This Is Us Season 4, Episode 11
“A Hell of a Week, Part One”
Posted By Shannon
Whenever the fire is included in a “previously on,” you know we’re in for it – even without the build up of last week’s cliffhanger and the promise of a second Big Three Trilogy. “A Hell of a Week: Part One” is just that: a relentless, nearly unbelievable series of events designed to break down our dear Randall Pearson while also connecting back to the relentless, nearly unbelievable series of events that created the stone wall he’s built against asking for professional help. And just like so many good therapy sessions, the plot winds its way through Randall’s entire conscious life. None of it is simple; all of it is painfully understandable.
Trauma has a long shelf life, and Randall’s has stretched decades. Obviously, toddler Randall doesn’t get the worst of it. Jack and Rebecca were engaged, aware parents, and they supported him in every way they could. They gave him a safe and comfortable home. His first night in a big kid bed wasn’t riddled with yelling or inflicted nightmares. However. Randall at the age of somewhere between two and three already had some big fears rattling around in his baby brain. And Jack was left to his own parenting devices after Rebecca conked out on cough medicine, armed with only a pot of coffee and a copy of The Shining as he guides the kids through a night of Big Three Separation Anxiety. Jack does so well for most of the night. He sleeps on the floor next to Randall without a second thought, assuring his son that not a single monster can get past him. But whether it was sleep deprivation or just a momentary lapse in good judgement, Jack comes very, very short of sticking the landing. Randall’s just not going to be able to sleep without his dad there to quiet his mind, and when that becomes clear to Jack, he flat-out tells his son that he needs to be the one to not make any trouble. (“Look… your brother and your sister are kinda high maintenance. So I need you to just keep being you, because if you go south, mom and dad wouldn’t stand a chance.”)
It’s the kind of thing that seems so harmless, especially to a child so young, whose consciousness maybe hasn’t even really kicked in yet. But Randall has carried this request with him all his life. He carries the burden of being the good kid, not just because of Jack’s whispered words during a sleepless night, but because of his fears of abandonment, his unease at his adoption, and his racial difference from the rest of his family. Of all the Big Three, Randall was the absolute worst one Jack could have spilled this to – and at the same time, he’s the only one to whom Jack would have even thought about admitting it. Which is the crux of what I say all too often: Randall is the highly functional, anxious depressive who needs far more than he’ll ever be comfortable requesting. It’s the ones who seem the strongest who often need a catch.
And oh, did he need a catch during his first year of college. Randall was deep in mourning for his father, any semblance of sleep riddled with nightmares. His all-too-familiar habit of refusing to open up to his loved ones about his trauma while insisting on being there for everyone else all the time has already taken form. Teenage Randall is spending his free time at his mom’s house, fixing her dryer and assuring her that all teens in relationships talk the way Kate and Mark do. (More on that, I’m sure, in Kate’s upcoming trilogy episode.) He’s so very much himself – and yet – he’s just a little bit more open hearted than adult Randall on these issues. Randall is still willing to tell his mom about his nightmares; if, that is, she can focus on him long enough to get it out of him. If that sounds like a heartless knock on her, it’s not meant to be. Rebecca is juggling a million things at once, and she goes back to Randall several times to ask about his nightmares. But the emotional door closed, and he won’t impart his own trauma on anyone else. Even when a false fire alarm at school sets off on at least a week of insomnia.
Beth tries. She tries so hard. She stays with him every night, even though her roommates have taken to calling her Mrs. Pearson. She wakes him up when Randall starts audibly crying in his sleep, tortured by a dream of Jack and his entire family pretending he’s still alive and eating her dinner of burned-and-raw Cornish Hens. (Niles Fitch screaming “why are you guys talking about board games, he’s dead” was one of the most brutal things this show has given us to date.) The nightmares are endless, and my heart broke thinking of all the fire alarms he’d have to endure throughout his long collegiate life. But Beth has been here, too. She’s had the nightmares with obvious subtext, she’s struggled to get a decent night’s sleep. And she’s done the work. She showed up to therapy and a grief group, pushed through the other side, and now she’s able to dream good dreams of her father. (“They make me feel like I’m creating new memories of him.”) Just like the window Rebecca had to get Randall to tell her the truth about his nightmares, Beth had a window to get Randall to go to therapy – and he agrees – before being pulled into a family emergency mere moments before they’re set to leave.
Which brings us, finally, to the last place we left Randall: standing alone in his kitchen, facing down a home invader who I strongly considered to be a hallucination. He wasn’t. He was real, and armed with a very real knife, and all things considered he (thank god) didn’t put up much of a fight. Randall stood his ground, naming himself as a city councilman and faking a silent alarm before practically growling “If you stay, you will not get past me.” He stays SO CALM and SO TOGETHER, digging his heels in and gritting his teeth, ready for whatever it will take. When the intruder grabs the wad of cash Randall threw on the counter and takes off, all I could think of was how simple that seemed. That, all things considered, it was a best case scenario. I wasn’t really taking into account the mental state Randall was already in when he came home that night, or the toll it would inevitably take on his mental health.
Randall’s face is practically stone for the rest of the modern timeline. And when it’s not, he’s play acting as his usual self, making jokes about protecting the home from a second attack with a variety of golf clubs and Tess’s little league bat. Except every night at 2am, 2:30am, and beyond, he’s laying awake. Ready and waiting, or at the very least, watching the Great British Bake Off. He tries to reach out for help once, texting Kevin to see if he’s awake and telling him about the break in – before realizing that his story included a plane ride that Kevin wasn’t supposed to know about, promptly shutting Randall down lest he upset his brother or betray his mother’s confidence. He barely takes a day off work and refuses Jae-won’s efforts to try to spare him a gnarly town hall meeting about a housing bill Randall has backed that’s making waves in the community. But lest Randall be anything other than the best possible kid, making the least amount of trouble on his own behalf, he’s steadfast and insistent that no changes be made. Instead, he forces his way through the day at work, practically dismissing Darnell when he tries to come speak with Randall off the record about that same troublesome housing bill, unable to hear anything except the dinging of the new alarm system at home which has been set to go off at the drop of a maple leaf.
It all gets so much worse when Beth and Randall are getting dressed for the town hall and realize that the intruder was, in fact, in their bedroom, when Beth was asleep, just before Randall got home.
Listen, I am far from the first person to say how excellent Sterling K. Brown is in this role. The man’s got an Emmy, a SAG award, and a Golden Globe to his name for playing Randall Pearson. But something about this week, with his breath refusing to catch in his lungs as he realizes the invader was in the bedroom, or the way his eyes go dark and panicked when he comes home to find that Annie’s set off the alarm by accident, or how he’s desperate to hold the room together in the town hall despite his visible, unshakeable fear every time his phone buzzes – something about this week was next level. And really, we’re just getting started.
Y’all. I have been waiting for this moment for four and a half seasons. And honestly, I suspect I’ll have to keep waiting for it to come to fruition. But this conversation was everything I could have hoped for and more. After his thinly veiled warning at Randall’s office, Darnell didn’t say a word at the town hall. Because Malik finally told his dad just what exactly has been going on over at the Pearson residence. Malik gets his emotional intelligence from both his parents, so naturally, Darnell sees SO MUCH of the problem so quickly. He might not know Randall well, but he doesn’t have to know him to see that Randall is “clearly… an agitated cat.” Darnell is a good dude, and he’s thoughtful and kind hearted, and he can see what basically anyone who’s spent any time in recovery or therapy can see: Randall’s in dire need of a paid professional. Randall won’t hear it – he barely lets Darnell get a sentence out all at once. (And how great was it for Darnell to call him out on that? Randall needs more people in his life outside of his family to call him out on his shit.) Despite Randall’s obvious disassociation at the suggestion of therapy, Darnell says his piece with the conviction of someone who knows in his bones that, for all his obvious need, he can’t force Randall to get help.
Randall’s convinced that all he needs is a good run – that he’ll be able to have his promised conversation with Beth about the very insane week he’s had, from his mother’s diagnosis to the break in, with a clear head. He can’t. He snaps. It was just a matter of time.
This could have gone all types of wrong, fam. Randall sees a woman being attacked by a robber in a parking lot during his run, and that’s the break. It’s a step too far, and he’s there and he has to take action. He doesn’t think. I’m just glad he didn’t keep punching that guy. (I’m especially glad that this didn’t take a very different turn into an episode about police brutality.) Randall’s praised as Philly’s own elected Bruce Wayne.
It’s finally the thing that pushes Randall’s week past his breaking point. Applauding city council staff are the straw that break his back, leading him to walk, slowly, determinedly, back to the safety of his own house and his own bathroom where he can call his brother and finally ask for a catch.
Colors of the Painting
- I’m sure that the show is trying to amp up the angst of Randall and Kevin’s estrangement with this phone call, but all it did in that context was continue to frustrate me. I’m just not gonna buy that Kevin goes from promising his brother that he’ll be there for him with his entire being to refusing to speak to him. I’m just not gonna buy it!
- I knew it was extremely unlikely, but part of me hoped Randall had decided to call Darnell during his breakdown and ask for help. As much as I love Jae-won, I’m anxious for Randall to have a friend who doesn’t work for him, and Darnell will check him in all the right ways. Please let this happen, show.
- The juxtaposition of Randall as a toddler, listening to his dad assure him that “there’s nothing to be scared about, pal,” immediately followed by a home invader standing in his kitchen with a knife was A Lot.
- Give it up for Niles Fitch this week, everyone. He was absolutely devastating as teenage Randall, screaming his way through vicious nightmares, refusing to budge an inch in his waking hours.
- Can we talk about how fucking great it was to see Darnell immediately, unflinchingly, respond with “no shame” when he thought Randall was telling him he ran from the intruder? In that moment alone, Omar Epps imbues Darnell with a heart free of judgement. I love him.
- This episode was HEAVY, so please enjoy the minor moment of levity that teenage Beth gifted us with “nobody’s tryin’ to listen to Braveheart!”
Share Your Feels