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But it’s not just the cast bringing this tragedy to life. Breaking
Bad, one of the few shows still shooting on �lm, is perhaps the
most gorgeous and cinematic hour on TV. A rotating group of
talented directors (including Hard Candy director David Slade
and Brick director Rian Johnson) squeeze every drop of
tension and atmosphere from the proceedings. Not to mention
DP Michael Slovis, who surely deserves a trophy for his artful
manipulation of the show’s bleak New Mexican sprawl. For
proof of Slovis’ prowess, check out this gorgeous scene from
late in season four (and consider whether that shift in light
halfway through was purposeful or a happy accident).
Notice how slow and calculated the action in this scene is;
how the pauses are just as important as the words spoken.
Unlike 90% of the other dramas on TV, Breaking Bad cherishes
silence. The show consistently favors atmosphere over action
(and when the opposite is true, there’s a damn good reason for
it). This is why Cranston, Paul, and the rest of the cast are so
great; because Gilligan and his team don’t rush them towards
a scene’s conclusion.
Check out this cold open (which actually doesn’t feature any
of the show’s regular cast). It’s a perfect example of how the
show takes its time building character motivation, power
dynamics, and tension. It’s also just a beautifully constructed
scene, one that could easily stand on its own as a short �lm.
Breaking Bad has made an art out of the cold open, those
isolated �rst few minutes before the opening credits roll. It’s a
trick that Gilligan picked up from his days on The X Files, but
here he’s pushed it to new levels. When viewers tune in each
week, they never know what to expect to see before the
credits. It could be a tension-�lled short like the above, a
�ashback to decades earlier, or, as in one season two episode,
a music video for a Mexican folk song.
No matter how any given episode opens, it all ties back into
Breaking Bad’s larger story: the gradual self-destruction of
Walter White. This is the show’s greatest achievement: that it’s
managed to grow one coherent, complete story over the past
four years and counting. Even a great serialized drama like The
Sopranos wasn’t able to accomplish such a feat. Recall how
each season would introduce a new antagonist in Tony’s path
(often a rival mob boss), and then have Tony predictably
waste this villain by season’s end. Mad Men, a show that not
only shares Breaking Bad’s network, but also its passion for
atmosphere and tone, falls into similar trappings with its
rotating cast of love interests for Don Draper. After a certain
number of seasons, even the best of shows tend to establish
something of a formula, begin to repeat themselves, tread
water, and lose a bit of their luster in the process.
But Breaking Bad has yet to reach this point. And with the
show ending after its �fth and �nal season next summer, it
seems unlikely to do so. Every season, every episode, has built
upon what’s come before in unpredictable and deftly plotted
ways. The fourth season �nale, for instance, spent nearly half
its running time paying o� the arc of a minor character
introduced three years earlier and appearing only sporadically
since. To maintain an ever-expanding universe like this, a
universe rotating entirely around one man’s tragic and
unending descent, is quite the feat. Breaking Bad continues to
plumb wrenching new depths each week, and the show has
displayed no signs of nearing bottom.