A broken humanity

How would you confront the specter of your own impending death? If you’re Walt White, the main character in AMC’s fantastic Breaking Bad, you turn your life on its head, transforming from a straight-laced high school chemistry teacher into an aspiring meth dealer, all in the hope of leaving at least a little of the good life behind for your family.

Of course, it’s a lot more complicated than that. Not only is Walt facing down cancer, but his wife is pregnant with their second child, his son has cerebral palsy and his brother-in-law is a DEA agent tasked with ridding the world of drug dealers. And that’s just the set up. Every episode of the series just adds more confusion and difficulty to the mix, creating an intriguing and thorny world that plays out like film noir gone domestic and drugged.

Now halfway through its second season, Breaking Bad is riding a crest of Emmy nominations (lead Bryan Cranston won Outstanding Actor) and critical acclaim, all of which is well earned.

In a show built on undoubtedly bizarre conceits, it’s not the flash that gets noticed—it’s the sizzle. Cranston, most famous for playing the goofy, in-over-his-head Dad on Malcolm in the Middle, is a dynamo. This is existential dread at its most compelling.

During the first season, almost immediately after starting in the meth business with his new partner and former student Jesse Pinkman, Walt is confronted with the difficulty of his path. A deal goes bad. Someone dies, but another rival dealer lives. Walt chains him to a post in the basement, unsure how to proceed.

In a moment of deep humanity, they have a conversation. Walt reveals his cancer, the other, his family’s love. Later, Walt realizes what he needs to do. He kills the man in a brutal but necessary fashion, choking life from his ragged body.

At this moment, Walt is set. Faced with a moral choice, he chooses to do what is wrong. And this is the key to the show’s success: We identify with Walt because of his conflicts. He might be a killer and drug dealer, but he becomes those things only because he loves his family and has his pride. He’s living in an amplified version of the human condition, where every day can really be boiled down to a series of moral decisions.

This deep pathos is the show’s hallmark, a symptom of its expert characterization, acting and writing.

In the second season, Walt is facing the reality of juggling all his lies with his business partner, the chemotherapy office and his family. No one trusts him, and no one knows why they don’t trust him. His wife is confused and angry, his son as well. Still he soldiers on, determined to secure his family’s life after his death, something he has long since come to accept is on the near horizon.

I won’t ruin the many surprises found in the episodes of Breaking Bad, because this is not a show you casually watch.

The second season has not only showcased Cranston’s impeccable acting, but the work of the remarkable supporting cast, as well. Jesse, the confused partner in Walt’s ascending criminal life, as played by Aaron Paul, is nuanced and compelling. He’s not as likable as Walt, but that’s because he’s more obviously selfish.

Breaking Bad is visually richer than your standard basic-cable drama. Happily taking advantage of its New Mexico setting, the camera work feels rugged and textured like the Coen brothers’ No Country for Old Men combined with the stylish dexterity of Requiem for a Dream.

It’s worth pointing out that with this show and AMC’s other headlining drama, Mad Men, the network has transformed itself into one of the best places on basic cable for scripted television.

We need shows like this. Breaking Bad gets at the dark place in America where dreams and death collide and that’s a place that mainstream entertainment is increasingly reluctant to go.