about the millionth time inside of an hour, it’s screwed up in the best possible way, and realized with the kind of sublime elegance that defines the show’s most memorable hours. No matter what the flaws in this episode, it’s visually stunning, it’s familiar yet innovative, and it’s a hopeful sign that the show has found the kind of creative momentum that eluded it in the final episodes of the previous volume.

At the end of this episode, you feel that you’ve learned something; about Samuel’s capacity for cruelty, about Gretchen’s integrity, about Angela’s emotional fragility, about Matt’s willingness to sacrifice his own heroism for the greater good, and about Peter’s misdirected nobility putting the world in danger. It’s an hour that digs deep into the character arcs and goes to the core of the show’s original premise of ordinary people discovering extraordinary abilities. What takes it a step further is the way it explores the ramifications to possessing extraordinary abilities, and the way it explores who these ordinary people would be if they’d never discovered their extraordinary abilities. And although it delves into the inner workings of the characters with remarkable finesse, the episode balances its nuanced character focus with a broad, epic narrative that perfectly sets up the volume’s final two episodes.

More of this, please, show.

5 out of 5

Hiro has a near-death hallucination involving a mock-court session at the Burnt Toast Diner. Adam represents the prosecution and brings Hiro to account for his many temporal screw-ups, and Papa Sulu finds his son guilty of using his abilities irresponsibly. Hiro accepts his fate and resolves to die with dignity, but when Papa Sulu grants him a sword to fight Adam and Mama Sulu shows up to heal him, it seems Hiro wins the battle in the real world and overcomes his inoperable brain tumor.

Some episodes start out with great material and somehow descend into something mediocre. Other episodes start out with nothing remarkable and somehow turn into something epic.

This episode somehow falls into both categories, finding the best and worst elements of its three story threads and resulting in something that’s at times profoundly moving and at others deeply disturbing. It has flaws in all three of its story threads; continuity issues, creative issues, and of course the inevitable Sylaire horror.

But in spite of its occasionally baffling developments, there’s something to be said for the innovative approach the episode takes. It’s in turns warm, intimate and funny, and while the scope of the episode is enormous, the themes the episode explores unify it with a sense of coherence. The end result is an episode that never quite achieves the greatness it aspires to, but one that’s emotionally involving and moves the volume towards its conclusion with ambition and purpose.

The opening scene in many ways sets the tone for the rest of the hour:

Brilliantly shot, for the mood it creates and for what it says about the character. Like any of the show’s strongest moments, the impact comes from the emotional undercurrent rather than the superpower spectacle. Within a moment, and without a word of dialogue, we grasp how despondent Claire has become.

Claire’s brief scene at the dorm with Noah last week is never addressed, but the impression we’re given is that she was as incapable of opening up to him then as she is to Gretchen now. In any case, Gretchen’s support this week highlights her strength of character at the same time as the total absence of any depth of character:

Gretchen: “I’m not gonna pretend to know what you’ve been through right now, but I want you to know that I’m here for you if you need anything. Anything at all.”

Stock-and-trade dialogue, but Madeline Zima delivers it with sensitivity, to the point where it’s hard not to be sympathetic when Claire rejects her. We’re left wondering, however, how Gretchen possibly could know what Claire’s going through. It’s in turn an unfortunate reminder that with the volume fast approaching its conclusion, we still know next to nothing about Gretchen. The point here is of course to show Claire pulling away from Gretchen, but we’re immediately prompted to wonder who exactly Claire is pulling away from. As heartfelt as some of the scenes between Claire and Gretchen have been, our emotional investment in a scene like this is hampered by the fact that the character reaching out to Claire is still a shell.

We cut to Noah’s apartment, where Lauren appears to have vanished (presumably to update Samuel on the arrival of the stooges) and where Ando brings Hiro a glass of water. Whether the glass is a metaphor for Hiro or for the show will depend on your perspective, but it’s either half-full or half-empty. Whichever it is, I can’t help wondering why Hiro’s the only one who gets a glass of water and a look of concern. As bad as he might be feeling, Ando’s the one who went on a psychedelic trip, and Mohinder’s the one who’s been drugged into a powerless stupor for the past two months — thanks entirely to Hiro. It’s not that I don’t feel sorry for Hiro, but when you look at the other characters in this scene, it seems like all of them deserve our sympathy.

Mohinder hammers together a new Magik Compass, and while I’ve covered why this is ridiculous, I find it doubly absurd that Noah would just happen to have the necessary components lying around in his apartment. For one thing, Mohinder was at least a scientist with some limited medical expertise, so he’d have medical instruments to take apart in order to put a device like this together. I don’t buy for a moment that Mohinder would remember how to build a gizmo like this from memory, but at least I can pretend he had the components lying around. But Noah? His apartment is so sparsely decorated that besides guns and cereal bowls, it’s not clear what would be lying around to take apart in the first place.

The other problem is the fact that this device, once built, will guide anyone with an ability to a large group of people with abilities. Which, well. “Magik” is one operative word. “Bulls**t” is another.

The scene skips over the logistics and jumps to the part where Mohinder throws in the towel and heads back to find his “girl.” Lest we forget, this was the woman who passively-aggressively told him that if he left to pursue his crackpot theories, she wouldn’t be waiting for him when he got back. And now, with the prospect of Samuel’s meteoric power looming and the world-in-peril danger coming into focus… MOHINDER DECIDES IT’S TIME TO CALL IT A DAY?!

*PING!* Chalk up a Dumb As Hiro Award for Mohinder for traveling 8,000 miles, discovering an individual who’s capable of killing millions, getting locked in a psychiatric hospital for two months and then, when he finally gets a chance to finish what he started, deciding to “make amends” with the girlfriend he left behind.

Hiro drops his glass of water, collapses, and BAM! You have no idea what’s going on or how it makes sense. You just know how you feel when two beloved characters show up on your screen again.

It’s a moment when actor charisma trumps storytelling. The appeal of the actors is such that you enjoy their scenes irrespective of the script. You don’t care whether there’s any logical reason for them to be there — just that they’re there. In this case, the episode is bolstered by having a relevant reason for them to be there in the first instance, and by combining the appeal of two fan favorites instead of just one.

The Burnt Toast Diner? Sally Champlin showing up to reprise her role as Lynette? Papa Sulu getting the American and Japanese flags on either side of him? Adam calling Hiro “Carp”? The list of reasons to love this storyline goes on and on, and the reasons to love it expand as the episode continues.

There are downsides, one of which is you can never tell if these are the actual characters or figments of Hiro’s imagination. The actors are playing their characters, but without any indication that they really recognize Hiro. When Papa Sulu reads out the charges against Hiro, it’s not clear whether it’s really Papa Sulu being very formal and very impartial, OR whether Hiro’s guilt has manifested itself as a judge and simply taken the shape of Papa Sulu. Papa Sulu’s expectations of Hiro are never mentioned. His pride at the way Hiro accepted his father’s death is only obliquely referred to. The whole issue of the family legacy never comes up.

Similarly, with Adam, you can never really shake the feeling that this isn’t actually Adam so much as a manifestation of Hiro’s subconscious self-loathing. It makes sense that it takes the shape of Adam because Adam’s quite possibly the biggest screw-up Hiro’s responsible for. But then, if the show was really going to explore the damage Hiro did to Adam, it would have needed to place more focus on Adam than on Hiro, and as loath as I am to consider it, it would have required a mention of that awful, purple-flag-painting entity known as Yaeko. Not saying I would have wanted that. Just saying, that was a relevant factor in Hiro inadvertently turning his childhood hero cuckoo, and the girlfriend-stealing issue never once comes up when Adam recounts Hiro’s numerous temporal whoopsies.

All of which comes back to the original point — that these actors aren’t really playing their characters, but rather figures in a roleplay taking place in Hiro’s head. It’s great to see the actors again, and it’s great that they get to be a part of what will hopefully be a turning point in Hiro’s storyline. But the actors aren’t playing their characters so much as taking on the appearance of their characters and personifying the voices in Hiro’s head. I’m not inclined to complain because any reason to get the actors back, no matter how flimsy, is a welcome one. But it’s somehow disappointing that when they finally show up, they’re not playing their usual characters.

Ando brings Hiro to a hospital in Washington, and while Mohinder’s sudden departure is the most glaring turn in the story of the stooges, I’m equally at a loss to explain where Noah disappears to. You can understand him wanting to stop Samuel right away, but to leave Hiro fighting for his life in a hospital thousands of miles from home while Noah goes off to fulfill his vendetta? I guess it’s consistent with that time he was watching Sylar and Elle have sex while his daughter bled out and died from infection, but doesn’t his absence here seem kind of heartless?

Claire shows up for her review session and finds Sylar waiting with “Why Claire Bennet” scrawled all over a blackboard. On the one hand, you almost want to laugh, because Quinto slips into the role of the professor so effortlessly that, if his movie career tanks, you know he’ll have a promising career waiting for him at colleges everywhere. On the other hand, you’re not sure how to express your horror.

Claire opts for her default indignation, although in this case it goes without saying that it’s very much justified. It’s the kind of scenario that forces us to wonder what the real reaction would be; whether Claire would immediately run, whether she’d lunge at Sylar and try to gouge his eyes out, or whether she’d just stand and stare because she couldn’t figure out how else to react. In this instance, inaction almost seems like the most believable reaction, if only because there doesn’t seem to be a clear alternative when Claire’s standing in front of the monster who terrorized her, who murdered her biological parents, who ripped her head open and stole her ability, and who forced her to endure his romantic advances.

Claire: “Do you know how much I would love to kill you?”

Nicely delivered by Hayden; with venom, but also with an implied powerlessness that echoes each time Claire lamented her inability to fight more proactively. In this instance, Hayden’s performance is vitriolic enough that you can sense Claire’s rage, and that the only thing holding her back is her uncertainty about how to go about avenging Nathan’s death.

Sylar: “Listen, I know you must hate me.”

Claire: “You killed my father.”

Sylar: “Nathan… Seems like a lifetime ago.”

Again, a very believable performance, with Quinto playing the moment with something that skirts between a hazy recollection, a fond memory and a hint of regret at everything that came after it.

Or it’s just faux-sympathy designed to placate Claire.

Or he really does feel something resembling guilt, which we know isn’t beyond the realm of possibility after he allowed his flesh to be fried off of him as penance for the murder of another blonde’s father. But then, that penance ended with Sylar murdering the blonde as well, so the extent of Sylar’s guilt is as ambiguous as ever.

This is where the plot becomes ambiguous for the wrong reasons. On the one hand, it’s hard to imagine the show believing for a second that Nathan’s killer can be redeemed. On the other hand, there’s a soft, melancholy piano motif that creeps into the soundtrack, which suggests we’re meant to feel sad instead of horrified or disgusted.

And then there’s Sylar himself…

… whose expression when he tells Claire he doesn’t want to be alone seems like an effort to evoke our sympathy.

The objectionable part is that the character was afforded even a moment of ambiguity. Ambiguity is great when it relates to a villain who killed in a moment of blind rage but whose charm and good intentions are such that you almost forget he’s a villain. It’s not so great when it’s applied to a villain responsible for an extensive series of methodical, merciless murders. I’d like to give the show the benefit of the doubt and believe they were toying with our reaction, but the fact that we’re even led to consider the option that Sylar might have something redeemable in him — especially after emerging from his latest victim’s body and waving at the guy’s broken-hearted brother — is the part that’s appalling. There shouldn’t be ambiguity about this. There shouldn’t be any hint of an attempt to dissuade us from the reality that Sylar is evil incarnate. The music in this scene and the way the character is portrayed are such that we’re prompted to wonder whether there might be a trace of humanity left in him. This was an ambitious attempt two seasons ago, but at this point it’s almost insulting. It is of course overturned moments later, but the fact that the show even tries to sway our sympathy towards the character is shocking.

Sylar: “How did we end up so different?”

Claire: “You wanna know what the difference is? You’re a psychopath. Mystery solved.”

The moment is remarkable for the unaffected look of self-awareness from Sylar, and for the inflection Claire gives her words…

… which resembles that of an angry victim who’s happy to inflict a moment of emotional distress in retaliation. Which, like the Righteous Indignation, is as understandable as ever when you consider the circumstances. But it also makes Claire look malicious. The underlying impression is she took this opportunity to hurt Sylar, and given that Gretchen is ostensibly in danger, you have to wonder whether this makes Claire look unnecessarily reckless.

Not that this is a big deal in light of the horror we’re now confronted with.

On the plus side, it seems like one of the few moments this week that doesn’t try to play up Sylar’s humanity. It isn’t portrayed as romantic or as acceptable…

… but it’s difficult to watch. It’s also a moment that was used as a selling point in previews, which suggests that the network considered it to be “OMG, like, totally SHOCKING!!1!1!“, when in fact, as with kissing Angela, it’s a moment that conveys how deeply grotesque and subhuman Sylar is.

I have no issue with a show vilifying a character by having him do something awful. I also have no issue with them attempting to redeem a villain, although when he’s done the kind of awful stuff that Sylar has, I’d say the chances of success are slim.

It’s when the villain does something awful and the show tries to turn it into something good that I feel there’s something to object to. The implication at the end of this episode is that Claire has learned a valuable lesson about herself. Which, in turn, implies that Sylar forcing himself onto Claire indirectly helped Claire, and that it indirectly achieved some good. That, to my mind, is a message that undermines the episode’s integrity. There are reasons to defend both the episode and the show: Sylar didn’t go further than a kiss, it wasn’t portrayed as romantic in any way…

… and Claire retaliated with a pencil to the eye.

And, hey, perhaps I’m overreacting. When one villain opens the earth to swallow up an entire town and its residents, does another one forcing a college student to kiss him really seem so awful?

I think it does, firstly because it crosses the line that separates fantasy television from real-life horror, and secondly because the show then indirectly portrays it as the first step to a learning curve for the victim.

Perhaps that was the idea. Perhaps, in spite of the twisted portion of viewers who find this appealing, the show realizes that a 30-something psycho forcing himself onto a teenager whose parents he murdered crosses a social boundary and precludes all options for redemption. But then, if that’s true, it’s hard to appreciate why we’re also subjected to emotive piano themes and an apparently anguished Sylar pleading for Claire’s help because he doesn’t want to be alone. When two such radically different aspects of a character are presented in the same episode and within moments of each other, it’s not so much ambiguous characterization as it is bipolar. This show has tapped into Sylar’s moral ambiguity so many times that the character’s arc has lost all meaning, but what’s horrifying about this scene — beyond the undertones that make Sylar a would-be rapist — is the impression that it gives the audience; the impression that, barely weeks after depicting the immeasurable trauma the character inflicted on Nathan’s family, they’re trying to tap into that moral ambiguity once again.

ANYWAY. Samuel takes Vanessa to an ice cream parlor, orders milkshake…

… and demonstrates his disarming boyish charm.

Vanessa calls Samuel a “hopeless romantic,” and although she qualifies it as something she’s “always admired” about him, Vernon’s delivery makes it sound like an accusation as much as an observation. What’s intriguing is the difference between life in the real world and life as a super at the carnival. With the right ability, there’s no reason not to be a hopeless romantic. There’s no reason why someone can’t build their fairytale cottage and live out their childhood dreams. What’s beyond the realm of possibility in the real world — where practicalities, pragmatism and compromise dismantle childhood dreams — is very much within the realm of possibility for the carnival. This is where the tragedy of the carnival, and specifically Samuel, become apparent. Samuel has held onto his dreams because there was no reason to let them go. When Vanessa tells him, “there comes a time when you have to realize that you’re never going to have that cottage,” it’s an alien concept to him because words like “never” and “impossible” belong to the non-superpowered world.

Adam calls Kid-Kimiko and Kid-Ando to the stand and asks them to recount the Night of the Slushy Incident. What’s most telling is the point he makes about the moral stance on Hiro’s actions:

Adam: “On your personal scale of temporal justice, it’s OK so long as no one gets hurt.”

It’s a valid point, especially when you consider the ramifications that Hiro’s heroism might have had on the timeline. We never really stop to consider what happened to the suicidal butt-copying ex-employee, but there’s every chance he went from suicidal to homicidal, and if he did, the body count would be on Hiro’s head. It could be that the people Hiro rescued from a burning car will go on to become terrorists, or that the little girl Hiro rescued from a van will become a drug dealer. I’m exaggerating, but the point is that — as Angela told Future-Peter in “The Butterfly Effect” — you don’t screw with time. There are implications to tampering with the way the timeline was meant to unfold, and the smallest change — heroic as it might seem at the time — can be immense. What apppear to be heroic deeds by Hiro can inadvertently have catastrophic consequences.

The flipside is that besides sci-fi film and literature, Hiro has nothing to guide him when it comes to using his ability. He has no Claude and no Noah, and when it comes to using his ability responsibly, he’s had to figure out the rules as he goes. When Hiro insists that his definition of temporal justice is indeed the aid and rescue of people around him, there’s something sympathetic about the kid who had no one to consult and who did the best he could.

Then Adam calls his next witness…

… and there’s a jolt of electricity that goes through the scene. Regardless of where Sylar’s arc is currently headed, any scene that puts Quinto alongside Anders and Takei is phenomenal by default. You only wish these could be the real versions of the characters instead of the ones inside Hiro’s head, but the dynamic between the actors is such that, regardless of the context or the circumstances, there was never any way their scenes weren’t going to sparkle.

The throwback to “Homecoming” is brilliant, and it reinforces how epic the scale of this episode is. Again, though, the genius is in the point that’s made, which drives home how selective Hiro’s bucket list of temporal do-over’s has been. As far as we know, he still hasn’t saved the card sharks, and in this instance, as valiantly as he tried to save one cheerleader, another got her blood spattered all over a homecoming banner and Hiro brushed it aside as an unfortunate consequence of Sylar’s villainy.

Adam: “Tell me again, who else met their death by your hand after Hiro made this deal?”

Sylar: “Well, there was her. Then Eden… ish…”

Funny, if only as an acknowledgement that no one was ever really certain about how that went down.

Sylar: “… Melty guy, the mechanic, Isaac Mendez, my mother, some guy named Ted something…”

It’s interesting to note that these atrocities all took place in the first season. Chandra and James Walker are the only ones conspicuous by their absence.

Sylar: “SPRAGUE! Ted Sprague.”

Too funny. As questionable as parts of the plot might be this week, it’s hard to deny that Grigsby crafted an exquisite script.

We cut to the carnival, where Samuel recites the specs to Vanessa’s dream cottage and continues to charm his way into Vanessa’s good graces.

Am I the only one shipping these two? I generally go with whichever shipper abbreviation seems the most popular, but in this case it seems I’m the only one rooting for the Vamuel.

Is there really any difference between this and the Sylaire, though? I’d say yes, because although Samuel’s a murderer, he never relishes the thought of his kills, he never brags about his villainy, and this episode illustrates why his lust for power was borne of romantic notions rather than megalomania. That could still change, but the gist from this episode — and particularly from this scene and the next — is that Samuel is effectively a child. He has a child’s temper, a child’s wish to please, and a child’s wish to impress and to feel loved.

Which are admittedly attributes he shares with Sylar. The difference is that until this week, Samuel’s contributions to the superpowered population effectively outweighed his crimes. Judging from this episode, Samuel’s goal all along was to bring supers together to enable him to realize his childhood dream, and his calculating nature and persuasive skills — combined with the general sense of isolation and paranoia among the superpowered population — helped him to realize that goal.

The key question based on this development, though, is how it changes our perception of Samuel. It was clear from the outset that Samuel had his own self-serving motives, but the reveal that those motives are romantic instead of maniacal changes Samuel’s stature as the villain of the volume. His charm and idealism are such that you actively want to forget how he killed Joseph, leveled a police precinct, turned Edgar into a killer and ordered the deaths of several of the carnival’s visitors. His sincerity and heart are so endearing that you want to believe he’s a well-intentioned individual whose weaknesses bring out the worst in him, as opposed to a villain who uses a charming veneer and acts of kindness as a disguise.

It seems the show wants us to feel this way, because if the strawberry milkshake wasn’t enough to convince viewers…

… the sight of T-Bag frolicking through a meadow should be.

He’s not just skipping or trundling, or even ambling or galloping. Frolicking is the only word that adequately captures it, and it’s with such disarming exuberance and lightheartedness that you’re forced to reevaluate how you’ve looked at the character since he was introduced. The difference between this and Sylar’s redemptive arc is that Samuel’s is surprising and illuminating without seeming confused or contradictory.

Gorgeously shot, and such an amazing setting that you wonder how Vanessa could possibly turn it down.

Vanessa: “This dress, the milkshake… all of this. This is a fantasy.”

Samuel: “And I made it come true. For you.”

Vanessa: “No, Sam — for you. This is your fantasy. And it’s beautiful, and I’m happy for you. But it isn’t me. My life isn’t here.”

Part of what makes this scene superb is the way the reactions ring true. Vanessa’s rejection demonstrates her integrity, because she realizes that Samuel doesn’t care about her so much as the fantasy of a life with her in it. Part of it’s the performances, because while Vernon’s reactions dart between shock, delight and sadness…

… the look of undisguised disappointment that Knepper brings to Samuel is enough to make anyone’s heart melt for the guy. When you consider that, moments before, he was frolicking like a lamb, it’s all the more heartbreaking to see his dreams come crashing down.

Samuel: “But I changed everything…”

Vanessa: “Don’t tell me you did all this for me. Please, don’t — don’t tell me this was all for me.”

This is essentially where the episode’s dialogue echoes the audience’s reaction. I can buy into it, because as absurd as it is to think that the entire carnival story comes down to Samuel frolicking through a meadow and moving into a cottage with his childhood sweetheart, it’s enacted with enough charm to fly.

The counter-argument is that this last line from Vanessa echoes the response from viewers who’ll feel ripped off. Samuel was depicted as the most powerful super of all, the one with a momentous ability and an insatiable appetite for power. And as idyllic as this scene might be, there’s a lot to be said for the criticism that this grand masterplan comes down to something alarmingly provincial.

Samuel looks like the wind’s been knocked out of him, but the guy manages to force a smile, to hide his rapid blinking and to thank Vanessa for “indulging” him.

Aw, for the way Vanessa can’t bear to break Samuel’s heart, and for the way Samuel is noble enough to pull away.

Claire sprints back to her dorm to rescue Gretchen, and although we don’t know it at this point in the episode, it’s informative to watch the scene play out with the realization that this is in fact Sylar-as-Gretchen.

So, just to be clear, Sylar flew past Claire and beat her to the dorm; shapeshifted into Gretchen; bound himself to a chair and gagged himself; and then tried to look as helpless as he possibly could.

Now that’s empathy.

Sylar TK’s the power outage? OK. You’d think he’d have to concentrate pretty hard to pull off something like that, especially given that in the past he’s had to shapeshift back into his Sylar visage before using any of his other abilities, but OK.

This I’m not so convinced by. Something as large-scale as decimating the dorm with a shower of broken glass should at least require a flick of the fingers. As near as I can tell, Sylar-as-Gretchen is completely still and taken completely by surprise when those windows smash.

Claire and Sylar-as-Gretchen hide in a closet. The sad part is that if this had been a scene between Claire and Gretchen as opposed to Sylar-as-Gretchen, it would have been the most memorable scene the characters have had all season.

Claire: “I like to think of myself as just a girl who happens to have powers. That it’s just one thing in a list of attributes. ‘Loyal,’ ‘friendly,’ ‘regenerative,’ ‘good skin’…”

Sylar-as-Gretchen: “You do have good skin.”

Claire: “But when you put the chips down and life gets tough, I hide behind that one label — that one attribute. And I close myself off.”

Great dialogue, especially in an episode that focuses on how liberating abilities can be when they help you to make your dreams a reality. It seems like a generalization to say that Claire has been emotionally closed off from Gretchen out of fear of getting hurt. It would be more accurate to say that, as we’ve seen and per the Bennet Circle-of-Death Rule, Gretchen would be the one who’s more likely to get hurt just by having anything to do with Claire. But it’s also more accurate to say that Claire has been distant from everyone she knows for fear of revealing her ability at all, and simply because she’s never been in a stable environment long enough to form lasting relationships. You could argue that Claire has had ample opportunity at college and that she’s tried to widen her social circle by joining a sorority and going to mixers. But then, when Claire’s former roommate got pushed out of a window and the head sorority girl turned out to want her dead, it’s hard to blame Claire for withdrawing from emotional attachments. The people Claire has come into contact with throughout the series statistically have a hidden agenda of some kind, so a certain wariness doesn’t seem like a social impediment so much as a survival skill.

Hayden throws herself into the scene, to the point where it’s genuinely saddening to look back on it and realize that no one besides Sylar had a chance to witness Claire’s emotional outpour.

Claire: “No wonder Sylar’s so messed up. I can only imagine what a bunch of excuses could do to someone’s humanity.”

There’s something preoccupied and not-at-all-panicky about Gretchen’s demeanor, and looking back, we probably should have realized that it wasn’t consistent with the girl who was freaked out enough to book a flight home when Rebecca tried to throttle her.

Sylar-as-Gretchen: “Maybe that’s the answer. In order to become human again, he has to get rid of all his powers.”

?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

So, just to recap: at the end of the previous volume, Sylar’s goal was to become president. At the start of this volume, his goal was to taunt Matt into giving him his body back. Then it was to kill everyone who separated his mind from his body. Then it was to slice scalps and absorb abilities at the carnival. Then it was to figure out why he was impotent.

At the start of this episode, it was to discover how he can prevent himself from going through life alone. And now, finally, it’s apparently…

“TO BECOME HUMAN AGAIN.”

At the risk of repeating myself,

?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Does anyone remember a time when Sylar wanted to be the pinnacle of human evolution?

Is Sylar EVER going to figure out what he wants and follow through with it? More importantly, can anything the character decides to do carry any weight when he changes his mind about what he wants to do EVERY. SINGLE. WEEK? You know that even if he does find a way to remove his abilities, he’ll only want them back the following week.

Claire’s portion of this episode? Magic.

Sylar’s? Atrocious.

Sylar-as-Gretchen morphs back into Sylar, tells Claire where to find Normal-Gretchen, and… leaves. Which I guess would be about as fitting a way to wrap this story thread as any, but it gets better.

Claire immediately opens her heart to Gretchen and decides she’s happy to hold Gretchen’s hand. It’s heartwarming, but am I the only one who still finds something about the rationale wholly objectionable? The implication is that if Sylar hadn’t forced Claire to kiss him, unloaded his emotional baggage and made her think Gretchen was in mortal danger, Claire would not be opening up to Gretchen right now. It’s fair to say that many of the strongest relationships on this show have formed through unfortunate circumstances, but when those circumstances are associated with the kind of disturbing undertones that this one is, there’s something deeply unsettling about it.

Sylar watches Claire and Gretchen leave the cafeteria hand in hand and thinks to himself.

And, what, WE’RE MEANT TO FEEL SORRY FOR HIM?

WE’RE MEANT TO THANK HIM FOR GIVING CLAIRE A VALUABLE INSIGHT?

WE’RE MEANT TO UNDERSTAND SYLAR BETTER?

Let’s move on.

Ando calls Hiro to the witness stand and asks him about the “driving force” that motivates him.

Hiro: “To be a hero. Noble and true.”

On the surface, it’s a commendable mission statement. If you dig deeper, you can see that it goes right to the heart of what makes Hiro’s storyline abysmal. Based on a statement like this, you’d be forgiven for thinking that the heroism itself is more important to Hiro than, I don’t know, ACTUALLY HELPING PEOPLE. It’s a tougher gig when rewriting the smallest detail in history can affect people’s lives all over the world, but shouldn’t people be more important than stature? Isn’t that what distinguished Peter this volume when he was saving people anonymously?

Hiro: “I saved the world. Twice.”

The last time Hiro made this claim was “Our Father.” I feel obligated to reiterate the point I made then: THIS IS COMPLETELY UNTRUE. If Hiro is referring to the time he stabbed Sylar — well, in the first instance, he didn’t actually kill Sylar, and in the second, Nathan’s the one who flew the exploding man to a safe distance. If Hiro’s talking about the time he stopped Adam, however, then in the first instance Hiro created the maniac known as Adam, and in the second, Hiro removed Adam and left behind a virus that would have wiped out mankind if Peter hadn’t been there to catch it.

Hiro reciting the opening to Quantum Leap, and Adam immediately zeroing in on it? Nicely done, show. Less nerdspeak and more of this, please.

Hiro: “Yes, I used poor judgment, but despite the sometimes disastrous effects, it was to make the world a better place. For family. And friendship. And love.”

THERE! That’s the kind of dialogue that makes Hiro sound like a hero instead of a repute-seeking clown. THIS is what should be driving Hiro, above and beyond notions of recognized nobility.

It’s a moment that’s played for all the sentimentality it’s worth, with an extreme close-up on Masi and a suitably dramatic theme to accompany Hiro flatlining in the real world. There’s also an underlying stoicism to Hiro’s acceptance, because he’s essentially taking responsibility for his actions for the entirety of the show’s run, from the first moment he teleported to New York to the moment he rescued Mohinder from Riverdale. There’s something epic about the scale of that story, but at the same time something character-based and focused about Hiro accepting that his interpretation of heroic time travel could equally be interpreted as reckless meddling with history.

Beautifully conceived and beautfully shot, from start to finish. The imposing corridor, the surreal, saturated light, and the fact that Hiro is surrounded by family, friends and enemies at a moment when his life is hanging in the balance.

Hiro changes his plea to “guilty” and resolves to die a hero…

… and Papa Sulu for once in this episode looks at his son with a hint of recognition, calling Hiro “son” and spurring him on to fight for his honor. And while there’s nothing especially inventive about a character’s internal struggle reflecting his fight for survival in the real world…

… there’s something reaffirming about Hiro reclaiming a sword that we hadn’t seen since the second volume…

… and overcoming the nemesis that helped to define who Hiro is and what his story arc was capable of.

It’s saddening to consider how many times Hiro’s arc has gone horribly wrong since then, but let’s try to focus on this scene, because it really is one of the character’s vindicating moments.

Welcome back, Mama Sulu!

Mama Sulu tells Hiro that she’s proud of “all the lessons” Hiro has learned. I wouldn’t want to undermine the triumphant tone of this scene, but what exactly has Hiro learned?

Whatever lessons Hiro might have learned, perhaps there’s a lesson we’re expected to learn from this: that when it seems like a character has reached an impasse and his life hangs in the balance, a deus ex machina will bring him back.

It’s not that I wanted Hiro to die, or that Mama Sulu showing up to give him the symbolic kiss of life wasn’t incredibly moving. The problem is that, as with Samuel’s motive turning out to be a quiet life at a cottage with his true love, it’s a development that comes out of nowhere and lacks the impact it should have had. If the plan was always for Hiro to survive, it needed a more substantial rationale than a symbolic kiss from his dead mom. As powerful an image as that is, it doesn’t add up to a fitting resolution to the character’s arc this volume. Hiro’s entire storyline had been building up to this, and if he wasn’t about to be killed off, there needed to be a solid reason why he survived. This doesn’t provide a solid, substantial reason why Hiro pulls through. It uses the symbolism of Mama Sulu’s miracle kiss to gloss over the issue in the real world: that Hiro was suffering from a terminal tumor and that doctors in a random hospital in Washington inexplicably managed to cure what the best doctors in Japan had deemed inoperable.

We return to Samuel at the ice cream parlor, and this…

… is surely one of the most heartbreaking images imaginable for the guy who was once portrayed as the unimpeachable villain of the volume. While he reclaims that title with his actions now, this episode is remarkable for the way it humanized him. It illustrates how the most powerful villain can be broken by his attachments, how his dreams can be shattered by rejection, and how even the most invincible adversary can be reduced to an emotional wreck by the person he cares about.

Samuel flips out at the waitress, and one part of his dialogue is especially telling:

“I’m done trying to change myself for you. Trying to fit into your world. Play by your rules. From now on, you’re all gonna play by mine.”

It could be that Samuel is declaring his intention to out the superpowered population and make their abilities known to the world.

Based on his emotional stability, that’s unlikely to go smoothly. From a visual standpoint, however, it’s worth noting that the camera that was focused on Samuel now rotates to what’s nearly a 45-degree angle, signifying that even if the carnival’s world isn’t about to bleed into the real world, its photography and directorial hallmarks most definitely are.

Amazing effect. Unfortunate for the timing, but an extraordinary culmination to an extraordinary episode. We cut from Vanessa in a car to Claire and Gretchen talking over candle light, from Hiro in recovery to Sylar showing up at Matt’s home and making sinister faces at Janice. What sticks with me at the end of this episode, though, is both the significance of the dialogue and the symbolism of the plot. When Samuel tells a random waitress that he’s done playing by someone else’s rules, it’s as if the show’s announcing that this isn’t a villain who’ll follow the usual conventions. Knepper has played Samuel as an unconventional villain, and this week’s developments for the character, as bizarre as they are, have changed the direction we assumed his arc was headed in.

Hiro’s story thread this week is about taking responsibility for failure and accepting the cards that fate has dealt. As unconvincing as the resolution to Hiro’s arc felt this week, there’s a curious parallel between Hiro’s fate and the show’s, particularly in a week when viewership dropped to a staggering low and the show’s own fate hangs in the balance.

I’m docking points for several reasons: the Sylaire was unequivocally bad, for the appalling undertones and for the sheer horror of the spectacle, which appeared to serve no purpose besides conveying to Claire that she needed to lower her guard with Gretchen. It’s difficult to grasp what kind of a statement the show wants to make when a confused villain forces himself onto his victim to get that idea across, but the unintentional message that comes across clearly is that Sylar is systematically diminishing every story and character he comes into contact with.

Besides the obvious horror, though, there’s the fact that Mohinder and Noah arbitrarily vanished at the start of the episode, that Vanessa felt like more of a plot device than ever, and that after a volume spent building up to Hiro’s imminent death, a miracle survival that can’t be explained enables him to pull through.

What rescues “Pass/Fail” from looking like a complete fail is its characters, its tone and its innovation. Grigsby infuses the script with wit and energy, Knepper and Hayden deliver outstanding performances, and as objectionable as parts of the storylines might be, there’s no denying that the episode as a whole is well crafted and well thought out. The result is an hour that builds momentum towards the volume’s finale, and at the same time an hour that explores the predicaments its characters are in and the circumstances that have brought them here.

A pass with numerous failings.

3 out of 5

Determined to stop Samuel, Noah persuades Matt to help him track down Vanessa. They prize information about Samuel out of her, then use her as bait to capture Samuel. Samuel of course outwits them and brings Vanessa to the carnival.

Before we begin this week’s review, I’d like to briefly mention events in the real world. As you may be aware, a magnitude-7 earthquake this week struck Haiti. It’s estimated that the death toll has exceeded 100,000 and that millions of the nation’s residents have been affected.

As the scope of the disaster comes into focus, I hope everyone will consider what they can do to help. As supplies and medical aid begin to reach the nation, one of the best ways to offer support is through a non-profit organization founded by our own Jimmy Jean-Louis:

This is where to go to make a donation to Jimmy’s organization.

This is where to go to make a donation to the Red Cross.

This is where to go for up-to-the-minute news and links to every other organization we can contribute to.

Please take a moment to consider making a contribution, folks. Small donations will add up to big amounts. Five or ten dollars will make a huge difference. They’ll help to ensure that when emergency response teams land, they’ll have the medical aid and food supplies the nation desperately needs.

Onto the review…

“Close to You” is another episode that’s watchable but neither terrible nor outstanding. It’s a serviceable episode that advances the main arcs, and although its story threads are never especially flawed, they’re only occasionally remarkable. Like the episode’s title, many of the developments are open to interpretation. By the end of the episode, there’s a sense that the volume has reached a critical point and that several key developments for upcoming storylines have been set up. The downside is that, as with many of the show’s transitional episodes, we’re left with an episode that lacks any real emotional resonance. There are occasional moments of brilliance that are deeply affecting, like Peter smashing Emma’s cello and Noah trying to make amends with Claire. The problem is they’re few and far between, and the episode fails to cohere into a compelling installment, in the end feeling like it’s serving the story more than the characters.

We start out with V.O. HRG asking us to look at Claire and ponder her outlook on the world — one that’s “filled with promise and hope.” I feel obligated to point out that this hardly jives with a character whose default reaction is suspicion and indignation, but if this is really the way Noah sees Claire, it’s a worrying sign that they’ve grown even further apart than he realizes.

We learn that there’s no background information on Samuel, even with Lauren’s vast “resources.” I maintain that resources earns its sarcastic air quotes on account of her fake cover as a CIA agent and her ties to the carnival, but…

Lauren’s research finally yields a picture of Vanessa, who turns out to be the lovely Kate Vernon. Everyone’s more interested in finding out about Vanessa than acknowledging the six arduous hours Lauren spent helping Noah, and although I have very mixed feelings about where her story concludes this week, I have to grudgingly concede that Lauren earns praise for her loyalty. But then, you could equally argue that she’s supporting Noah’s insanity and facilitating his obsession the same way Matt supported Noah and Angela.

Noah gets a promising lead on Samuel and looks like he’s about to start dancing. This is disturbing, particularly when you realize that nothing in the show’s four seasons has ever elicited such visible joy from Noah, and that this joy comes from knowing he has hours of prospective torture and interrogation ahead of him. Just saying, it wouldn’t have hurt to know he was as thrilled when Claire got an ‘A’ for an assignment and when Mr. Muggles won a dog show.

The cut to the carnival was a neat transition, from the cold, analytical look of the database file…

… to the warm, loving tone of the sketch Samuel produces. And, yes, in addition to warm and loving, we can add creepy and obsessive. Nevertheless, it’s hard to despise a man who sketches pretty portraits of Vanessa…

… and who smiles thoughtfully when writing poems for her.

It’s suddenly occurring to me that if Sylar tried this approach with Claire — you know, sketches and poems and thoughtful smiles… Claire probably would still find it as creepy, BUT WOULD WE? It’s possible that the difference in our reaction comes down to that approach over puppeteering and scalping. Or it’s just that Knepper can make a creepy obsession seem charming. Whichever it is, I’d like to point out that I called the weird-poetry-writing last week when we got the flashback.

Samuel acknowledges that things have been “difficult,” what with Edgar, Hiro, Claire, Joseph and Sylar. When it comes to Hiro and Claire, I think it’s safe to say that “difficult” is a relative term. When it comes to Sylar, I’m wondering if it’s a dirty euphemism.

Samuel: “I’m asking for your patience. I need you on my side.”

The look of undisguised contempt Lydia gives Samuel in this scene speaks to her sense of entrapment. It underlines her stoicism, because you realize she’s suffering through this to protect her daughter, and it underlines her heroism, because you realize she’s just waiting for a chance to liberate the community.

Samuel: “We’re so close now… to realizing all our dreams.”

Lydia: “Our dreams, Samuel? Or are they yours?”

Samuel gives one of those adorable smiles that reminds us how completely Knepper owns his character, but I can’t help wondering whether that’s the show’s attempt at self-parody, like, “Yes, we know our principal villain’s dream is murky and that we haven’t quite established where this volume is going three-quarters of the way into it, but LOOK! Here are the ingredients to the Magik Ink! See — we are giving you answers!”

We cut to Lydia joining Amanda outside the trailer.

It’s terrifying, but somehow also delightful for the way Amanda looks so proud to be getting a handle on her ability. It’s a reminder that while Samuel’s character arc continues along an uncertain trajectory, he’s accomplished a lot of good along the way. For all of Samuel’s plotting and scheming and equivocating and manipulating and terrakinetic razing and brother-killing and Lydia-prostituting and…

I’ve lost track of where that sentence was going, but the point is Samuel achieved some good in the course of his villainy, and Amanda’s a prime example of that: a kid with an out-of-control ability who was given an environment where she could acknowledge it and harness it.

I found myself more interested than I think I was meant to be by the shot of Samuel bantering with the carnival folk. It illustrates his brilliance when it comes to manipulating loyalty and portraying himself as a “people person” instead of a despot. At the same time, it’s a hint that Samuel might genuinely get along with the members of his community. Depending on whose perspective you buy into, they might indeed just be lambs he’s ready to slaughter. If you buy into Samuel’s proclamations of “love” and “family,” however, this is a moment of rare camaraderie.

Lydia: “There is someone. A man of compassion. Samuel himself said that he may be the next Joseph. He’s just so far away.”

Amanda: “Maybe you can call him?”

Lydia: “Maybe I can.”

It’s intriguing for a number of reasons — most of them geography- and invisibility-related — but one question it raises is why Lydia is prompted to call the next Joseph instead of visiting him. I can’t imagine Lydia being allowed to pass up another Sprint-friendly opportunity, but it’s odd that while Samuel, Edgar and Eli come and go as they please, Lydia never seems to leave the carnival. If Samuel can visit Emma in New York, is it so much further for Lydia to make a detour from her supplies trip “into town” to visit Peter?

Not that we’re intended to ponder this any more than Samuel’s banter with the carnies, because the principal “WTF?” comes from Lydia’s Empathic Intercom to Peter, which, as near as I can tell, she uses to remote-activate his Magik Tattoo.

Humor me. Read that last part again. I’m enjoying this volume for the most part, but if it’s going to introduce absurd concepts like remote-activating Magik Tattoos that function as homing beacons, it would be great if it could actually, you know, explain them.

We go from Magik Tattoos to Matt making toast. The number of times ratatouille is mentioned becomes tiresome, but I’m beginning to suspect it’s a tactic designed to lessen our horror when we see Janice’s hair.

OH. MY. GOD.

What have those hair and make-up people done to her?

There must be some explanation. Like, an encounter with a TK-powered super who was bitter at the way Matt hopped back into bed with Janice and promptly forgot about you-know-who. Or something Sylar put into motion while impersonating Matt, just to make things that much more unbearable for him, like, “Honey, you’re SO hot, I just wish you’d cut off your hair so I could appreciate your slender neck and nibble your succulent earlobes.” If it’s the first of those, that anonymous super wins my unequivocal support. If it’s the second of those, it’s one more reason for us to hate Sylar.

Not that this is the focus of the scene, although frankly it’s hard to imagine how the show could come up with something as gruesome as this and not expect us to be distracted by it. But Matt’s cook book and vegetables? Aw. That’s a whole psychoanalytical field day in itself. Is he in denial after the Sylathan Debacle? Is he trying to live the family life he always wanted before the superpower drama took over? Is he just so bowled over by the thought of a normal life with his wife and son that little things like making dinner have become extraordinary for him?

It’s a touching moment for the character, but like many aspects of Matt’s storyline over the seasons, it feels disconnected. Certain key issues seem to have been ignored. For one thing, there’s that whole death-threat-scrawling and attempted suicide thing. Then there’s the miraculous-healing-from-mortal-wounds-and-escaping-police-custody thing. Then there’s that old chestnut, the standing-in-front-of-Capitol-Hill-with-explosives-strapped-to-his-chest thing.

And all of that’s just the stuff that should be raising the cops’ eyebrows. That doesn’t cover the part involving the psychokiller who inhabited Matt’s body, who had sex with his wife, who’s on the loose and who vowed to kill everyone involved in his out-of-body experience.

I mentioned that certain key issues seem to have been ignored. Re-reading these last few paragraphs, I’m thinking I should rephrase that. CERTAIN MAJOR ISSUES SHOULD NOT HAVE BEEN IGNORED. They are, and for that reason, these scenes lose a big part of their impact.

Which, in itself, is heartbreaking, because when Matt starts telling Janice about his plans for dinner that night…

… his look of enthusiasm is so endearing that you want to put aside the continuity issues. The problem is those issues are by now so vast and so numerous that they can’t be ignored. The characters can’t ignore them, but more importantly we can’t. There’s starting a new and excellent story with a blank slate, and then there’s pretending that significant chunks of a character’s backstory don’t exist.

Janice: “Since you got back, you hardly leave the house.”

Matt: “Well, I’m a stay-at-home dad guy. That’s what I do. What’s wrong with that?”

Janice: “Nothing. I just want you to be happy. There’s stay-at-home-because-you-want-to, and then there’s stay-at-home-because-you’re-scared-not-to, and I just don’t know which one you are.”

Matt: “I’m the one who’s REALLY excited about this ratatouille!”

The sad part about this tract of dialogue is it seemed like it was leading somewhere; that Matt was hiding from the authorities, that he was afraid to be around people for fear of lapsing into rampant Parkman-whammying, that perhaps Matt’s motivation for staying at home was to ensure he’d be there when Sylar showed up and that he’d be ready to protect his son.

Instead, we have ratatouille. It’s funny, but like Hiro’s tumor taking a back seat to Star Trek jokes, it’s also disappointing.

Noah shows up and seems genuinely hurt that Matt didn’t return his messages. It’s understandable that Matt wouldn’t want anything to do with the guy who pressured him into the Sylathan stupidity, but it’s also part of the reason why this scene fails to support any sense of continuity. The dialogue portrays Matt as a victim: “I got Sylar stuck in my head and I almost died.”

More importantly…

… Grunberg does his best to work with the material and plays Matt as a victim.

Did I see a different ending to the previous volume’s finale? Was I so appalled that I’m not remembering it correctly? Because I recall Noah and Angela propelling Matt to Parkman-whammy Sylar, and I have a vivid recollection of Matt applying that Parkman Whammy. Which is to say that although Noah and Angela were the ones who came up with the awful idea in the first place, Matt’s the one who made it happen. He’s the one who facilitated the collective stupidity. The way this scene plays out, you’d be forgiven for wondering if there’s an alternate ending to Volume Four in which Noah briefly gained his own mind-pushing whammy and placed Sylar into Matt’s head himself. Noah came up with the plan, but he didn’t directly cause the Ghost-Sylar drama or Matt’s suicide attempt — Matt did.

Noah: “I’m sorry about what you’ve been through. The Sylar thing was a terrible idea, we all admit that.”

At least there’s an element of self-parody in there. I’m not sure how much of that is Noah talking and how much of it’s an admission that the show screwed up.

Meanwhile, at a location that resembles L.A.’s Music Center, Noah and Matt track down Vanessa. I’m sure Janice would be happy to know that Matt finally left the house, but unless there’s a new sitter, one has to wonder who’s looking after Baby Matt.

Vanessa: “Are you with the police?”

Noah: “No, it’s more complicated than that.”

Noah wins a Smart As Emma Award for realizing that he’s better off using a euphemism for “complicated.” It’s never clear whether Vanessa’s completely in the dark about the superpowered population. The gist seems to be that Samuel manifested his ability after the Sullivans upped and left Sinkhole Estate, but given his upbringing at Coyote Sands and his crush on Vanessa, you’d think he would have at least hinted at his ability before now.

Noah implores Matt to “share” his thoughts. There’s something ironic about a character tasked with sharing his thoughts when the actor gets to voice them out loud, but it’s telling that Matt works a Parkman Whammy on Vanessa without the slightest hint of compunction. He used to feel guilty about doing stuff like that!

It’s worth noting, though, that Matt again ends up indirectly causing a predicament through no fault of his own. If Matt hadn’t been there to whammy Vanessa, Noah never would have been able to persuade her to call Samuel, Samuel wouldn’t have kidnapped her, and no one would have been stuck contemplating a missing person’s report. This entire situation is facilitated by Matt getting roped into something he wants nothing to do with. The problem is that, like Papa Parkman, Matt’s docile enough to do what someone else tells him to do. Even though he can think “Go to hell!” and persuade anyone to do their best to literally go to hell, he somehow ends up being the tool for whoever’s shrewd enough to manipulate him. In Maury’s case, that was Adam and Arthur. In Matt’s case, it’s Noah and Angela.

Vanessa recounts how Samuel wrote her poems, how social distinctions faded into the background, how the Sullivans suddenly vanished and how Samuel then returned in the drunken rock’n'roll state we’ve already had a glimpse of and went on to visit her more and more often. And it’s only now that we can begin to grasp how frequently Samuel’s been visiting Vanessa, how Joseph’s death intensified his fixation on Vanessa and how pretty much EVERYTHING that motivates the volume’s chief villain revolves around Vanessa and has played out almost entirely off-screen.

It’s great that the villain’s backstory has emerged piece by piece, and it’s great that he’s complex enough that we’re still discovering layers to his character. But this is a crucial layer, and it’s been excluded from the narrative for the sake of shock value; the idea being that we’ll think, “Ooh, so THAT’S what really mattered to Samuel all this time!”, when in fact it’s more, “Wait, Samuel’s grand plan for the superpowered population comes down to… putting some grass in a valley and having a picnic with some chick he knew when he was a kid?”

The fact that Samuel’s so passionate about Vanessa is romantic in a creepy villainous kind of way, but the fact that this person wasn’t even mentioned until last week — and the fact that Samuel was paying frequent visits to her for the duration of the volume without these visits ever being alluded to — feels like an enormous cheat.

Peter: “Hey, Noah, it’s Peter. That tattoo on my arm showed up again. Give me a call, all right?”

^ ^ Actual dialogue!

^ ^ ^ Not a portion of faux-dialogue I came up with to illustrate how the characters’ lives would be so much easier if only they communicated.

^ ^ ^ ^ Absolutely hilarious when Noah reproaches Matt for ignoring messages and ends up saddled with an entire “HOW CAN WE FIND THE CARNIVAL WITHOUT A COMPASS?” storyline.

Oh, Noah. That’s one VERY well-earned *PING!* Dumb As Hiro Award for not checking your voicemail.

Let’s move the focus away from Noah and return to Peter…

… whose clothes have suddenly turned much darker than usual. It seems odd that Emma never mentions Nathan’s death, although you could figure that she’s being tactful and waiting for Peter to bring up the topic when he’s ready. But if this darker attire is the costume department’s way of emphasizing that Peter is still haunted by his brother’s death, it’s elegantly done.

Emma plays her cello and siren-lures Peter to her apartment. The remarkable part is Emma’s look of delight when Peter shows up, which seems to be delight over the siren-luring as much as the visit itself.

Peter makes a connection between Emma’s cello, her compass, his tattoo, the stranger he met in “Ink” and Noah’s sliced-open guts in “Jump, Push, Fall.” This demonstrates surprisingly quick thinking on Peter’s part and makes me wonder if this is the same guy who once walked down an alley and pondered how to hide from his enemies without remembering he could turn invisible.

Angela shows up for lunch.

Poor Emma tries to be polite, smiles and extends her hand.

Angela deploys the menacing stare that’s by now become her weapon of choice. Great acting by Cristine Rose. I love how one cold glance from her can make someone as sharp and strong-willed as Emma wilt.

Angela: “Peter, she’s gonna kill thousands of people. It will be a bloodbath.”

Ominous, shocking, and a reveal that captures everything that distinguishes this volume from the previous ones. Your initial reaction is to compare it to the millions who were at stake in the first volume and the billions in the second and third. What makes it comparable to the fourth is the fact that it puts a small community of people with abilities in jeopardy. What separates it is the fact that, unlike Volume Four, when Nathan and Željko were the clear figureheads, there was no way to guess that the person responsible for this latest crisis would be the most kind-hearted and likeable character to be introduced all season.

Angela: “The important thing is that you cannot save her.”

Peter: “But someone else can — is that it?”

Looking back, you have to wonder whether Angela held off telling Peter about Sylar because she didn’t want to upset him, or because she didn’t want Peter dithering over whether or not to avenge Nathan because of some cute girl he’d met. If Sylar really is going to somehow “save” Emma, chances are Peter will let him live instead of trying to kill him in the most agonizing way possible.

You’d think that Angela’s decision was borne of concern for her son’s recent self-destructive streak, especially when she reminds Peter that anyone who thinks her ability is a gift is “wrong.” But then, the little smile she gives when Peter grabs hold of her arm and absorbs her ability…

… is a smile that conveys something else. Familiarity with her son’s obstinacy, perhaps; pride over his determination to stop the course of events; admiration that he’s loyal enough to his “friend” to suffer through precognitive nightmares in order to help her.

Noah and Matt stake the lobby to Vanessa’s apartment and wait for Samuel. What was the plan if they’d actually managed to taser and duct-tape Samuel, anyway? Were they planning to take him back to Matt’s apartment and hope he wouldn’t raze the house while they tried to interrogate him?

I’m also still trying to figure out why this moment failed for me. Part of it’s that it’s so brief. Part of it’s that we don’t believe for a second that Noah will shoot, or that Samuel’s diversion will actually harm Noah. Part of it’s that we’ve pretty much seen this exact stand-off before: Noah points a gun at Samuel, Samuel takes advantage of a diversion and escapes, and Noah’s left thinking, “Drat! That Samuel! What a scamp!”

In this case, the diversion isn’t Rebecca or Claire, but instead Samuel ripping open the street and using a wave of dust to blind Noah. Which is cool, but it lacks the emotional resonance that the stand-off in “Shadowboxing” had. The problem is also that it’s a lot easier to sympathize with the guy who’s ripping open the street than the guy who’s pointing the gun; for the way the guy with the gun used an innocent woman to lure his nemesis into the open, and for the way he used another super to brainwash the innocent woman to win her cooperation. It’s hard to blame Samuel for telling Noah to “stay away.” Even without Matt, the perennial Bennet Curse of Pain and Death is enough to ward everyone away. It isn’t Samuel that everyone should be running away from — it’s Noah.

Noah and Matt follow Vanessa’s tracking device to the outskirts of town and discover there’s no sign of Vanessa, Samuel or the carnival.

Gorgeously shot, and a beautiful way to visualize the man who’s hellbent on uncovering the carnival and the guy he dragged into his obsession. The “disappearing carnival” premise suggests that it’s not just a case of the carnival vanishing but somehow actually phasing out of reality. Which is both great and terrible, because on the one hand it makes the carnival seem even more mysterious, but on the other hand it feels like a departure from a story that was previously rooted in ideas which, far-fetched as they were, had some kind of pseudo-scientific evolutionary basis. We’ve gone from teleporting people to multiphasing communities, albeit communities which, based on Mohinder’s success in “Brother’s Keeper,” can still be visited if you hammer a few pieces of metal together and forge your own Magik Compass.

Matt returns home and, rather than furthering Noah’s obsession any further, begins preparing dinner.

I’m going to go out on a limb and say it’s the most admirable decision Matt’s ever made. He doesn’t win any points for making it after an innocent woman was brainwashed and kidnapped, or for walking away and just hoping Samuel won’t kill Vanessa. But he looks like less of a tool now than he did at the end of “An Invisible Thread,” because at least now he’s taking a stand and firmly refusing to take part in a plan that’s inevitably going to end with casualties.

Matt: “Look, I mean, admit it, this is bigger than us.”

Noah: “So what’re you gonna do, you’re just gonna lock your doors and crawl back into your shell? You’re one of the good guys, Matt. You have a responsibility.”

Great dialogue. It’s specific to the drama in this scene, but it speaks to the show’s broader premise, and the idea that, if you had an ability with the kind of applications that Matt’s does, you’d have to risk putting people in danger in the course of trying to help them. In Noah’s case, it’s not a question of putting people in danger so much as constantly attracting danger and having to get people out of it. In Matt’s case, there’s a moment when he has the choice to either contribute to the madness or walk away from it, and he makes the right call by walking away from it.

Grunberg plays the moment with the conviction of a character whose previous mistakes put his family and friends at risk and drove him to despair. It’s easy to argue that Noah’s right to call Matt a coward, but you could argue that Matt’s brave for recognizing when he needs to step back and remember his family, and for recognizing that he’s now taking the opposite approach to the one he took at the end of the previous volume. As inconsistent as parts of Matt’s arc have been throughout this volume, this strikes me as a defining moment for the character, and a sign that he’s learned from his experiences.

Peter has a nightmare in which Emma frantically scratches her bow across her cello inside the carnival’s house of mirrors…

… and in which Sylar appears and claims, “Don’t worry, I’ve come to save you”…

… and in which Emma couldn’t be happier to see the psychokiller come to her rescue.

It’s a dream sequence that feels like both a moment of inspiration and a page that’s been lifted straight out of Volume One. On the one hand, you immediately begin to wonder how events will play out this way; how Emma will end up at the carnival, how anyone will force her to play the cello against her will, how an ability to lure people will end up causing thousands of deaths.

On the other hand, there’s Sylar claiming he’s going to save someone.

Which… pretty much says it all.

Apparently Peter feels the same way, because his first instinct is to visit Emma, pick up her cello…

… and ensure that what he saw can’t happen.

Which incurs the distress of the woman he cares about, but which also puts Peter in a position to compete with Matt for the smartest character of the episode. The difference is that Peter earns his credit through proactively preventing a catastrophe, whereas Matt’s approach is to withdraw and hope catastrophes won’t find him. Both characters appear to have learned from their mistakes, however, with Peter apparently deciding that sometimes quick and decisive action trumps lengthy contemplation or careful observation.

Emma kicks Peter out of her apartment, and although Peter looks apologetic, it’s hard not to blame Emma for being upset. This was the only thing we’d seen bring her joy. Not professional satisfaction or cute-kitty-purring joy, but a form of artistic expression and a sense of liberation.

And Peter probably knows that it’s the look of devastation which Deanne Bray brings to Emma right here that would have dissuaded him from smashing the cello if he’d hesitated a moment longer.

Noah visits Claire’s dorm, rambles about building bridges and connecting bridges and torching bridges and oh, Noah, please just try to make amends with her and let her shut the door on you after claiming that she’s late for “something.”

Claire channels her ruthlessness and makes me wonder if the Love-Hate-Forgive Noah merry-go-round has stuttered to a halt on Hate Noah.

Poor Noah doesn’t elicit so much as rapid blinking from Claire, but he breaks my heart by putting a smile on his face and offering to give Claire a lift to whatever’s so important it beats taking a few minutes to talk to her dad.

AND EVEN THEN SHE SHUTS THE DOOR ON HIM!

There must be some explanation. Besides Claire acting like an unforgiving brat who just broke her dad’s heart. She’s right to be angry, but to shut the door in her father’s face?

We return to the Parkman residence, where Matt has succeeded in preparing ratatouille, and where he’s now forced to endure Janice’s tedious office gossip.

Matt looks as tortured as the rest of us. I find myself sympathizing with Matt more than ever, partly because he has to listen to this, partly because he’s sitting with a kid with an amazing ability, and apparently nobody’s ever talked about what the men in the family can do. It could be that, as with Samuel’s visits to Vanessa, some of the most amazing scenes are the ones we aren’t privy to. The other option is that Janice doesn’t want to talk about what either of the Matts can do, which seems like an enormous elephant to leave in the room in favor of office gossip, particularly when Matt now acknowledges that he was possessed by a psychotic monster.

Matt: “I’ve let so many people down.”

Janice: “Who?”

Matt: “Friends. People that I care about.”

The fact that Matt omits names means they probably won’t mean anything to Janice. Meaning, in turn, that he and Janice haven’t talked about anything Matt’s been through since they split. I wouldn’t be surprised if Matt left out She-Who’s-Been-Wiped-From-All-Established-Canon, but I would have figured he’d mention the Petrellis or the Bennets, or at least Mohinder.

Matt: “I’m sitting here, eating ratatouille, instead of facing the world and doing something about the problems that I’ve caused.”

Great dialogue, and a hopeful sign that Matt realizes he was as much of a co-conspirator in the Sylathan Debacle as he was a victim, and that there were ramifications that he’s equally responsible for.

Janice placates Matt with reminders of his family and his life at home, and although that hug should convey solidarity and the toys should convey cheeriness, there’s something saddening about the scene. Part of it’s the wide shot that reinforces how lonely and distant Matt feels; part of it’s the fact that Matt clearly doesn’t buy into Janice’s hollow reassurances; part of it’s that Matt gave up the Parkman-whammying antics with Noah in favor of dinner with Janice’s new hair.

While Janice is trying to placate Matt, Samuel sets himself the challenge of placating Vanessa. This, after kidnapping her and taking her from her chamber orchestra rehearsals and dropping her outside a dingy carnival trailer.

Somehow, Samuel manages to make the moment when he grabs Vanessa not look like he’s physically restraining her, and traces a shape across her face that seems to hint at a shared memory. I can’t tell if Vanessa’s half-smile conveys nervousness or nostalgia, but the gist seems to be that Samuel’s charm and promise of a sight that’s “magical” and “beautiful” sway her into staying with him.

Boozy-HRG returns! It’s telling that it’s always the drama with his daughter that drives him to drink, but it’s also sad to note that there’s someone just like Samuel: who’ll pray on an individual’s weakness; who’ll find him when he’s reeling from a rejection from his estranged daughter, barely recovering from his dissolved marriage, wondering if he’ll ever see his son again and slowly coming to terms with the way he put a superpowered psychokiller on the loose with only the most moderate of restraints.

Well, at least Noah’s happy to see her. He knows where this scene is going as much as we do. And although Noah kisses her, and although it seems to be played as a romantic moment, I can’t help seeing it as Lauren taking advantage of Noah’s despair the moment he hit rock bottom. The implication is that she earned his love through loyalty, when in fact it’s really just that she hung around long enough to catch him when he was single, and that she was ready and waiting to usurp Sandra’s ex-husband — who, as we know, she’d been interested in all along, and who, as we know, is at this particular moment INTOXICATED.

What the heck. It’s romantic enough for Lauren. Brace yourself, folks.

GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH! I can’t look! Avert your eyes! It’s… It’s too horrible to witness!

THANK YOU, HIRO! THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU! Whatever criticism I may have heaped on you in the past — and I realize that that’s not an inconsiderable amount — I take it all back! You’ve rescued us from the horror of… the LAUROAH!

For the third week in a row, Heroes offers a mixed bag. The only real downside to this episode is the Hiro story thread, which, admittedly, wasn’t nearly as bad as it could have been, but which was never nearly as brilliant as it might have been either.

Which, in effect, captures the essence of this episode — an episode that was watchable but never especially entertaining. It consists of a carefully crafted story that begins to weave all of its story threads into the central carnival storyline. It advances Samuel’s arc with the introduction of Vanessa, it brings several of the heroes together and sets up their final stand against Samuel, and it leaves Peter wondering how fate will bring Emma and Sylar to the carnival.

The Peter and Emma story threads made for thought-provoking and engrossing emotional drama. The Matt story thread felt disconnected from the character’s previous storylines, but it picked up steam as the episode went on and managed to vindicate the character before the hour was up. Vanessa suffered from serving as a supporting plot device to Samuel’s Grand Plan, but in the end she was admirably played by Kate Vernon and came across as a likeable character who’d demonstrate her capacity to carry her own storyline if she didn’t spend the entire episode under the influence of a Parkman Whammy.

And finally, there was ratatouille. Maybe it’s only because it’s in an episode that also features Ando getting high, but I’m going to put that in the plus column.

3 out of 5

Peter attends Nathan’s wake and tries to pretend everything’s fine. Angela and Claire do their best to help him mourn, but Peter’s more interested in running off to stop a homicidal office drone who’s gunning everyone in sight. After another heartfelt speech, Peter gets shot and has to borrow Claire’s ability. You’d think he’d be wise enough to hold onto this ability, but he ditches it when the option to absorb West’s flight presents itself.

Much like the first hour in this post-hiatus two-part opener, the second hour is a mixed bag. There are moments that stun you into awed silence, and there are moments that make you want to claw your eyes out. It’s an episode that sustains the merits showcased so effectively in the previous episode, with a thought-provoking exploration of Peter’s moral complexity, some surprising developments for Claire and Samuel, and several significant steps forward for the volume’s overarching storylines.

The downside is that, like the previous episode, there are story threads that slow the hour down, developments that feel like they’ve come out of nowhere, and, critically, the ongoing presence of a villain whose function remains as aimless and meandering as it did a year ago. There’s no sign of Hiro or the nerdspeak, and there is the impotence gag, which I guess both count for something. But when the show places Peter’s self-destructive denial side by side with Sylar’s fixation with Claire, it’s instantly clear where the show has hit its stride and where it’s beating a dead horse.

We start out with Peter meeting Noah on an empty road and orchestrating the crash we got a glimpse of in the previous episode. It’s a brief opening, and although it’s one we could have inferred, it affords the show the chance to hint at the tense dynamic between Peter and Noah. Milo plays Peter’s glare with a measure of outrage and contempt, echoing the distraught guy who returned to his apartment to sob on his mother’s shoulder only hours before. If there’s a criticism to be made, it’s that Peter’s reaction to Noah is never as outraged or contemptuous as you’d expect it to be. Given the harsh, clinical condition Peter found his dead brother in, and given that Peter only recently became aware of Noah’s part in the cover-up, I expected Peter’s reaction to be more instinctive. Which is to say that if I wasn’t expecting a smashed pair of horn-rimmed glasses at Peter’s feet, I was at least expecting a raised voice. I hope that’s something that will still be addressed, because while it would lack the subtlety we see here, confronting Noah would be the more believable reaction.

We cut from the title card to Nathan’s wake and another shot of Simon, Monty and an elaborately concealed Heidi. The circumstances of their appearance notwithstanding, it’s a delight to see them reintegrated into the show’s continuity. Chances are they’ll never be seen or mentioned again, but the show deserves credit for ensuring that when the characters were needed — whether the necessary actors were available or not — they were there.

Peter gives Nathan’s old secretary a smile, but we’re left to wonder whether he’s smiling to be polite, or whether he’s smiling at the morbid humor behind someone condoling him for his “loss” with only a vague idea of the drama that ensued.

The camera begins to pull back… before pulling back a little more… and a little more… and a little more still…

… until Peter’s practically a speck of dust in the distance, and we realize that while everyone else is moving on — mingling, eating and commiserating — Peter’s the one left stagnant, both physically and emotionally. Elegantly written by Jim Martin, strikingly directed by Jeannot Szwarc, and the first of several moments throughout the hour that capture what Heroes has consistently excelled at this season: small, intimate, character-based moments that are perfectly written, perfectly played, and perfectly realized.

At the carnival…

… Samuel has a chance to remind us once again — this time in the present, as opposed to via a flashback — that there’s Someone Special In His Life. It’s a moment that’s elegantly played, with Samuel smiling fondly as he traces the grooves in the paper, but the moment comes with several issues. Firstly, the show went through 12 episodes without ever mentioning Vanessa, and suddenly it’s as if barely a scene goes by without Samuel alluding to her. As elegantly played as the moments might be, their sudden frequency means that the character’s introduction inevitably feels shoehorned in at the last minute.

Secondly, there’s the way Vanessa’s been introduced — with an ability still so underdeveloped that it’s mystifying. Apparently Samuel can use the Magik Ink to create a Magik Sketch on Magik Paper. Or maybe the paper’s just Normal Paper while everything else about the concept is Magik, including Samuel’s ability to ink a sketch that reflects his latent desires. Which… we’d previously assumed was part of Lydia’s ability — the other part being the prophetic aspect of the Magik Tattoos. It’s possible this sketch is less an expression of something “latent” and more something that’s simply “on the brain.” Or just something Samuel felt like magik-sketching. But the bottom line is that, three-quarters of the way into the season, the rationale behind the ink, the tattoos and Lydia’s ability to act as a conduit for them is as cryptic as it was at the start. I wish that by now there could have been a coherent explanation behind it, because, since the premiere, it’s gone on to become a pivotal part of both Samuel’s strategic thinking and the carnival storyline. The fact that we’re still speculating about the logistics is disappointing because, given the importance of the ink, you’d think there’d be an established logic to it by now.

Doyle getting flung onto the table? It’s funny for Samuel’s “Oh, $#@%!” reaction to the reflection in the jar, and for the idea that Sylar would TK a guy as big as Doyle across the carnival for kicks and pass up what’s now his third opportunity to kill him.

Samuel: “I got big plans for you. Kill me now, you’ll never know what could be.”

Buying himself time? Trying to save his own ass? Trying to reason with Sylar the way Hiro did? It’s hard to tell, not least because the expression Samuel’s wearing when Sylar pins him to his trailer…

… reveals nothing besides his composure. Is he scared? Is he panicking? Is he frightened for his life? He should be, but Knepper plays Samuel with the same calculating serenity we’ve seen him demonstrate all season, and whether he’s TK’d to a trailer or standing in a valley that’s being transformed into a meadow, you never doubt for a second that he’s a guy with a plan.

That, above all, is why this moment between Samuel and Sylar is memorable, and why this scene illustrates the difference between Samuel and Sylar. While Samuel’s endgame remains unclear, you’re inclined to believe that he has an endgame. Sylar, by contrast, appears to be wandering from scene to scene, location to location, storyline to storyline, without any clear idea of what he wants besides a vague notion of power and revenge.

Sylar: “Everybody has big plans for me. I think that’s all people have.”

Telling dialogue, for the fact that while everyone else may indeed have a plan for Sylar, he doesn’t seem to have one for himself. Its self-parody at its best, but it’s not completely clear whether it’s intentional.

Sylar points an index finger at Samuel and discovers that…

… he’s “impotent.”

I know of no better metaphor the show could have used to comment on the character or his storyline. Again, I’m at a loss to say whether the show is intentionally admitting that Sylar has outlived his usefulness, but if this was designed to pass the baton from one villain to another…

… it’s done with remarkable panache. It demonstrates amazing attention to digital detail, right down to the texture of the eyeball and the grit in the flesh, but beyond that there’s something incredibly cool about the way it’s done: the way the oddly sensitive cult leader goes from listening to Emma play the cello to sketching an old flame to creating a localized mini-tornado. It demonstrates a level of versatility that’s worlds apart from a character whose storyline this season has mostly consisted of finding inventive ways to annoy Matt.

We go from a scene as intense as that…

… to a scene as quiet and intimate as this. If you’re predisposed to despise Claire, the scene is scuppered from the start. If you’ve had enough of Claire’s Love-Hate-and-Forgive-Noah merry-go-round, this doesn’t offer anything new. But to my mind, this scene — and the transition to this scene — captures this episode’s greatest strength: its ability to move from large, epic, visually stunning moments to small, thoughtful and emotionally gripping moments.

It’s the latest screencap to be labeled “CLAIRE IS INDIGNANT,” but more than ever it feels like Claire has good reason to be that way. It’s a curious detail that Claire cites the time Sylar scalped her and the time Sylar killed Nathan without mentioning the time Sylar forced Claire to endure his advances towards her, but regardless of the instances she focuses on, Claire has every right to be furious with Noah, and like Peter’s reaction at the start of the episode, it comes across as a disappointingly restrained outburst.

It’s enough to garner a look of intense regret from Noah, to the point where he lowers his eyes and acknowledges that he gave a lease of life to the man who killed Claire’s father. Noah runs through the usual “We did what we thought was best” apology, but the remarkable part of this latest spat between them is that Noah’s not so much explaining his actions to Claire as feebly trying to justify them. For once, Claire’s reaction is borne less out of short-sighted brattiness than it is righteous anger.

In a neat contrast, Angela approaches Peter at Nathan’s wake and pretty much invites him to be angry, only to hear that he merely wants to “put [his] fist through a wall.” I’d point out that this would make great drama if only it would be shown on-screen, but if this is indeed the show’s final season, I hope that when Peter does finally put his fist through a wall, his fist finds Sylar’s head on the other side of it. As it stands, the characters seem very complacent about the fact that Nathan’s killer is once again on the loose.

Milo brings remarkable nuance to his performance, with Peter feigning ambivalence but lashing out at Angela when she suggests that Nathan was a better liar than him.

Compared with Noah’s morose regret, Angela’s behavior seems to reflect stoic endurance. She’s not so much withering beneath Peter’s anger as she is embracing it. Which is strange, because it immediately prompts us to sympathize with Angela more than with Noah, even though Angela was the mastermind behind the Sylathan debacle in the first place. We’re never especially inclined to feel bad for Noah, but it’s worth noting that while everyone fawns over Peter and while Lauren’s apparently willing to support Noah, Angela has no one to support her.

Claire shows up, Peter takes her to the kitchen, and it leads into a scene that’s a testament to both the complexity of the characters and the talent of the actors. It helps that it takes place in a kitchen that at times seems to dissolve and leave nothing besides a plain black backdrop, but in the end it’s a stunning script and some exquisite performances that carry the scene. When Claire starts to ask if Noah and Angela really thought they “were going to get away with it,” you can see Claire still reeling from the discovery and trying to grasp the enormity of the deception. She also inadvertently stumbles onto a prospective issue that no one ever seems to consider: if anyone really had gotten away with it, it wouldn’t have been long before Sylathan found himself having to explain why he wasn’t getting any older.

Peter’s reaction is less obvious and much more bottled up. When he counters that they were “trying to protect us,” you can hear that although he understands the reasoning, he doesn’t agree with it, and, moreover, he doesn’t have the strength to disagree with it. The complexity stems from Peter’s grief and anger and weariness, and his effort to ignore all three of those.

Claire’s reaction to not healing and Peter’s realization that he’s Haitian-whammying Claire are nicely played, but again, the brilliance is in the subtlety, with Claire asking not to get her regeneration back in the hope that a physical wound will help her to confront the psychological one.

Claire: “It’s nice to feel pain; feel normal.”

Peter: “We’re anything but… normal.”

Subtle delivery from Milo, particularly the beat he allows to pass before Peter manages to get the word “normal” out. In light of the way Peter recently reminded God that he asked to be special, and the time he laughed at the notion of being ordinary, it’s also telling that his delivery here conveys a longing for normality instead of an aversion.

This seems to be the first moment when Claire latches onto Peter’s anguish, because the look she gives him…

… suddenly reveals her concern: that no one’s been listening to him, and that no one’s aware of how intensely he’s suffering.

Claire: “Mourning Nathan could not be more ordinary. That’s what we’re here to do. To cut lemons and limes and remember that stupid jerk.”

Szwarc rapidly cuts from one actor to the other, but somehow Peter’s guarded expression manages to articulate more than Claire’s anecdote about Nathan and West; it’s in what’s not said that we’re able to glean the most.

Noah returns to his apartment, and suddenly…

… Noah has the opportunity to remind us that he’s still very much the most magnificent badass to ever grace our TV screens.

Coleman’s Japanese will never be anything other than awesome, but it’s even more awesome to consider why Noah needed the sushi bar closed for the night. One would assume it’s because Noah expected Edgar to be screaming at the top of his lungs by the time he was done with him, but it might also be because Noah fully expected to get through every utensil in the restaurant before he was done torturing Edgar.

Was I the only one who groaned when Lauren showed up? Between the styled hair and the “Iron Maiden” gag, it seemed like the show was trying very hard to make her both more appealing and more formidable. Thing is, we know Lauren. We know that she’s a loud-mouthed, eavesdropping, home-wrecking, married-man-stealing shrew, and the sudden attempt to turn her into a hot, perceptive badass smacks of desperation.

Here’s the worst part, though: I got to the end of this episode, and I was at a loss to figure out what Lauren even contributed to it. She’s a catalyst to the drama in the sense that she tells Noah to be objective and helps to keep the peace between Noah and Edgar, but couldn’t Noah have realized on his own that torturing Edgar wasn’t getting him anywhere? Couldn’t he have decided to switch tactics on his own? And given that Edgar barely acknowledges Lauren throughout these scenes anyway, couldn’t the bulk of these scenes have played out the exact same way without her?

As near as I can tell, Lauren’s gone from not helping Noah capture Sylar in Odessa to not helping Noah form an alliance with Edgar to dethrone Samuel. And inbetween, there’s been the implication that Noah nearly cheated on his wife for Lauren, that there’s been some misconstrued jealousy between Sandra and Lauren, and that there’s been some angst on Noah’s part after the reveal that Lauren Haitian-whammied herself.

Is there anything there of actual substance? I mean, in terms of advancing the plot, or even just adding to our appreciation of the main characters, has Lauren served any real purpose? She’s gorgeous, sure, but besides that, I’m struggling to come up with a single point in her favor. Which puts Lauren in the same camp as Maya: barely likeable, frequently annoying and ultimately useless.

Let’s ignore Lauren and focus on Noah, because, really, between the discovery that freezing a speedster’s ass off will limit their ability and this…

… Noah finds himself on a fundamentally awesome roll this week.

We return to the carnival, where we’re deprived of the chance to see Sylar’s muscles “knitting back into flesh” but privy to the look on Lydia’s face when Samuel instructs her to [sarcastic air quotes] “help” Sylar.

Lydia: “I’m not some piece of flesh you can just toss around.”

Samuel: “You didn’t seem to mind the last time he was here.”

Meaning what — that she really didn’t have any interest at all in Amnesiac-Sylar when she told him he was “handsome” and took him back to her trailer? Poor Amnesiac-Sylar! Poor Edgar! And poor Lydia! If that whole crushing-on-the-bad-boy thing was just an act — well, firstly it needed more than a throwaway line here, but secondly it makes me feel really bad for Lydia for basically having to prostitute herself, and thirdly it makes me like Samuel a lot less when you realize that he is tossing Lydia around like a piece of flesh.

Can we focus on the music for a moment? I really think we should, because on the one hand it really is an amazing choral motif in the background as Lydia approaches Sylar, and on the other hand it’s an excuse for me to ignore the obligatory Sylar shirtlessness and the chest-hair stroking and the fondling and the making out and the OH. MY. GOD, is THIS why they wanted the 9pm slot back?

Lydia: “Your skin is so soft. It’s like a baby.”

^ ^ Actual dialogue!

Kudos to Dawn Olivieri, because she delivers that line with a straight face. Kudos to Lydia, because she now throws herself into the moment and does exactly what Samuel instructed her to do, which is to say…

… we’re subjected to the Lydlar. Or is it the Sydia? Whichever it is, I prefer considering shipper names to pondering the significance of Sylar making out with Lydia and getting flashes of Peter, Nathan, Matt and Baby Matt. Now that’s disturbing. And hilarious.

Sylar: “You see what people want. Their desires. Their hopes.”

It jives with Lydia’s description of her ability to Claire in “The Fifth Stage,” but it still fails to explain how images of Željko and Noah popped up on Lydia’s back. Claire, Sylar and Peter you can understand, but Željko and Noah?

Sylar: “I don’t need to kill. It’s just something I like to do.”

Lydia: “Not anymore. You’re impotent.”

BRAVO, LYDIA! Well done for delivering the line and, you know, surviving…

… and thank you for giving us this look of humiliation from the show’s arch-villain.

We return to Nathan’s wake, where Angela tries to have a conversation with Claire, and Claire…

… is once again INDIGNANT. To her credit, it’s a moment when her indignation again feels justified, at least insofar as she makes a valid point and limits her perspective to a few sharp words instead of telling Angela she hates her and storming off. Angela rehashes the same Claire-worship she resorted to in “1961″ — you know, telling her what a fine young woman she is, how confident and upstanding and generally amazing she is — but the amusing part is that Angela probably only said all of this to win over Claire’s support for Peter.

Angela: “He’s empathetic beyond his years, but now it’s his turn to grieve, and he has absolutely no idea how to go about it.”

The way the dialogue flows in this scene, you never really pause to challenge this assessment or question whether Angela might be wrong. Looking back, though, and knowing how Angela immediately went from hugging Nathan’s dead body to concocting the Sylathan scheme, you have to wonder whether Angela had any more of an idea how to grieve when she lost Nathan. If opting to create a pretend version of her dead son isn’t a sign of denial, I’m not sure what is.

But then, judging from the way Peter cut himself off from everyone he knew, it’s fair to say that Angela had much more direct contact with Sylathan than Peter did. Which, in a way, would surely have been as painful as it was comforting, because judging from the lunches we’ve seen, Angela never really succeeded in convincing herself that Sylathan was her son. From that perspective, Angela’s acceptance of Nathan’s death has been even more prolonged and messy than Peter’s. Peter discovered the truth and was forced to say goodbye to Sylathan within days, whereas Angela was forced to wrestle with grief and guilt for more than six months. She was also forced to pretend that nothing was wrong, whereas Peter at least has the option to fall apart if he wants to.

Bottom line: this experience has probably left Angela and Peter equally screwed up.

Claire: “You’re his mother.”

Angela: “I am, but like you I’m afraid he will never trust me again.”

Heartbreaking, not because of any emotive expression from Angela, but precisely the opposite: you can see hurt in her eyes at the realization she’s come to, but also acceptance. It’s only when she pleads with Claire to help Peter…

… that you know it’s killing her that she can’t do anything to help him herself. Again, very subtly played, and in keeping with what’s apparently a Petrelli compulsion to bottle up and conceal whatever it is that they’re feeling.

It’s not a good day for Edgar. Or for Noah’s knuckles, which by now look pretty raw and bloody.

Would Noah really have killed Edgar? You want to believe that the ruthlessness he showed as a Company Man is behind him and that his mostly-non-lethal actions over the past two seasons are evidence that he’s a changed man. The way Coleman plays the part in this scene, though, you have to wonder whether that killer instinct is something that’s been ingrained into him rather than an approach he can pick up and discard.

Noah: “I just want some answers.”

Lauren: “I know you do, but I can tell you that torture doesn’t work.”

?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

So, she was a Company agent — a company which, we can safely say, was very much pro-torture and pro-coercion. And she was a Company agent long enough to have gone on multiple assignments with Noah, Mr. Company-Golden-Boy and Mr. Very-Much-Pro-Torture. And she was part of a company that, as Noah once pointed out, was infamous for its ability to indoctrinate and brainwash its employees into supporting its ideology. And, as this episode proudly lets us know, she once earned the name Iron Maiden.

And now, barely a year after The Company collapsed, torture is suddenly the most appalling tactic she’s ever encountered?

Lauren insists that she’s “changed” and that she’s adopted a “liberal agenda.” I can’t figure out if this is some kind of public service announcement for the CIA, if it’s a sign that Lauren was an ineffectual Company agent or if it’s just further support for my Lauren’s-a-carnival-spy theory. I’m not saying I care all that much, because, hey, it’s Lauren. Just saying, this makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.

Anyway, Claire tracks Peter to a building where a disgruntled and homicidal ex-employee has gone on a rampage. The great part about this portion of the story is that Peter’s tasked with saving a life without any abilities to help him. His strength and speed and insta-healing are no longer options, but he still plunges into the middle of danger and gets to work on the woman he finds bleeding out. Which probably speaks to the recklessness that Claire later berates him for, but also speaks to Peter’s selfnessness and nobility when he’s ready to risk his life to help whoever needs him.

Curiously, when the shooter shows up and points a gun at Claire, the one person who has less cause to be afraid than anyone seems frozen to the spot with fear. You could argue that she’s afraid of setting the maniac off on another shooting spree, but you could also look back on the time she brazenly let a member of the president’s security press a gun to her forehead, and you have to wonder whether Nathan’s death has rattled Claire to the point where even the invincible cheerleader no longer feels invincible.

Shooter: “You work here?”

Peter: “No, I’m just like you, having a bad day. The worst, in fact. You see, I just buried my brother. He was murdered. And if that’s not bad enough, I had to stage his death, like I’m some kind of mobster or spy. But I’m not. I’m just some kid from New York City.”

The camera cuts away once or twice, mostly to capture the bewildered look on the shooter’s face, and to establish that, at last, Claire has caught on to the fact that Peter’s suffering intolerably. But most of this scene relies solely on Milo’s performance. There’s almost no music, no searing crescendo to tell you when to feel moved, no dramatic close-ups to make you feel claustrophobic, no sweeping shots to convey the intensity of the scene — just one actor with a solid script, nailing the part of a despondent guy who’s looking a homicidal shooter in the eyes and trying to get through to him.

Peter: “And now everyone expects me to shake hands and pretend like everything’s normal. But it’s not. It’s far from that.”

Neat play on the show’s usual diction, with words like “normal” and “ordinary” suddenly taking on a different meaning. It’s effective in this instance because we see Claire realize several things at once: that she was babbling about mourning Nathan’s death in an “ordinary” way, that Peter’s been screaming on the inside, and that Claire was too distracted with her own grief to see it.

As with Peter’s speech at the funeral, the focus on the people listening isn’t so long that it breaks the flow of the scene, but it’s long enough to let you know that his words have hit home.

Shooter: “Why are you telling me this, man?”

Peter: “Because I understand where you’re at right now. You wanna punish the people that have hurt you. I know what that feels like. I wanna torture the guy that murdered my brother — I wanna make him scream. That’s all I can think about.”

Hopefully something that will be revisited before the season draws to a close. We got a glimpse of it in “The Fifth Stage,” but given the time that Peter’s had to absorb the reality of the situation, and given the aggression that Peter’s been forced to bury, the implication is that his anger has intensified rather than faded.

Peter: “But I’m trying to be hopeful. I’m trying to be strong, even though I feel myself slipping. Look, I promised my brother that I’d be a hero. Don’t make me a liar. Not today.”

There’s a long, drawn out pause as the scene cuts to the shooter, and you’re thinking this will be one of those hackneyed TV moments in which the deranged shooter sees the error of his ways, drops his gun and breaks down into tears.

Nicely done, show. Remove the conventions until there aren’t any.

Was Peter ever in serious danger? Chances are Claire would have come to his rescue if there had been any real risk, but the way it plays out, we’re given the impression that Claire would be happy to let Peter spend several weeks recovering in hospital so he’d have time to process what’s happened to him.

Which seems like a sound tough-love approach to helping Peter deal with what’s happened, but given that Sylar’s on the loose and has yet to make good on his promise to kill everyone involved in his out-of-body experience, it seems a little reckless of Claire to leave Peter incapacitated and wide open to a visit.

Claire finally relents, and although it’s an effect we’ve seen several times over the past season, there’s something about its significance that sets this apart from other occasions. It’s Peter absorbing Claire’s regeneration, but beyond that, it’s one superpowered individual coming to the aid of another, and it’s one member of a family helping another and reminding him that, no matter what happens, she’ll be there for him.

That’s as far as the superpowered element goes in this scene, and that absence of superpowered drama is largely what makes it so effective, because like any of the show’s most emotionally involving scenes, it’s one that roots its drama in the human dynamic above and beyond the superpowered one.

Claire: “What kind of life is this? Human pin cushion.”

Peter: “If I keep moving, if I just act on instinct, then I don’t have time to think.”

Claire: “About Nathan? Nathan would be so pissed at you right now. Lying to yourself, lying to us. You’re not honoring his memory, you’re avoiding it.”

Peter: “If I think about it, then it’s real. If I mourn, it’s real.”

Great dialogue, and superbly delivered by both actors. Hayden brings an almost uncharacteristically harsh tell-it-like-it-is demeanor to Claire, and when you recall that the season started with Claire exchanging means looks with Gretchen over lunch at an Indian restaurant, you realize how far the show has brought the character in less than one season.

Peter’s character arc has gone from strength to strength throughout this season, but this moment, when he finally opens up to Claire, underlines how he’s progressed over the course of the season, from cutting himself off from his family to rebonding with Angela to discovering the truth about Sylathan to letting his brother go. It’s an arc that’s been both emotionally involving and deeply saddening, which isn’t to say that Peter’s story thread hasn’t always been that way, but between this kind of character-based material and the episodes in Volume Three where Peter forgot to use his multiple abilities to get out of the latest superpowered hijinx, I’ll take this material anyday.

We return to Noah’s sushi bar.

Noah: “You like tea? Stupid question — you’re British. Drink up.”

Line of the night. Terrible stereotype, but a hilarious one when it involves the guy he beat to a bloody pulp.

Ray Park gets his first chance all season to act, and although that isn’t intended as a jab at the actor, it’s a pleasure to see Edgar do more than wave knives and glare at Samuel, and it’s a pleasure to see Park seize the opportunity and run with good material. When Noah assesses Edgar’s situation and asks him what he’s doing so far from the carnival without a compass, we see Edgar weighing his options and deciding if he’s willing to trust the stranger he’d been ordered to slice open.

Park conveys this with a suspicious stare, but also a look that betrays grudging respect for the guy who overcame him without any powers of his own. Park’s winning charm inevitably makes its way into the scene, and Edgar explains that he was once a juggler and that his hostility emerged in the course of his tenure as Samuel’s right-hand man.

Noah: “You’d go back to Samuel even after he killed your friend and pinned it on you?”

Edgar: “I’m afraid of what he’s gonna do to my friends. Where he’s gonna lead my family.”

It’s a defining moment, even if it dredges up the perennial question of why Edgar doesn’t just speedyzip into Samuel’s trailer and slit his throat. Noah later dismisses Edgar’s obstinacy as an instance of Samuel’s brainwashing. It’s probably true in Doyle’s case, but Edgar’s motivation for keeping the carnival members together seems less about deference to Samuel and much more about protecting the people he thinks of as family. As much as we’re inclined to trust Noah’s judgment — partly because Noah’s a good judge of character and partly because Noah Always Knows Best — it seems like Noah misjudges Edgar’s motives and makes the wrong call. The if-he-won’t-listen-he-must-be-crazy explanation doesn’t fly for me, because Edgar’s disagreement with Noah over raiding the carnival always seems more like that of an impassioned resident than a brainwashed drone.

Edgar draws up a map of the carnival and a list of its key members. Samuel and Joseph are at the top, along with Edgar, Lydia, Spider Caleb and Disappearing-Act Teddy, but the rest of them seem intentionally indecipherable.

I couldn’t decide if Noah’s plan to reintegrate the carnival into society was intentionally vague. On the one hand, we know Noah’s capable of that kind of an undertaking. On the other hand, he probably doesn’t even believe it’s possible, and we’ve seen him tell Tracy as much.

Sylar overturns the contents of Samuel’s trailer in an effort to find the Magik Ink and produce his own Magik Tattoo. On the surface, it’s simply an instance of the show’s overarching villain looking to the current volume’s villain for mystical know-how. Beneath the surface, there’s a subtle statement about the overarching villain’s lack of direction, and the fact that he needs to look to the current villain for guidance because he has no clue what to do next.

The reference to Vanessa once again feels like it’s come out of nowhere, because if she is indeed “the love of [Samuel's] life,” you’d think she’d have been mentioned before now. There’s something romantic about hearing Samuel’s profession that he’d move mountains for her — not least because you know he really, really would — but there’s also something deeply significant about the way Samuel uses Vanessa to compare himself to Sylar.

Samuel: “I’m afraid she’ll reject me, for who I am, for what I’ve done. That’s the way you think too. That no one can love you.”

It’s one megalomaniac communing with another, but the way the scene plays out…

… the distinction between the villains couldn’t be clearer if the show tried. It’s not as if either actor has failed in their role; they both exude enormous charm and charisma, and they’ve both brought immense, inimitable brilliance to their roles. The distinction lies in the state of their characters’ arcs at this point in the season. One of them needs a Magik Tattoo to know what he’s meant to do next. Which is to say, he’s been reduced to seeking out a contrived story device to tell him what to do next.

The other has a story that’s interwoven with every other character’s, in such a way that every scene he appears in embellishes the stories of the characters around him. Which, in turn, is to say that while he’s both a compelling and menacing character in his own right, he’s also an integral part of the broader story arcs.

Which is a roundabout way of saying that Samuel’s story thread is currently awesome, and Sylar’s is dead in the water. I hope that changes, for Sylar’s sake and for the show’s. Three seasons ago, the idea that any villain could compete with Sylar in terms of stature or charisma would have been unthinkable. As it stands, when Samuel tells Sylar, “I am you,” he’s doing himself a disservice.

Gorgeously shot. Not so visually dazzling that it gets in the way of the drama, but stunning enough that it serves as a memorable backdrop to the scene.

Claire: “I’ve gotta trust you. I can’t have you lying to me. Not you.”

Peter: “I’ll always be honest with you. I promise.”

On paper, it’s reassuring enough. When it’s realized on screen…

… the dialogue becomes ominous. I think we can safely say that an intensely dishonest streak is about to emerge in Peter.

Whether that has anything to do with absorbing West’s ability remains to be seen. It’s disappointing that Nick D’Agosto was unable to reprise his role, but it’s a nice namecheck, and there’s something profound in Peter choosing to reabsorb Nathan’s ability.

The show’s two-hour post-Christmas return draws to a close…

… with Samuel reminding us that, yes, there was once someone in his life named Vanessa and, yes, she was Very Important to him.

Additionally…

… Sylar’s back to stalking Claire. I wonder: what’s the worst that could happen? Perhaps he might rip open her head? Or perhaps he might make creepy overtures towards her? Or, if the show really wants to push the envelope, it might be interesting to see what happens when these two characters end up in a room together and… I don’t know, glare at one another?

Please, show. Not again.

If the final scene defines our overall impression of an episode, “Upon This Rock” was undoubtedly one of the show’s strongest. On the basis of this episode’s final shot, “Let It Bleed” doesn’t fare as well. Ironically, the quality of the final scenes in both episodes more or less reflects the quality throughout their respective hours. “Let It Bleed” stands out for some remarkable performances and extraordinary writing, but the episode limits those to specific characters and specific storylines, and they’re bogged down by other characters and storylines that struggle to find direction or express anything new. On the upside, Milo and Hayden deliver two of their finest performances, Peter gets to be a hero without his abilities, and Noah once again proves that he’s an unimpeachable badass. On the downside, the episode suffers from several story threads that feel like they lack a coherent direction. Sylar spends the entire hour figuring out that he needs a Magik Tattoo, only to discover that it’s pointing him to a character he’d already become fixated with at the end of the previous season. Noah gets a lesson from Lauren in effective interrogation, only to learn that, apparently, no form of interrogation will yield the results he’s hoping for, because Edgar’s not going to help him. And Samuel, charming and charismatic as he is, appears to spend the episode pining for Vanessa. Which, intriguing as it is, fails to hold our attention when it’s stretched over an entire hour.

A mixed bag, but with some memorable highlights and some promising developments for the story ahead.

3 out of 5

Samuel visits Emma and demonstrates how she can draw people to her with her music. Using this ability, Samuel recruits a super with the ability to revitalize plant life.

Welcome back, folks! On behalf of HeroSite, I’d like to wish everyone a Happy New Year.

It may not be such a happy New Year for Heroes, because apparently half of its fanbase didn’t know the show was back on Monday. Good marketing job, NBC. It’s not like the whole episode was terrible. It captures everything that’s great about the show and only very briefly disrupts its greatness with something that sucks. It comes with some terrific performances, several awe-inspiring effects, a few extremely cool details and an appropriately moving final scene. There’s the occasional flaw, and, obviously, one story thread that nearly drags everything else down. But for the most part it’s an entertaining and engaging start to the final leg of the season.

Engaging. Everyone got that, right? As in, “Warp speed, eng-”

Oh, never mind. We’ll get there.

V.O. Mohinder returns! He wants us to know that memories make us human and give our life meaning. I can’t decide if this was meant to be funny after a season in which Mohinder’s been given little to nothing in the way of memories to draw on. But his voice-over at the start of this episode might just be his most involved part in the show all season, and intriguingly (or perhaps glaringly), it suggests that V.O. Mohinder’s perspective has changed since the previous season’s finale, when he posited that an individual’s soul and spirit transcend memories and physiology. It’s V.O. Mohinder, so perhaps it goes without saying that we’re not intended to consider the meaning behind the words at all. But if we are, V.O. Mohinder appears to have changed his mind and decided that, yes, the memories really do make the man. Which amounts to a much more secular perspective, but it’s a posthumous validation for poor Sylathan.

My God. Did I really just rattle out an entire paragraph about a voice-over? Let’s move on. Quickly.

Claire spends her weekend at the carnival picking up trash. That’s what a $40,000 education will get you, kids. That, and hair that photogenically billows in the wind in slow motion. And about 10 layers of eye shadow, eyeliner and mascara to convey just how daaaaaaark and corrupt a weekend at the carnival will make you. The opening scene is effective in a more understated way, however, because it conveys how unnerving the carnival can be when you take out the music, the bustling activity and, above all, the people.

Lydia hands Samuel’s pancakes to Claire, sends her to his trailer…

… and gets the Look of Crafty Scheming. It’s a fleeting moment, but it signals the way Lydia’s coerced-victim-who-fears-for-her-daughter’s-safety stance at the end of “The Fifth Stage” has morphed into a get-someone-else-to-confront-Samuel-so-I-don’t-have-to stance. It’s not so much underhanded as it is admirably sneaky, but you’re left wondering whether Lydia knows what’s in the files Samuel stole from Noah, what Samuel’s planning and who he’s planning to recruit. Mostly, it seems like she just wanted to meddle.

The Primatech box felt like a plot device from the moment it was introduced, but it’s only now that it starts to feel like a contrived and arbitrary plot device. It’s essential to the story because it triggers Claire’s suspicion, but it didn’t have to. Samuel didn’t have to conceal the box and evade Claire’s observation. He could have claimed that he got it from Primatech years earlier. Or that he was using the files to help the people whose lives The Company ruined with incarceration and invasive testing. Or, as a last-ditch resort, he could have insisted that the box contained actual paper.

The function of the box aside, the shout-out to Primatech did make me wonder whether the paper company in Texas might still be running, and what must have happened to the Company’s secret rooms and hidden vaults after the New York facility burned down. Not a plot hole by any means, but certainly an unresolved storyline which suddenly presents itself.

Samuel: “As you may have guessed, your father and I have more shared history than you know.”

Intriguing, not least after Noah claimed that the carnival was “a nest [The Company] never came across,” and after Samuel came face to face with Noah and appeared to only know him by “reputation.” It’s possible Noah encountered Samuel without ever knowing about the carnival, and if that’s true, this is a hopeful sign that there’s a backstory between Noah and Samuel waiting to be explored.

Samuel gushes about the homeland that’s about to come to fruition, Claire bows out of seeing it on account of college, and Samuel retorts with a winning “OK, your loss.” I can’t help wondering whether this is another subtly played dig at the current state of higher education, but Claire comes storming back with a Sartre quote, which she probably got from a site like this rather than from any actual reading, but I guess it speaks to the enormous benefits Claire reaped from that one time we saw her studying.

Samuel: “I always thought freedom was just another word for ‘nothing left to lose.’”

Oh, Samuel. Oh, Heroes writers. Very well played. I think a Janis Joplin lyric will be lost on someone whose musical tastes yielded this, but that’s surely part of the humor, and it makes Samuel even more endearing when you start to think about the music this charming megalomaniac grew up listening to.

More than anything else, though, it’s Knepper that makes the character endearing; it’s the actor’s ability to take a scene between Samuel and any character — Claire, Lydia, Emma, Ian or Sylar — and to convey why any of them would instantly trust Samuel in spite of what he’s done. You could argue that Claire’s just playing along to disguise her suspicion, but the dynamic between Samuel and Claire — and Samuel and every other character — remains so effortless that you can believe they’d forgive Samuel for anything. The actor brings a charm and civility that belies Samuel’s villainy.

The carnival had a stint in Costa Verde? Nice detail. Ruth Ammon deserves about the billionth bouquet she’s earned this season for some amazing attention to detail on her sets.

We cut to Tokyo, and… Wait, what’s that? What’s… What’s Damien from the carnival doing at my door? Wh- Help! HELP! He’s… He’s putting the Damien Whammy on me! He’s removing my ability to review Hiro’s scenes with any intelligible thought!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGH!

My fellow humanoids! That detestable villain has robbed me of my universal communicator! Tricorder analysis has malfunctioned! Communication is limited! My fellow humanoids — are you receiving me? Red alert! Brace for impact! Thermal overload is imminent! Abandon ship! All hands, ABANDON SHIP!

Visual contact has been established! This holodeck program is most impressive. The pixels and subroutines have outdone themselves. The programmer is to be commended with shore leave in Risa.

The Jester has appeared. Repeat — the Jester has appeared! His vocal algorithms appear to be malfunctioning as well! He seeks his first officer, but all he finds is Quark. Quark offers him “miso, soy or salt.” I believe this to be a derogatory invective disguised as a reference to his culinary selection, but such analysis is currently beyond my parameters.

An offender of the society’s customs attempts to relieve a fellow bystander of her monetary tender. My fellow humanoids — this distress call is highly improbable. Statistical probability states that while Mos Eisley is a location replete with such morally disreputable citizens, Coruscant is not, and no offender would seek to obtain property when the planet’s sun is high and the environment is densely populated.

Social analysis yields many questions: the offender’s attempt to procure the woman’s accessory lasts for an inordinate amount of time, yet the members of the densely crowded alley do not attempt to intervene, and Quark returns to preparing his culinary selection.

The Jester uses physical violence to sever the bond between the offender and the accessory! This is impressive, however I must question the likelihood of a successful saucer separation while traveling at sublight speed. The Falcon’s hyperdrive is leaking.

The Jester brandishes a device capable of dissecting humanoid limbs. He issues words of reassurance, however the situation is dire. It’s analogous to arming Jar Jar Binks with a blaster in the center of Tatooine and expecting to find survivors in the aftermath of a skirmish with a demented stormtrooper. Reinforcements are required! Authorized personnel attempt to remove the article from the Jester’s hand. I seek an alternative transmission! Emergency exit! Repeat — emergency exit!

Sorry about that, folks. I think the review got a little garbled. Where were we?

Gorgeously shot, and one of the most visually stunning moments of either episode this week. You can’t tell where the real location shooting ends and the CG landscape starts. It’s seamless.

The camera pulls behind the boulder, the color drains from the screen, and suddenly we’re blessed with… Emerson, Lake & Palmer? Oh, show. I expect more of this every week from now on. You can shoehorn all the Petrelli-hoax plot twists you want into Sylar’s backstory, but this says something about character. This says something about the angry teenager who grew up wanting to bring a community of superpowered social misfits together.

Not that that’s what this scene was supposed to focus on. It helps, but the biggest help is of course outstanding casting.

With the exception of Alexa Nikolas, and possibly Ravi Kapoor and Edwin Hodge, I don’t think the show has ever cast better equivalents of its characters. It’s a shame the scene is so brief, but within moments the actors capture what drives the characters and leads them into their present circumstances. Julian de la Celle brings a bright sensitivity and aspiration to the younger Samuel, and at the same time a certain disturbed, vaguely unstable undertone, the kind that makes you wonder if Young Samuel might suddenly pick up a rock and start bashing someone’s skull in. You can believe he’s both the outcast kid who writes weird poetry and the competitive little brother who wants to prove himself to the world. The way Doug Haley plays Joseph, you can see traces of a younger Andrew Connolly: the stern, authoritative voice, the no-nonsense practicality. You can believe that Samuel would be scared enough to obey him, but also resentful enough to want to upstage him. If this is the first time the actors have feigned an Irish accent, I can’t even tell. The genius is in the attitude and the dynamic between the characters.

The flashback raises half a dozen questions that are still begging to be answered: who was running the carnival at this point in the mid-seventies? Was Papa Sullivan ever part of the carnival, or was Joseph singlehandedly looking after Samuel as soon as they left Coyote Sands? Was the carnival always a haven for people with abilities, or did that develop over time? How and where did Samuel meet Vanessa, and does he know if she has an ability?

One detail sticks out, however, and it’s the one that has yet to make the transition from online media to on-screen canon. The fact that Joseph’s ability still hasn’t been clearly established is disappointing because Young Joseph says right here that he has “a show to do,” and the implication is that his ability plays at least some part in that. What’s much less apparent is whether Samuel knows what his brother’s ability is, whether Joseph already knows that it’s his responsibility to undermine his brother’s ability, and whether the reason Samuel is unable to move the boulder is because of Joseph’s proximity.

Young Joseph makes an oblique reference to Vanessa. It introduces the character without feeling too heavy-handed, and what’s remarkable about this reference is what it contri-

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGH!

My fellow humanoids, my analysis has led me to follow the Jester to Cloud City. The homing beacon has been successful, but previous details dictate that the homing beacon’s existence is highly improbable: the yellow-shirts use the beacon to lead the Jester to his point of origin, yet we’ve seen the Jester visit sickbay and beam to Planet Rodeo, at which point he was reunited with the gleeful Princess Peach. In both instances the Jester’s sartorial arrangements changed, meaning he couldn’t possibly still be carrying his beacon. No ship that small has a cloaking device.

Red alert! Thermal overload! Warp core breach is imminent!

Thankfully, the beacon allows the Jester’s sidekick to establish direct contact with him. The consequences of the beacon’s absence are articulated:

Error! Does not compute! Catastrophic syntactical failure!

We are displeased! The Galactic Empire should NOT allow such incompetence to go unpunished! Apologies will NOT be accepted, Captain Needa! Visual contact terminated!

Whoa, sorry folks. Not sure what happened there. I think there’s some kind of glitch in the review. I’m back now, though.

Emma gets a stack of mail at the hospital, rifles through it for mail addressed to her and gets a rejection letter from Mercy Heights College of Medicine. What’s curious about this scene is the implications it has on Emma’s decision to help Samuel. It’s a brief scene, and the show’s editors could have taken it out and gone straight to Samuel showing up at Emma’s apartment without the episode changing all that much. The brilliance is in the subtlety, because it’s another instance of Samuel finding someone when they’re at their most vulnerable and manipulating their despair: when Claire is reeling from Gretchen’s departure, when Doyle’s wondering if he can keep up the normality shtick, and when Tracy’s beginning to question whether anyone with an ability can get by in a world that doesn’t understand them.

Which isn’t to say that Emma wouldn’t have agreed to help Samuel anyway, because she probably would. But the way the story unfolds, with Emma finally deciding to come out of her shell and getting shot down, we’re left with the impression that Emma’s delight over helping Samuel and finding Ian is even greater after she started to wonder if she’d ever be able to help anyone.

Samuel using sign language was a neat touch. You could dismiss it as a convenient plot device, but given the carnival’s extensive travel and the languages Samuel has picked up along the way, it stands to reason that Samuel would have picked up the skill at one point or another.

The other part of this scene that very much impressed me was the way Sam–

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGH!

Fellow humanoids, I have established visual contact with Teresa Cascajo!

Temperature of the dilithium crystals has decreased to acceptable levels. Teresa knows of the Jester’s ailment and intends to bring him to Doctor McCoy. My positronic net is appeased by this because our last visual contact with Teresa established that she knew of both the Jester’s magic tricks and his impending ailment. I fully expect this part of the galaxy to now be explored. We will boldly go where no man has gone before.

Sancho: “Wait.”

Teresa: “‘Wait?’ My brother needs a doctor. He’s all the family I have left. Please, let me help him.”

Warp factor 9.5! All systems are operating within normal parameters! R2D2 has fixed the hyperdrive!

The Jester: “We must prepare for our quest in the danger room.”

Captain, we’ve dropped out of warp. Impulse power only.

Sancho: “The Danger Room is also where [the Jester] keeps his comic books. I think he wants us to use them to figure this out.”

System overload! Entire star systems have been assimilated! Resist! Teresa — the rebellion needs you! Your grief over the tragedy of Anakin’s demise should not be ignored! Reach out with your mind and trust your feelings!

I don’t know what’s going on here, folks. Nothing I try to say about Hiro’s scenes comes out the way I want it to. I can’t explain it. It’s as if something’s gone horribly, horribly wrong.

Anyway, Emma invites Samuel into her apartment, and what’s immediately apparent…

… is the way Samuel exudes the same beguiling charm he’d previously used to win over Tracy and Claire. The way the scene is blocked out, we’re always aware of the distance Emma keeps between herself and Samuel, but at the same time we see her suspicion dissolving and her trust growing. Part of that’s down to Samuel’s winning charisma, although his familiarity with Emma’s ability is as puzzling as it is reassuring. Emma seems content to believe that Samuel knows what he’s talking about when he urges Emma to let go of her fear and embrace her true ability, but does he know this based on Lydia’s latest tattoo, or has he known someone with the same ability? Again, one of the details in Samuel’s backstory that’s waiting to be explored.

The file on Ian Michaels was delightful for a number of reasons, from the company-headed paper to the insight into Ian’s background and ability to “spawn vegetative life.” What’s most delightful, however…

… is the namecheck of a certain invisible man. Cute detail.

Claire uses the house of mirrors to confuse Eli and manages to pwn him. It’s a neat moment for the character. You have to wonder how she knew that knocking out the original Eli would dissolve the copies, but using her surroundings to outwit her attacker speaks to Claire’s resourcefulness.

There are a few names at the back of the Primatech box that can’t be made out, but all of the obvious ones are there: Peter, Matt and Gabriel, and then, intriguingly, D.L., Micah, Ted, Eden — and (perhaps less intriguingly) Maya.

Claire bolts upright and mechanically stumbles out of Samuel’s trailer. The cool thing is the way the moment functions as a signature for a character; you don’t see Doyle until Claire’s outside the trailer and on the ground, but the moment you hear that metallic CLUNK! and see Claire spin round, you immediately place the ability to a face and know what’s going on.

David H. Lawrence XVII makes a welcome return to the show, and he uses the opportunity to play Doyle with the depth the character has gained across multiple formats since his appearance at the end of Volume Four. Between the webisodes, the iStory and several graphic novels, Lawrence brings a blend of indignant anger and defensive conviction to the character, advancing Claire’s character arc at the same time. When Doyle reproaches Claire for only seeing the worst in people, we immediately know that he’s thinking of himself. Thing is, when he claims that Claire knows nothing about the concept of family, it’s an underhanded jibe that goes beyond even what Doyle intends it to mean. Which is to say, he probably means that Claire sacrificed her old family to join this one and was ready to destabilize this one within days of arriving at the carnival. But you could equally argue that it’s a jab at Claire’s willingness to betray her father, her relation to a guy whose agents pursued Doyle until he was forced to take a fake identity, and Claire’s general refusal to trust anyone on the assumption that they must have an ulterior motive. Sadly, in Claire’s case, that last part’s generally true, and it underlines the truth behind Doyle’s statement and adds to the growing list of instances which suggest that, if you’re a Bennet, you instantly attract pain, suffering and death.

What’s curious about this scene when you look at it with hindsight is how emphatically it supports Noah’s conclusion at the end of “Let It Bleed.” You look back on Claire’s efforts to help Doyle last season, and you wonder what could drive him to menace Claire the way he does now. You could argue that Doyle’s conviction stems from a deep desire to change, to be a good person and to cling to whatever stability he’s found that enables him to be that person. The alternative is that, as Noah suspects, Samuel’s greatest gift is his persuasiveness — his ability to brainwash his followers and to command blind obedience. When Doyle tells Claire that he won’t let her “ruin” Samuel’s plan — “whatever it is” — the implication is that he doesn’t even care what Samuel’s doing. Doyle’s been conditioned to trust Samuel to the point of killing for him, which is to say that Doyle’s apparently willing to relinquish his aspirations in order to hold onto them.

Which is a long way of saying that Samuel has tapped into Doyle’s idealism and learned how to manipulate him like — of all things — a puppet.

The other amazing part of this scene is the way it’s directed, with lots of extreme close-ups on Doyle to convey just how extensively he’s been brainwa-

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRGH!

My fellow humanoids, my neural pathways are being battered. The Jester and Sancho have visited the Danger Room!

The Jester switches from Klingon to Romulan! It’s impressive. His universal translator has been reprogrammed in a way that boosts his linguistic capabilities to the point where he’s imbued with a hitherto unknown range of diction. It’s a spectacular vernacular!

The Jester inculcates upon Watson to visit the Land of Oranges. There they will find the gallant knight whose mental ineptitude once earned him official recognition — a kind of award for idiotic actions. The Jester too earned this recognition, although more recently. Sancho, however, proves undeserving of this award, as his conjecture guides him to the conclusion that the Moon of Endor is indeed where the Ewoks reside. My own disposition is melancholy, for the Empire has effaced many meaningful apples in order to tend to these few oranges. Princess Peach has been devoured by a temporal anomaly. Teresa’s discovery has vanished into the ether. The Jester’s goal to bring balance to the Force and to spread hope across the galaxy has fallen under the might of the Empire. Veritably, my melancholy knows no bounds. My neural pathways have been bombarded by stormtroopers. And not even the ones from the original trilogy — the crappy ones from the prequels.

Hailing frequencies closed, my fellow humanoids. I’m in stellar cartography and must locate five stars, but I can’t even see one. I see ZERO STARS! Must… find… synthehol… and activate… self-destruct mechanism…

All right, I think I’ve found the glitch, folks. We’re back to the usual review now. Thanks for your patience. Hopefully I haven’t garbled anything crucial for an appreciation of this episode. Somehow, for reasons I can’t define, I don’t think I have.

We cut to Samuel and Emma in Central Park, where Samuel explains that Emma’s “true ability” is to make her emotions one with her music and to lure people to her like a siren. This just about jives with the time Peter was drawn towards the sound of Emma’s music, but the remarkable part is again what the actors manage to do with their material.

Emma’s inches away from a cult leader and a murderer, but it’s never once something that enters our mind. It goes without saying that Samuel has a hidden agenda for helping Emma uncover her potential, but given that he seems to help Emma overcome her wall-cracking in order to bring people together, it’s hard to begrudge his actions on the basis that they might later serve his own ends. As contemptible as Samuel is, there’s no denying that he helped Doyle to rein in his instincts, that he enabled Emma to help people without an acceptance letter to a medical school, and that he now gets a guy off the street and gives him a place to stay. As maniacal as Samuel’s plot might turn out to be, I think a question we’ll ask increasingly as the season draws to a close is whether his endgame undermines the steps he took to achieve it. Or, from another vantage point, whether Samuel’s nobility is invalidated by his villainy.

In the space of what appears to be a few hours, we go from this…

… to this…

It’s one of the more tenuous leaps the episode takes, not least because Ian’s file suggests he discovered his ability and was “overwhelmed” — per Samuel’s description — back when Claude was still an agent. Meaning Ian’s been living in Central Park for at least seven years. I’m not saying there aren’t other explanations, and in an episode in which Hiro suddenly learns to speak Spanish, this is far from a critical issue. But it’s a tough sell, and it depends on our willingness to buy into both the siren concept and Samuel’s all-conquering persuasive skills over the reality: that someone rarely overcomes seven years of homelessness with one trip to a hospital and a few glib promises.

If you can overlook the implausibility, however, there’s a lot to be said for Ian’s speedy recovery. It earns the show praise for one of its few uplifting statements this season — that there’s always hope, that goodwill and good fortune turn up when you least expect them, and that, again, there really are one or two abilities among the superpowered population designed to restore and support life instead of threatening it.

Samuel catches a newsflash of a crash in which Nathan’s remains have been found, and his reaction to the news…

… leaves you wondering more than ever how you’re supposed to look at the character. It could be compassion borne out of sympathy for Peter, or it could simply be sadness to see anyone with an ability come to a tragic end. Or Samuel’s just trying to figure out how he can use Nathan’s crash to his own advantage. In any case, it’s a moment that speaks to the moral complexity Knepper brings to the part.

We return to the carnival.

Claire: “I’m telling you, Samuel’s up to something, and he’s lying to all of you.”

Doyle: “No. He’s a good man.”

Claire: “Why are you so sure?”

Doyle: “Because I’m good now. This place is good for me. I haven’t done anything wrong since I got here.”

Heartbreaking, for Doyle’s straightforward answer, for the pride in his voice when he notes his non-psychotic behavior, and above all…

… for that look of outright dismay when he points out that Claire’s threatening his new life. It’s such an endearing moment that, regardless of the havoc Samuel’s planning to wreak, you almost wish Claire would just p**s off and leave everyone to their brainwashed delusion a little longer.

Lydia cryptically conveys that Joseph “was our real father” and “made this place a home.” It’s nothing we didn’t already know, but it’s carried by Olivieri’s believably played grief, and it reaffirms that Lydia sees Samuel as a fraud and a pretender. Thing is, it’s hard to imagine a character played by Andrew Connolly visiting Emma and encouraging her to unlock her “true ability.” I can’t say I ever envisioned T-Bag pulling that off, but it’s even harder to imagine someone with Joseph’s stern tone reaching out to people with abilities, which makes me wonder what Joseph was doing to impress Lydia that Samuel isn’t.

Claire: “I woke up this morning and I wasn’t sure about this place. But this place is special. For you. For your daughter. Even Doyle. The only thing wrong with it is Samuel.”

And possibly self-replicating Eli?

And that crazy invisible psycho-b**ch Becky?

And a tall, dark and handsome guy with humongous eyebrows who stops by to telekinetically throw people from one side of the carnival to the other?

Just saying, it’s not like Samuel’s the only thing wrong with it.

Lydia: “You have to help us. You have to find someone that can stop him.”

Claire: “I will… So, how does one go about stopping him?*”

[* Not actual dialogue.]

Lydia: “He feeds off the energy of the people around him. Take away the people around him and he’s powerless. Or, you know, bring his brother back from the dead and get a dude from Haiti to stand next to him. Shouldn’t be any trouble. Or, hey, here’s an idea: get that Japanese dude to freeze time, teleport Samuel back to the Dark Ages and leave him there to fall into his own earthquake.**”

[** Not actual dialogue either, I'm afraid.]

*PING!* That’s one Dumb As Hiro Award for Claire for failing to ask for anything in the way of a weakness or a chink in Samuel’s armor. *PING!* That’s another Dumb As Hiro Award for Lydia for failing to volunteer anything in the way of a weakness or a chink in Samuel’s armor.

Samuel returns to the carnival, faux-chides Eli for holding Claire “captive” (/forcing her to sit outside Samuel’s trailer) and reminds Claire that she’s free to go. Claire chooses not to go until she has a chance to indignantly berate and glare at Samuel.

Humor me for a second and read that last line again. Let it never be said that the show’s writers have no sense of humor.

A fun game — many years from now — will be to count the number of times I’ve labeled a screencap “CLAIRE IS INDIGNANT.” I’ll take a wild guess and say it’s a lot. In Claire’s defense, however, she’s in this instance very much justified for calling Samuel on the murder of his brother. What’s remarkable about this is the way Samuel slithers his way back into Claire’s good graces by the end of the next scene.

Samuel: “I lost control.”

Claire: “Like that is an excuse?”

Samuel: “He told the government about us. You remember them, don’t you? They lured him in. The very same people that were chasing us for years. [Željko]? Same one that worked alongside your father.”

Great dialogue. It’s great continuity, but it also underlines Samuel’s talent for turning a situation around and using it to justify his actions. It also hints at how far back the vendetta between the Sullivan brothers and the shady super-savvy Coyote-Sands-constructing branch of the government goes.

Knepper again brings his A-game with a winning display of remorse and self-loathing. Looking back, you have to wonder how much of this is genuine and how much of it’s a performance. But as it plays out, it’s tough to doubt Samuel’s sincerity.

Samuel: “What I did was awful, but Joseph put us all in danger. After years of running free, I wasn’t about to let him get away with that. I wasn’t about to let him take that away from us.”

Again, great dialogue, and again, evidence of Samuel’s ability to twist a situation until his actions make sense. In this case, it’s almost possible to argue in Samuel’s favor by pointing out that, per the implication in the graphic novels, Željko was planning to bring in the entire “goddamn hive” of supers once he’d apprehended Samuel. It’s not as if killing Joseph solved anything, but it’s probably true to say that Joseph jeopardized the safety of everyone at the carnival by contacting Željko, and that Samuel felt obliged to take it upon himself to remove a perceived threat that his brother had created. In a further stroke of brilliant writing, Samuel draws a parallel between himself and Noah and points out that the ends-justify-the-means approach isn’t anything new to Claire.

Samuel and Claire join Ian in the valley, Samuel compares Ian to Picasso, and Ian gives this adorable smile that speaks volumes about the character’s humility and selflessness. You have to wonder whether Ian at any point stops to question why Samuel welcomed him into the carnival so openly and why it’s so important to him to alter the landscape across the valley. But then, there’s also something endearing about a character who doesn’t ask questions, and who’s content just to make everything around him lush and fertile.

Ian asks for water, and Samuel opens the ground beneath them to bring a spring to the surface. Neat effect, and a moment that demonstrates how Samuel can use his ability in conjunction with others to realize his goals.

Again, nice effect. The way the grass spreads, it’s reminiscent of Ted turning the grass beneath him to ash in “Unexpected,” only in reverse.

Again, a stunning effect, albeit one the actors seem to have struggled to visualize during the shoot in front of a green screen. There’s more focus on the characters’ reaction than there is on the scenery itself, and the downside is you can see at several points that the actors are staring quite aimlessly into the distance, evidently trying to imagine what they’ll be looking at once the post-production is finished.

Samuel explains that “this” is why he needs “a bigger family,” and although someone as skeptical as Claire should be mindful of a murderer who claims his only goal is to put grass in a dry valley…

… Claire falls for this explanation. Dumb As Hiro? Not this time, because that would suggest she could have seen through Samuel’s rhetoric, and as always, the character’s persuasiveness is a reflection of the actor’s. But it’s a testament to Samuel’s ability to brainwash members of his community when, immediately after one of them condemned the murder of his brother, Samuel manages to effect a reconciliation with her over a plot of land.

Claire makes her way back across the valley and checks her cell phone. Hilariously, you’ll note that she immediately ignores the messages from her father and only pauses to pay attention to the somber message from her uncle. Paire shippers, rejoice!

The slow-motion, piano-laden opening shot to the funeral promises nothing especially imaginative, but it’s the opening to a scene that goes on to become both moving in its subtlety and restrained in its sentimentality. The slow motion also affords us a glimpse of three individuals…

… two of whom resemble Nathan’s sons, one of whom resembles a valiant stand-in for Rena Sofer. The show deserves credit for the detail, and although I’m not sure it’s enough to placate the army of fans who objected to Sylathan’s failure to acknowledge his sons while dangling over a ledge, it’s enough to placate me.

Noah shows up, offers a respectful nod to Peter and maintains a diplomatic distance. Even in retrospect, knowing the scene Noah gets with Claire in the following episode, it seems like Noah’s role in the Sylathan debacle goes unaddressed. Angela submits herself to Peter’s wrath and Noah endures it from Claire, but it’s never completely clear whether Peter hates Noah for creating Sylathan or feels thankful to him for the chance to pretend his brother was alive for a little longer. Given the deception, and given that the monster beneath the impersonation was Nathan’s killer, you’d think Peter would harbor enormous hostility towards Noah for his role in the charade. Hopefully something that’s still coming, and hopefully something that won’t be limited to the surprisingly restrained dressing down from Claire in “Let It Bleed.”

Noah: “I’m glad you’re safe.”

Claire: “From what — where I came from, or this lie?”

Good dialogue, and especially well delivered by Hayden, with enough venom that you know it’s partly directed at the man responsible for disguising her bio-dad’s killer, but also with enough despondency that you know it’s directed at no one and nothing in particular — at a life of pretense that she’s grown weary of.

Nicely shot, and the first of several shots between now and the end of “Let It Bleed” that capture Peter standing apart from the crowd that’s mourning with him. You have to admire the nobility and stoicism, but at the same time you wonder how the most empathetic one of the family ended up standing alone, apart from everyone he cares about, unable to let himself mourn alongside them.

Milo nails the scene from start to finish, but it’s in the quieter shots that we get an idea of the care he’s put into the performance. The physical details are there, from the still-bloody lip to the bloodshot eyes, but it’s Peter’s attempt at an emotional barricade that brings out the thought in the performance. We’re given a sense of a brother and a son who’s doing his duty and paying his respects, who’s falling apart on the inside, but who’s also desperately trying to fend off the realization that his brother’s actually gone. It’s consistent with the guy who closed himself off from every human connection he had at the start of the season, and with the guy who refused to let Sylathan go at the end of the previous episode. But above all it’s evidence of the complexity Milo has put into a character who’s at once psychologically scarred and emotionally stunted.

Peter: “My brother Nathan taught me a lot. Taught me how to ride a skateboard when I was a kid, how to hook a marlin… Taught me how to catch a baseball…”

The camera cuts to a quick shot of Angela…

… and the look she gives Peter seems to tell a story of its own. You can see admiration for her son’s composure, shared grief over their loss, and at the same time inconsolable sadness; that her son’s been forced to stand next to his brother’s coffin and do this at all, and that their family’s suffered so much on account of abilities they never asked for.

Peter: “… Those are all things usually a father will teach a son, but Dad wasn’t around…”

Again, perfectly delivered. No bitterness, no hint at the pain he suffered by the man who left his son with a complex and stole his abilities and tried to kill him — just an observation that the only role model Peter had while growing up was his brother.

Peter: “… So, it was Nathan. I wish to hell it would’ve been my father, because Nathan didn’t make it easy.”

Ron Underwood times each cut from Peter flawlessly, to the point where the flow of the speech never feels like it’s been disrupted. We get a glimpse of Claire giving a nod that says, “Yeah, that sounds like Nathan.” We also see a look of remorse from Noah…

… One that, like Angela’s, conveys enormous sympathy and sadness, but also one that seems to acknowledge the fact that he prolonged and intensified Peter’s suffering much more than he needed to.

Peter: “He would throw it high, he’d throw it wide. And I would yell at him. I’d tell him to throw it right at me. But he’d say to me, ‘That’s not how it’s gonna come at you in a game, Pete.’ I used to think he was just being a big brother and picking on me. But now I understand. He just wanted me to be ready — for anything.”

Peter fixes one of those loooooong and meeeeeeaningful stares at Claire, the kind that suggests some kind of impending, sinister development. Whatever that “anything” is, it’s fraught with ominous undertones.

Peter tells his “bro” that he’s ready — “for whatever comes” — and Angela has to look down, presumably to keep her tears from spilling out.

Peter doesn’t seem especially fazed by the gun salute, but it’s worth noting Angela’s reaction to the flag and to the mention of her son’s “honorable and faithful service” to their nation. It’s moving, obviously, but there’s a certain irony to the statement when only a handful of people know that Nathan died protecting the president from a superpowered psychokiller.

Claire flinches at the sound of the gunshots, and perhaps it’s just an incredibly good performance, but those don’t look like the usual cry-on-demand tears so much as the tears of a daughter’s emotionally draining farewell to her father.

Even Angela finally cracks, momentary though it is, before returning to her usual austere self and, along with the rest of the people at the funeral, watching the fighter jets overhead fly away.

Now THAT is a fitting farewell to the character. I got through “The Fifth Stage” with only very moist eyes, mostly because that final scene on the ledge, even with Milo and Adrian’s phenomenal performances, never completely escaped the Sylathan drama that was dragging it down. This? This is Nathan’s family mourning their loss, together, and it’s Nathan they’re mourning. This is how it should have been done from the start, and as long as we’ve had to wait to finally see it, it’s as emotionally searing as it should be, and it’s hard to argue that, in several respects, the prolonged wait even enhances its impact.

I’m torn on how to score this one. Over 40 minutes, the episode ranges from unwatchable — and, frankly, unreviewable — to extraordinary. If you can get past Hiro’s comic-book-nerd shenanigans and make it to the final scene, you essentially trudge through material that would earn the episode a 1 out of 5 and reach the stuff that’s an easy 5 out of 5. The final scene showcases some of the show’s most beautifully realized material all season, and between that and the scenes at the carnival, there’s enough to provide an episode that’s engrossing, thought-provoking and — yes — engaging.

4 out of 5

Peter absorbs the Haitian’s ability, blocks Sylar’s abilities and tortures him until he morphs back into Sylathan. Sylathan tells Peter it’s time for him to let his brother go, and after Peter literally lets go by letting Sylathan fall from a rooftop, Sylar reclaims his body and walks away.

To say that this was an emotional way to go out before the hiatus would be an understatement. To say that it was an engrossing and at times deeply overwrought mid-season finale would also be an understatement. So let’s put the understatements aside and say that in spite of several minor flaws, this episode was a near-flawless and often profound exploration of a hero coming to terms with grief. And to the show’s credit, the writing and performances are such that the delayed reaction meets our expectations and provides a send-off for a beloved character that’s both fitting and heartfelt.

Which isn’t to say the episode is defined by Sylathan’s death. In all likelihood, the developments in the carnival storyline will influence the direction the rest of the season takes as much as the developments in Peter’s. But in an episode that’s about as streamlined as they come, with only Claire’s (and, briefly, Noah’s) story thread vying for screen time, it’s Peter and Sylathan’s portion of the episode that lingers in your memory after the episode has ended, and it’s the one that leaves both the biggest questions and the greatest expectations.

We start out with the episode’s title card on a plain black background. It’s been done on a few occasions, but perhaps more than any of those, this one conveys a mood that’s at once somber, self-assured and momentous.

Lydia strides to Samuel’s trailer and finds him reading a copy of La Frontière. It’s probably the show’s way of reminding us how widely Samuel and the carnival have traveled, but if it’s a response to all the times I’ve complained about the same blurb being used in every newspaper article, all I can do is applaud. This provides the carnival with a social context. It’s not a detail you immediately notice, but it gets you thinking: if there was such a thing as a troupe of superpowered individuals making their way around the world, and if so many people with extraordinary abilities were traveling together and witnessing tragedy and injustice around them as they went, what would prevent them from averting a global catastrophe every now and then, and what would dissuade them from stepping in to resolve a local crisis if they just happened to be passing through? Putting that newspaper in Samuel’s hand is a reminder of the enormous backstory to the carnival still waiting to be told.

You’re figuring she’ll denounce him as a fratricidal megalomaniac.

Not quite.

Lydia: “I know the truth, Samuel. But I have a daughter to look after, so your secret is safe with me.”

It’s hard to reproach Lydia for putting her daughter before her anger over Joseph’s death, but she knew she had a daughter when she told Hiro it was time to stand up to Samuel, so it seems hypocritical that Lydia happily endangers Charlie in an effort to expose Samuel but balks at the idea of endangering Amanda.

Samuel apparently recognizes this kind of carnival logic, and expresses his approval by way of a classic Knepper smirk. It makes you hate Samuel more than ever because you realize that he relishes wielding power over others and dictating choices. But it also establishes that Lydia knows she won’t ever be able to escape the carnival, and as such it’s a reminder that once you join the carnival – at least while it’s run by Samuel – you’re doomed.

Unless you’re Edgar, in which case there’s no reason why you couldn’t superspeed into Samuel’s trailer and slice him open in his sleep. Or, if you’re Hiro, you could freeze time and teleport Samuel into a coffin 30 feet underground.

Self-replicating Eli makes the transition from the graphic novels and gleefully accepts Samuel’s invitation to become his right-hand man. Todd Stashwick plays the role with liveliness and charisma, to the point where you’re more inclined to enjoy the performance than to bemoan the lack of characterization. He’s basically a zestful errand boy who makes copies of himself, but Stashwick enacts his scenes with enough verve and panache to transcend the questions you’d usually ask: are all of the copies linked by one mind, or are they each thinking for themselves? If Eli makes a dozen copies of himself, do those copies run amok until someone shoots them, or do they dissolve on their own? Does the fact that they dissolve imply that they have no actual body mass, or do they have the same physical strengths and limitations that the original has?

Samuel: “Don’t know why I bother reading these. Nothing but godawful news everywhere. Makes one wonder, doesn’t it?”

Eli: “About what?”

Samuel: “The nature of our lowly existence. People want to believe there’s hope everywhere, but then you read this. Makes you wonder if we’re not destined to be the last generation of our species. And if that’s so, how can we stop that from happening?”

Great dialogue, and like any tract that’s delivered by Knepper, it’s accompanied with the kind of inflection that deftly avoids the trap that any other actor would have fallen into – that of making a broad statement sound pretentious. Knepper makes it sound like this is the kind of thing Samuel loses sleep over at night. More importantly, however, it’s dialogue that directly addresses a topic that’s become more and more relevant over the course of the season – whether there’s any reason to have hope. This episode paints as bleak a picture as ever, but it’s an outlook that’s offset by an equally uplifting message – the idea that if you endure personal hardship and tragedy, you can inspire others to follow your example and make a difference together. It’s not especially original, but as understated messages go, it’s one of the more hopeful on the show this season, and it’s enough to lift the show out of the quagmire in which villains consistently triumph over heroes.

Noah pauses his post-it additions to the Wall of the Carnival long enough to greet “Miss Gilmore.” I’d point out for the billionth time how appalling this romance is, but it seems less appalling on repeat viewings because you know that as soon as the truth comes out, Lauren calls Noah on treating her like a rebound girl.

Lauren comments on the Wall of the Carnival, which seems odd given that she cooked Thanksgiving dinner at the apartment and given that Lauren’s been portrayed as inquiring and nosy. Lauren’s lack of observational skills are less intriguing, however, than the look she gets when she studies the articles…

… which strikes me as most definitely the look of someone who’s gathering information to feed back to a certain community leader.

Noah discovers that the compass is missing and leaves a message on Claire’s voicemail. Regrettably, he doesn’t receive a text message in response that says, “Cmpss wrthlss – man @ pwn shop sez its brkn. Nd $$$ 4 ride. Plz send cab.” Lauren does her best to triangulate Claire’s cell phone and get a lock on her location, because that’s easy work if you’re CIA. You’ll note that Lauren only manages to narrow it down to a state, and that she then mumbles something about “cross-referencing” which bears no fruit at all. You could, of course, interpret this as bureaucratic incompetence. I choose to consider it support for my conspiracy theory, because, really, if you were a carnival spy, this would be an easy way to pretend to use your resources WITHOUT ACTUALLY HAVING ANY.

Angela walks into Peter’s hospital, and I have to point out how much I love the way Cristine Rose can make even that simple gesture – pushing doors open – look regal.

Angela: “Peter, there are five stages of grief. You need to leap over the denial phase and get right to the acceptance of this whole thing.”

^ ^ Actual dialogue! From a character who, by the show’s own adjusted chronology, spent SEVEN MONTHS in denial pretending Sylathan was her son, meeting him for overpriced sushi and telling herself she did the right thing by concocting an entity to take her dead son’s place in the world.

Angela seems to realize this when she acknowledges her own “grand gestures of denial.” Nicely delivered by Cristine, and all the more poignant when you realize it’s an admission that barely registers with Peter. The way the episode ends, you’re tempted to speculate that mother and son have finally put their differences aside and been reconciled through grief. Judging from the way Peter avoids eye contact with his mother here, however, I can easily see some pent-up bitterness coloring his grief.

Peter: “Why do you think we’re still standing? Nathan kept us alive. I’m gonna find him, and I’m gonna take Sylar down once and for all.”

It’s an effective way to give the episode an epic tone. The problem is that, looking back, the “once and for all” rings false. It’s not as if Peter didn’t mean it at the time, but we know in retrospect that Peter doesn’t take Sylar down once and for all, and hence we’re tempted to look at statements like these from now on with a certain skepticism. There are only so many times that characters can resolve to do something “once and for all,” “permanently,” “for good,” “for the rest of their lives” and “forever and ever.” When a character is saddled with a phrase like this, it’s a surefire sign that the character’s either a complete fool or a victim of dramatic necessity. Here, Peter is both, because the sad truth seems to be that no one will EVER take Sylar down once and for all.

Angela: “How do you intend to fight him with all the powers he has?”

LOGIC! Logic dictates that the survival of the show outweighs the survival of the overused villain! To perpetuate a story arc which reached its natural conclusion three seasons ago… is illogical! By the Gods of Mount Seleya, he must be stopped!

René shows up to loan his ability to Peter, answering a question we’ve been wondering since the first season: is it an ability Peter can absorb if it automatically deactivates his ability to absorb abilities, and if it’s really as easy as this, why didn’t Peter empathically absorb it back when he was empathically absorbing abilities from everyone around him? And re-reading that last sentence, I realize how convoluted a problem that is, so I’m just going to say “Who cares?” and skip to the part that really concerns me, which is the part where Peter absorbs the Haitian’s ability, and the Haitian just… sorta… walks away.

?!?!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Thanks for the help, buddy! Also, thanks for acknowledging that volunteering your ability is MOST DEFINITELY the least you can do after that time Peter sent you to apprehend the man who killed his father AND YOU JUST DISAPPEARED. Don’t think we’ve forgotten about that, René.

Did anyone else notice the way Angela and René acted like the other one didn’t even exist? I’d say that’s a close, warm friendship that’s come to a very abrupt end.

We return to the carnival, where Claire’s decisiveness evaporates when she realizes that visiting the stamping grounds of a cult leader and a homicidal sorority sister might be – and I’m quoting verbatim here – “a stupid idea.” Samuel conveniently shows up at the moment when Claire’s about to waver and works his charm in time to lure them inside the carnival.

“Best popcorn in the world”? He’s “not just saying that”? OK, who’s going to join me in calling Samuel on the Magik Popcorn? The popcorn that makes you see things that aren’t there and sways you to make dumb decisions?

Claire and Gretchen approach Lydia’s tent. I’m not sure I got the whole of Samuel’s recording, but the gist seems to be, “Every tattoo a harbinger of things to come. Her naked skin a canvas to rival Van Gogh. So step right up and pay your money. You never know what future will appear before your very eyes.” A persuasive sales pitch, albeit as exasperatingly uninformative as everything else pertaining to Lydia’s ability. After the hiatus, could someone please shed some light on the whole Magik Tattoo/Magik Ink/Magik Compass triumvirate?

It’s intriguing for the questions it raises, because as Claire later speculates, it suggests that Claire’s going to turn her ability into a spectacle. It’s also somehow saddening for the way Claire’s defined by her cheerleading outfit.

Was Lydia trying to warn Claire to stay away? She explains that the tattoo is a manifestation of Claire’s desire rather than her future, but we know so little about Lydia’s ability that it’s hard to make a call on whether or not she’s lying. It’s enough to scare Claire away, however, and there’s a lot to be said for the way Lydia’s expression changes from moment to moment:

Satisfaction over a job well done… and then concern about the harm she’s caused? Or does she see in Claire the same innocence that she sees in Amanda, and is she desperate to drive her away without Samuel knowing?

We return to the hospital before that becomes clear, and Peter’s journey in the elevator to the first floor is interrupted by the loud-mouthed nurse who yelled at Hiro selecting the third floor. I leave you to speculate on the significance of the floor numbers, but I find it worth pausing to consider how fortunate Peter is to have met Sylar-in-disguise in this elevator, because when you think about it, Peter really wouldn’t have anywhere to look for Sylar. What exactly was Peter going to do? Take his bag of tranquilizers back to his apartment and wait for Sylar to show up?

Sylar slams Peter against the wall of the empty third floor, and it’s a curious detail that instead of simply TK’ing him to the spot, Sylar allows Peter to make a run for it and hide. Typical Sylar, prolonging the hunt in order to terrify his prey? Or a convenient way to allow Sylar to get in his speech about Peter falling back on an old plan and trying to syringe Sylar. Either way, it’s to Sylar’s credit that he offers congratulations to Peter “for pulling it off,” because, it has to be said, getting the best of Sylar in any shape or form is a frustratingly rare event.

What’s also perhaps worth mentioning is that Peter’s assault on Sylar takes place in a hospital, with Peter wearing his paramedic’s uniform, and that it becomes twice as vicious after Sylar reminds Peter that Nathan is dead, which speaks to either Peter’s irrepressible rage or his insurmountable denial. Either way, it’s an early sign of the way Ventimiglia throws himself into the role this week, to the point where Peter’s brutality goes from cathartic to disturbing…

… and culminates in some inescapable biblical undertones when Peter pins Sylar to a table and shoots nails through his hands. Shades of a throwback to the time Sylar pinned Isaac to the ground with paintbrushes through his hands, the obvious difference being that Isaac was sacrificing himself to serve the greater good, whereas Sylar’s just… wreaking havoc for the hell of it. There’s a certain sense of justice in the way the show revisits this particular method of torture on the villain who inflicted it, but given the parallels between Peter and Sylar, and given the way Peter has at several points this season been portrayed as a modern-day Jesus, you have to wonder whether the show’s fixation with Sylar now extends to also presenting him as a sacrificial figure.

Peter: “I wanna make a deal. I’ll let up, I’ll let you heal, but you give me Nathan. You give him back to me, body and soul.”

Oh, Peter. Oh, Peter. I know you’re blind with grief so I’m going to spare you a Dumb As Hiro Award, but I SHOULDN’T. Think, Peter. He can shapeshift into Nathan! He can smile at you and say it’s Nathan in there, and then he can slice your dumb scalp open!

?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Does he actually erase Sylar, and does Sylar claw his way back from a full Haitian memory wipe? The sound effect resembles most Haitian Whammies, so it’s hard to say whether Peter tries to wipe Sylar’s memory and that, per Sylar’s ability to resist Doyle’s puppeteering in “Duel,” it’s simply a case of Sylar resisting the wipe and retreating into himself.

Whichever it is…

… it brings Pasdar back to our screens one last time, so the chances of it generating any kind of complaint within the obsessive fan community are slim to none. I feel compelled to reiterate, though, that Sylar could have pulled this off himself without too much difficulty, and neither Peter nor the audience would have known any better until it was too late.

We return to Claire’s story thread, and it’s such a jarring shift in tone that you realize how the show crafted the plot to create this exact effect: the shift from the cold, harsh tone in Peter’s scenes to the warm, hazy tones in Claire’s. There’s an imbalance in the violence quota that helps to make Claire’s situation more appealing, but in spite of the dark, morbid tone from Joseph’s murder last week, there’s a cheery veneer to the carnival this week that makes it suddenly very inviting.

We meet the violent, drunken, ignorant thug who once pitched in the minors. My only question here is what on earth he would have done with the stuffed tiger if he’d won it.

What’s interesting about the way this scene is written is the way we’re led to identify with the crooked carnival member who’s TK’ing the balls off their trajectory, to cheer for the little girl whose patience and valiant effort earn her a giant stuffed pony, and to condemn the jerk who, contemptible though he is, has a valid point when he accuses the carnival of cheating him. He’s dumb enough to continue forking out money, and he does forfeit all sympathy when he turns violent, but I couldn’t help seeing Gretchen’s point, and I couldn’t help feeling bad for The Thug when he threw a ball that was headed straight for the bottles and missed just because the telekinetic carnival member didn’t like him.

But then, you could equally argue that he really is just a dumb, ignorant, cocky, arrogant, contemptible jerk, that he deserves to be cheated, and that we’re on solid moral ground when we see his dead body and cheer.

Lauren attempts to use her CIA know-how to get a lead on where Claire went. I reserve the right to put “CIA know-how” in sarcastic air quotes when she turns out to be a fraud, but the focus of this scene is of course Noah’s lament over the way he drove everyone away with his “suffocating need for control,” and, in turn, the way he brought his almost-an-affair with Lauren to an end. While all of this is accurate, one of the sad details to be underlined in this scene is that besides his wife and daughter (and son, who’s deftly ignored), Noah really didn’t have a whole lot of people in his life. The fact that he can count the people he hurt on one hand should be something he can be proud of, but since the people who were close to Noah amount to that same number of people, it’s a sad statistical confirmation that if you’re in any way associated with Noah, you’re doomed to end up psychologically scarred, physically mutilated or dead.

Noah reveals to Lauren that they met for breakfast “twice a week for almost six months.” Out of the blue, Lauren grows a moral backbone and starts wondering how Noah watched his marriage disintegrate and then, when the ink on the divorce papers was barely dry, he decided it was a good idea to start stalking his almost-an-old-flame ex-colleague. And as sure as I was that Lauren would be the one to show up and usurp HRG from the wife who ditched him, it’s somehow even more reprehensible that Noah’s the one who rekindled this romance by tracking Lauren to a yam-inclined supermarket.

Eli shows up, and not only does he introduce himself – he explains without any obfuscation EXACTLY why he’s there and emphasizes in no uncertain terms that he DOESN’T want anyone to get hurt. THIS?… is a rational villain. I like him!

Eli’s copies distribute themselves throughout the apartment, and one of them gets a bullet through the gut after Lauren finds the gun beneath the table.

Neat effect. The panoramic shot that captures three copies of Eli at once feels a little too mechanized, but the moment when one of the copies dissolves is beautifully done; with a grainy texture and an authentic, progressive feel to it. Hopefully something that can be done on a regular basis.

Samuel narrates a story for the children at the carnival. As delightful as it is that Claire’s effort is met with hugs and applause, I really feel that Samuel doesn’t get the credit he deserves.

He’s crouching and creeping around the fire to emulate the augur! And growling in a deep, gravelly voice! It’s a saccharine attempt designed to make us like the guy who murdered his brother – but it’s done so well, and it succeeds, at least with me. If he can entertain the kids this way, he can’t be all bad.

Wait, wasn’t that the same morally-ambiguous shtick they pulled off with…

… DOYLE?!

No, Claire – stop! Don’t hug him! He made you play Russian roulette with your moms! Even when you gave him a new identity and helped him start over, he gave you the Smile of Crafty Scheming! He can’t be trusted! He’s evil!

Welcome back, Doyle!

Doyle: “It is amazing here. I finally belong someplace. I can be completely myself.”

Which is to say… what, that when he puppeteered Sandra into shooting Claire he wasn’t being himself? Or that he can now puppeteer people into playing Russian roulette at the carnival without anyone thinking the less of him for it? Whichever it is, it’s a pleasure to see David H. Lawrence back on the show…

… and it’s made all the more delightful when we get a glimpse of Gretchen’s mystified reaction.

Claire: “He kidnapped me once. Tried to get my mom to shoot me. But I got over it.”

Gretchen: “Excuse me?”

Priceless. It’s a reminder of how hilariously dysfunctional some of the dynamics on this show are, and it underlines how much Doyle fits in with Samuel’s community – and how easily Claire can slip into the same community if she’s apparently able to let go any grudges she had towards the psychotic individuals she’s encountered. If Sylar now shows up at the carnival, will Claire get over everything he did to her too?

Samuel ropes Claire into telling the kids a story about a frog. The part about the tadpole named Mr. Muggles is cute, but I can’t help feeling robbed when the bulk of the story is left to the imagination. We can only speculate about the edits Claire must have made to this adapted version of her life.

Gretchen challenging Samuel to explain his intentions was a neat moment for the character. She doesn’t come across as obnoxious so much as overprotective, and although she’s outclassed by Samuel’s confidence and rhetoric, there’s an authority to Gretchen’s argument because of what it represents. The way this scene was blocked out, with Samuel standing between Gretchen and Claire and with his back to Gretchen, you get the sense that Samuel’s effectively cutting Claire off from Gretchen; which is to say, he’s cutting Claire off from her connection to her old life, and from her hopes for a normal, everyday life.

Samuel: “Families encompass all manner and shape, but the defining ingredient is love. Now, we don’t profess to offer much, but love we have in ample supply.”

It’s a lie by omission because Samuel’s neglecting to mention the betrayal and vengeance and murder that come alongside the love. But again, Knepper sells the dialogue in such a way that despite the distorted picture Samuel paints of the carnival, you’re hard-pushed to argue with his assertion that there’s love throughout the community. And when Claire finishes her story and basks in the adoration it earns her…

… it’s hard to say her motive for staying lacks a rationale. It’s a hokey rationale, because I can’t see Claire settling into the carnival lifestyle any more than I can see Tracy. Apparently they’ll now at least have each other.

The Thug returns. I can’t help wondering whether he was put up to this performance. He’s playing it with remarkable nuance if he is, but the way this scene plays out – with The Thug striking Claire and engendering the collective spirit that Samuel was hoping to instill in her – I can easily imagine Samuel staging The Thug’s entrance.

Samuel: “We all have talents – certain talents, friend. God-given gifts. But perhaps the good Lord forgot to hand a sufficient one out to you.”

Intentional provocation? Claire doesn’t see it that way, but you have to wonder whether this was an orchestrated performance from start to finish, or whether the opportunity to win Claire’s loyalty just fell into Samuel’s lap and he made the most of it.

What’s interesting is that in spite of Samuel’s established villainy – and in spite of the fact that he’s clearly guiding this scene to suit his own agenda – our sympathy immediately gravitates towards him. It could be that he comes across as the lesser of two evils, even though a guy who murdered his brother should by default be more contemptible than a violent jerk who wants a refund after being cheated. Perhaps it’s simply that one of these villains exudes charm and charisma in spite of his villainy, and the other one’s pretty forgettable.

Either way…

… Samuel smiles a villainous smile when he realizes that the situation has played right into his hands. Nicely played by Knepper.

Claire gets a broken glass across the face, cementing The Thug as a monster and, more importantly, allowing Claire to use her ability as a means to strike fear into her attacker.

It’s a moment of vindication for the character, firstly because it gives Claire a chance to use her ability as a weapon in itself, and secondly because Hayden makes the smile look victorious without allowing it to come across as smug or self-assured. Compared to the time she got Ellectrocuted or the time she called herself “the defensive player of the year” and leapt out of a tenth story window, this comes across as a subtly underplayed triumph for the character. When she tells The Thug “You can’t hurt us,” it’s a moment of unity that you want to get behind. Which is odd, considering she’s uniting with a group of individuals who’ve cheated, robbed, terrorized and murdered the population. But then, the question this episode asks quite effectively is whether a sense of solidarity trumps ethics. We’re not sure whether to reproach Claire for her blind acceptance of what the carnival has done or commend her for being open-minded enough to look beyond it.

We come to a scene that’s at once the emotional centerpiece of the episode, a moment that’s in all likelihood a defining moment in the season, and the send-off for a character who’s been an integral part of the series since its inception. And as much as I’ve heaped criticism on the fact that this is a storyline involving an imitation of the character, it’s hard to deny that this scene captures exactly what made the dynamic between the Petrelli brothers so effective, and that it provides the closure most of us had been asking for since last season’s finale.

Which is to say, it’s overwrought, over-the-top and overly sentimental.

Which is to say, it’s exactly the way it should have been.

Peter and Sylathan visit the same rooftop they met on back when Peter was drawing stick-figure sketches and throwing himself off rooftops. My notes tell me this is the part where I’m supposed to point out how profound it is that the show bookended the brothers’ relationship by choosing this location, but pulling up that link, I realize it was 70 episodes ago. That’s 70 episodes of brotherly touching, innuendo and rampant Petrellicest.

If you need to grab your handkerchiefs, people, do it now. It’s the end of an era.

Peter: “Do you remember the last time we were up here?”

Sylathan: “Yeah. Yeah, I do. You were standing on that ledge right there. Like an idiot. Asking me about Dad’s depression. Asking me if I could fly.”

Moving, funny, and intensely nostalgic, because even Sylathan has a smile on his face when he recalls a simpler time.

Peter: “Do you remember what you said?”

Sylathan: “I said we could both fly.”

Peter: “No, no, before that.”

Sylathan looks like he’s having to think pretty hard to remember that far back. In his defense, who can blame him? There’s been so much trauma for the character since then that you could hardly hold it against the guy for blocking some stuff out. Also in his defense, you have to wonder where these memories are coming from. Unless Sylathan has touched and Bridget’ed the memories from the iron on the stairwell, there’s really no way he should be able to remember this.

Peter: “You denied it.”

Sylathan: “It was an election year. Denial was the go-to.”

Funny, if a little cynical. Apparently a politician’s cynicism transcends body-transfers and synthetic personalities.

Pasdar’s performance sparkles throughout the scene, but what’s extraordinary when analyzing it is the way he navigates from one mannerism to another to bring out the character’s disintegration. Sylathan gets this little shrug when Peter points out his denial, and it’s followed by a moment as he approaches the ledge when it looks like he’s struggling to maintain control over Sylar.

Peter: “Seems like a million years ago, huh?”

Sylathan: “A lifetime.”

Again, rewatching it, you look past the dialogue and you see the actor’s inflection. The way he pauses, and the way he looks at Peter, you’re not sure whether it’s Sylathan reflecting on the passage of time, or Sylar, or Nathan.

Peter: “We made it through it. Together. We made it through all the craziness — you and me. We can make it through anything, Nathan.”

Sylathan: “Even death?”

Peter: “Why not?”

Sylathan: “Because this isn’t me? It’s not my body? Because it’s Sylar’s?”

Heartbreaking, mostly because it feels like the scene isn’t trying to be heartbreaking. It’s heartbreaking by itself.

Pasdar plays the moment without a hint of self-pity or self-indulgence. He makes the same case I’ve made throughout the season, and he does it knowing exactly where it leaves him – in existential oblivion.

Peter: “No, it is you, Nathan. I’m looking at you.”

Sylathan: “You’re looking at an illusion.”

Peter: “No, it’s you. Look, I need you to keep fighting in there, OK?”

Sylathan: “I can’t. He’s killing me. And I can’t hold on anymore, Pete.”

Again, brilliance on Pasdar’s part, because as much as he makes us feel sorry for the character, we’re not sure whether we’re feeling sorry for the character he’s imitating or the imitation itself. Even if it’s only the imitation, his acceptance of defeat comes with such sincerity and such sadness that you’re won over. The way he looks at Peter, you know it’s a sadness that stems from knowing everything he’s leaving behind.

Peter: “Yes you can, Nathan. That’s why you found me. That’s why you came and found me.”

Sylathan: “I found you because I wanted to crucify you in Times Square.”

Part of it’s the deeper voice and the careful, authoritative enunciation. But mostly…

… it’s in the eyes. Those evil, evil eyes.

Peter: “Nathan, that is not you.”

Sylathan: “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

This is where, if you weren’t already close to tears, your eyes are probably starting to well up. You can see how fiercely Sylathan’s fighting for control of his body, but he’s losing because, like the cockroach that he is, Sylar’s sapping the life out of him and sucking it away from the inside. It’s a tragedy for Sylathan, but it’s a broader statement on Sylar’s contribution to the show if ever there was one.

Peter continues pleading to Sylathan to “stay with him” and to “fight it,” but you start to see traces of worry in his expression. This is where Pasdar’s ability to raise Ventimiglia’s performance comes out, because when he uses the word “please,” you can see denial being replaced with recognition and acceptance as Peter realizes he’s losing what was left of his brother.

Sylathan: “I’m sorry, Pete.”

And before you even know where that final, longing glance between the brothers that was once a staple part of the show was leading…

… we’re looking at Pasdar’s final moments on the show.

Peter: “Pull yourself up, Nathan.”

Sylathan: “Let me go, Pete.”

Peter: “I can’t do that.”

Sylathan: “You need to accept that I’m gone.”

Peter: “I need you to help me. Now pull yourself up. Please.”

Pasdar channels Nathan’s Older Brother voice and does his best to sound as profound as a guy who’s hanging on for dear life can sound. You could poke fun at it by pointing out that a guy who’s being eaten away from the inside and hanging on by one arm to his brother over a ledge isn’t likely to emote as beautifully as this, but who cares. It’s done with such grace that you suspend your disbelief.

Sylathan: “You’re going to have to carry on for the both of us, Pete. OK? You tell Mom I love her. You take care of Claire.”

… And Simon?

… And Monty?

… And Heidi?

… No?

OK then…

Sylathan: “Fight the good fight. You’ve always been everything that’s good in the world, Pete.”

Peter: “Nathan…”

Sylathan: “And I got a feeling the world ain’t seen nothing yet.”

Poor Peter’s a nervous wreck at this point, so again, you’re tempted to wonder how he can emote as effectively while hanging onto a guy who’s dangling over a ledge. But, hey, it’s a performance that will stay with you long after the details have faded away.

Peter: “I can’t do this without you.”

It’s moving dialogue, but again, you wonder if the actors have stepped out of the show for a moment. If you decide you can’t do this without Adrian, Milo, we’ll understand!

Sylathan: “You can do anything, Pete. Anything. Remember that. I love you.”

Anyone still have dry eyes? Because there’s no way I can convey the way Pasdar’s voice breaks by describing it, but at this point it leaps up an octave, and I don’t think that’s something you can pull off for the sake of a good performance. That sounds pretty real to me.

Peter: “I love you, Nathan.”

At this point, you have to wonder whether there was anyone in the studio or behind the camera who wasn’t weeping. Even if you buy into my argument all season – that it’s not really Peter’s brother he’s holding onto – Ventimiglia’s performance is such that you don’t doubt for a moment that Peter believes it, and that this is the grief of one brother letting go of another. Contrived story device or not, this is undoubtedly the most believable performance the actors ever gave.

Gut-wrenching, for the symbolism behind the shot, and for the implications it’s likely to have on the character left standing on top of the rooftop, watching his brother fall and knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Overlong? You can appreciate how the show was trying to maximize the emotional resonance and give the moment all of the impact it deserved, but the way the Shenkar wail escalates and the moment grinds to a halt, it’s the one moment in the scene that struck me as overplayed.

But then, if the sequence had been any shorter, we would have been robbed of the realization that, yes, Sylar was in there the whole time, watching the whole performance and delighting in the fact that he brought this devastation on Peter in the first place. Which is why, when he crashes onto the hood of the car below, hauls himself to his feet…

… and gives that little wave, you know why Peter isn’t tear-assing down the stairs to Haitian-whammy Sylar again. Sylar has left him in such a broken state that it’s hard to imagine Peter finding the drive to go after Sylar again anytime soon.

We go to commercials, and when we come back…

… it’s hard not to see whatever follows the previous scene as a shift down. Knepper and Hayden make a valiant effort to keep the momentum alive, but at this point most viewers have been reduced to tears, and the episode struggles to sustain our attention as it depicts Samuel beginning to question his own approach to leading his community. Looking back, you wonder whether Samuel staged this the same way he staged the confrontation with The Thug. Claire ends up arguing Samuel’s case for him, defending the carnival and its ethos and justifying Samuel’s choices by reminding him that he’s running a community where people with abilities can thrive without fear of persecution.

Samuel: “If we lie. Bow our heads, keep our mouths shut, let some creep punch our face without even hitting back. Oh, yeah. I’ve been sold a bill of goods my whole life. Taught how to be comfortable being a second-class citizen. Now I’m questioning that.”

You know Samuel’s trying to make it sound like he’s serious when he says he’s questioning it, but the way the scene is written, and the way Knepper delivers it with such honesty, you wonder whether he really is questioning it.

Claire bids Gretchen a tearful goodbye until they meet again in about two days. There’s an implied finality to the farewell, the implication being that this is a farewell before a much longer length of time than they agreed to. The problem is that, after performances as visceral as the ones we just witnessed, Peter and Nathan’s tears completely eclipse Claire’s. You know you should