A big part of this seamless quality comes from the writers willingness to lean into the nature of the story they are telling and let the whole run of episodes deal, to some extent, with fallout from decisions and events in season three in particular, Philip and Elizabeth coming out as spies to their daughter, Paige. In retrospect, this seismic emotional event feels like an inadvertent trigger for other key twists, such as Paige telling Pastor Tim the truth about her parents and Philip telling Martha that he was not really Clark, but Mischa, and not a U.S. intelligence agent, but a Russian spy. Another confession, or confession Martha telling Stans partner, Dennis, that shes having an affair with a married man, which, quite unbeknownst to Martha, is true. Each confession/revelation has consequences, and those consequences lead to more consequences, and yet more consequences. Things keep getting worse and worse, the betrayals and disappointments more piercing, the failures (by individuals and their handlers/institutions) more devastating. No current series does a better job of capturing the dread of exposure and punishment. Its as if Weisberg and Fields took that feeling you had as a child, when you knew it was only a matter of time before adults figured out youd lied to them, and turned it into a show.
At the same time, somehow, The Americans is funnier than its ever been, finding parched humor in the absurd situations that its characters keep sneaking or stumbling into. All it would take is a nudge to push The Americans out of suspense-psychological-drama mode and into farce. It seems to get closer by the week, especially in scenes with Stan and Denniss boss, Frank Gaad, contemplating the inevitable end of his career. I never would have figured Richard Thomas for an Albert Brooks fan, but some of Gaads line readings have the soul-sick incredulity of Brookss characters in Modern Romance and Lost in America. They seduced
and married
my secretary, he says, separating each phrase with a pause so long you could stage a retirement party inside it. (And you gotta love that they instead of he as if the entire USSR were in bed with Martha.)
Most dramas with material this darkly comic and emotionally loaded would lean extra-hard on the cry button, but the show has gotten less affected, more economical, and altogether leaner which means that when viewer tears flow, they catch you by surprise (at least they do for me mainly because The Americans almost never comes on like a turn on the waterworks series, so I rarely see the gut punches coming). For the most part, season fours big scenes are longer and quieter (literally; check out the wind that scores the opening sequence of The Magic
) than in prior seasons. There are fewer characters and fewer incidents in each episode, and the contained nature of the staging seems to invite you to feel as if youre watching a cinematic adaptation of a play Chekov, probably. The conversation between Martha and Philip/Clark/Mischa played out mostly in a static two-shot, which made me feel as if I were watching a production of Vanya on 42nd Street from a front-row seat in a black-box theater. (Nathan Barrs music for that scene, by the way, is the best work hes done. The string arrangements suggest both characters inner turmoil as they try to maintain stiff upper lips; the score itself seems to be in denial.)