Episode 1.02: Unearth

Sophomore episodes are always difficult, and with the bar set so high by Resurrection's pilot it was hard to see how the show could meet expectations. "Unearth" certainly wasn't the same episode as the pilot; there was more introduction of the larger mystery the characters will grapple with, clues dropped here and there about the past and its affect on the future, and the beginnings of some classic television plot developments.

These are good developments, since we need a good plot to engage us past the initial "wow" factor of a person coming back to life, and I'm intrigued by what's about to happen.

But this episode continued the sense of wonder introduced by the pilot. It was just as colorful and vibrant, and the exposition was handled in such a way that I gained even more insight into these characters. I continue to find this show thoughtfully made, a delight for the senses as well as the mind. It's not just a pretty face, but a contemplative take on the characters and the story. Below I've compiled some of the strengths I saw in the second episode.

Color I love what this show does with color; namely, that it uses color so purposefully. The best example came when Jacob's mother went to her closet to retrieve a box of his old things. The set for the family's house is always bathed in warm earth tones, light yellow and beige and amber. When the woman got the box down she savored the moment. I could feel how important this action was to her: here she'd banished these last reminders of her son, and now she was bringing them back to life, back into the sunshine of their world. She opened the lid to reveal clothing in bright primary colors, but then she revealed a little stuffed bunny.

This bunny sat in contrast to the rest of the box because it was a soft pastel blue, a cool reminder of loss amidst all the warm colors. My eye was drawn to it just like the character's, and when she picked it up and held it, I didn't need words to tell me exactly how she felt and what this whole event has meant to her.

Camera Angle This show also uses the camera as a means of showing the character's mood or viewpoint. Marty, the show's resident fed (this time from ICE rather than the FBI), came by the house to speak to Jacob. He finds the boy up in his room, one that is clearly not a little boy's room yet, playing with Legos on the floor. Marty sits on the edge of the bed, not wanting to put the boy on guard, giving him his space. Jacob doesn't look up or acknowledge him beyond a few short answers. If the camera had jumped between their perspectives or panned out wide I would have emphasized with Marty (who is such a likeable fellow) and gotten frustrated with Jacob's unresponsiveness.

But instead, the camera angle I got was from the floor in front of Jacob looking up and over his shoulder: the boy in focus, wanting to continue his playful existence, the agent in the background, fuzzy, indistinct, an intrusion only noticed when he spoke. With that one decision I felt empathy for Jacob and his predicament, and remembered that he's just a kid, just a boy looking to snap Legos together.

Exposition & Character As I said earlier, this episode revealed more of the show's main story arc, with exposition scenes to fill in pertinent details. One such scene occurred between Jacob's father, who's still trying to process what's happened, and his uncle the Sheriff, who's decided on his course of action: denial and obstruction. It was a scene who's sole purpose was to introduce the potential identity of the third man in the past love triangle we learned about last week, and to inform us how Marty could potentially get his wish to exhume the graves without permission from the family (who'd refused his request earlier in the episode).

In most shows this kind of filler scene would be told with people moving to break up the "talky" aspect of the dialogue. How many procedures have characters discussed the plot by walking down a hallway, or walking up the stairs? Resurrection even had one of those scenes this episode between Marty and the doctor, he following here through her office as he pitched her working with him to solve the mystery (a scene which had one of the best lines of the night: "Think of it like an internship: unpaid."

In the scene between the two brothers, though, neither one moves the entire time: the Sheriff sits at his desk, and the father remains standing, a statement about his level of comfort inside his brother's office. He's clearly off his game in here, and he fumbles with a typical guy conversational gambit: they discuss fishing. While the Sheriff has obviously remain true to his roots as a man about town, including fishing trips with his buddies, Jacob's father is withdrawn, not having gone out on a fishing trip in some time. He's more comfortable at home, in his house.

This conversation didn't just tell me the facts about the plot: I also realized how these men have very different reactions to what happened in the past, that there's a history of friction there despite their uniting against the outsider who's currently a mutual enemy. All these years he's used his house as a retreat from the pain, keeping the world at bay. Now, Jacob is a threat to that sanctum.

Music Finally, this show makes excellent use of its score by choosing to use it with rare flourishes. Half the scenes have no music whatsoever. But there were two moments in "Unearth" that recalled the haunting refrain of the music with pure emotion.

The first example came in the home of our other "resurrected" town member. His daughter and son are still trying to deal with having their father back in their lives. She's trying hard to let go and just accept the gift. But there's still pain, as when she notices an article of clothing the deceased had been buried in. She picks it up, and we're given a rare flashback moment of the funeral. It's an intimate memory: the camera was out of focus and pulled in tight, only revealing her focus. There were no words, no other people. As she looked down into the coffin the music swelled, but with a single violin taking the melody. This music stopped as soon as she snapped back, the memory gone. That violin beautifully conveyed her sorrow and how bittersweet the present is to her.

Later my man Mark Hildreth performed his pastoral duty by visiting the family, and Jacob's mother craftily gave him the task of helping set up her son's new game system. The two characters, who at one point in their lives were best friends, are awkward with one another. Pastor Tom fumbles about with adult politeness while Jacob responds with the brute force honesty of a child. After a few moments, though, they connect over a shared memory of a favorite teacher. The music swelled a bit then, this time with a flute taking the lead, which highlighted them both getting their childhood camaraderie back.

I'm enjoying this show's artistry, and the story is certainly engaging enough to get me to tune in next week. If you'd like to see my reactions live you can check out my Twitter feed with the #Resurrection hashtag.