Welcome to Seattle. We're famous for Starbucks coffee, space needles, sleeplessness, and lots of rain.
My story--the parts of it you came to hear, anyway--begins in a really crummy part of town. Like Alec Guinness said in that one sci-fi movie, it's "a wretched hive of scum and villainy." What was it called? "Space" something...never had much use for sci-fi anyway.
Pardon me; I haven't introduced myself. I'm Frank Black. A few years ago, I was a profiler for the FBI. These days, I work for the Millennium Group as a modern-day Continental Op.
Hope you got a strong stomach--you're going to need it.
Millennium's pilot episode sets the tone for the series right from the beginning, with a drab, desolate shot of a gray, rain-drenched street-corner in Seattle.
That establishing shot also introduces one of Millennium's signature special effects: Each episode's establishing shot starts out with an infrared-like quality, which gradually resolves into focus. It's like we're looking at a photograph of a crime scene and "falling into" the story behind the crime.
And the scene of the crime? It's a peep-show called "The Ruby Tip." (Why do I keep calling it "The Rose Tip?"--NT) As far as sordidness goes, it's two or three steps below a strip club, one step above an adult-movie house, and two steps above a webcam girl. The place is grimy, squalid, and depressing. You're hit with an immediate sense of wrongness as soon as you step through the door...unless, of course, you happen to be one of the lonely, pathetic men who frequent it.
Still, all is not lost: The first people we meet are the girls who fulfill the fantasies of the Ruby Tip's clientele. We get to know them as people: working girls trying to get through college; single mothers with daughters; all good friends who help each other, who weep when they find out that one of their own has been murdered.
If this were any other show, Law and Order or Homicide, maybe, we'd learn that the killer went to see her every day and eventually fell under the delusion that she was in some way "his." Or, maybe, that he learned to hate women from a bad upbringing. The second possibility is brought up in the episode, but in context, Frank's too-easy explanation owes more to a series that's knows what it wants to do, but not entirely how to say it.
You might be wondering: "What sets me apart from the other guys in the room?" Is it my powers of observation? Is it my skill at putting the clues together?
It's a little bit of both plus one other thing. See, I can put myself in the minds of the madmen I pursue. I can see the world they way they see it.
It's my blessing...it's my curse.
It's my blessing...it's my curse.
Frank might have left the FBI, but he's made some new friends at the ominously-named "Millennium Group," a private consulting firm which liaisons with local, state, and federal law-enforcement on their more...unconventional...investigations. (The DVD box-set's extra features comment that Millennium is based on the real-life "Academy Group," whose members include ex-FBI agents and investigators from various agencies, and which consults not only with law enforcement, but also with businesses and other organizations.)
We never really learn what the Group is or does in this first outing. Then again, we're not supposed to know at this moment. It's a secretive organization; because of this, the various police agencies with which they consult regard them with unease at best and hostility at worst. The explanation for this is simple: The group puts Frank, the profiler, outside of the accepted social narrative. For example, if he said, "I'm with Seattle PD," or "...the FBI," one would think, "Oh, OK, he's with law enforcement." Instead, his "I'm with the Millennium Group" makes one think "What's this 'Millennium Group,' and why have I never heard of them?"
We never really learn what the Group is or does in this first outing. Then again, we're not supposed to know at this moment. It's a secretive organization; because of this, the various police agencies with which they consult regard them with unease at best and hostility at worst. The explanation for this is simple: The group puts Frank, the profiler, outside of the accepted social narrative. For example, if he said, "I'm with Seattle PD," or "...the FBI," one would think, "Oh, OK, he's with law enforcement." Instead, his "I'm with the Millennium Group" makes one think "What's this 'Millennium Group,' and why have I never heard of them?"
...God in heaven, I'm surrounded by idiots. They found a black man's hair on the dead girl, and they're determined to follow that. I guess it can't be helped; after all, they don't have Millennium's resources. Time for a little investigation of my own.
'Way I see it, the Ruby Tip is the best place to start. The dames gave me a less than warm welcome--they figured I was just another loser, I'll bet--and clammed up tighter than a witch's nether-regions as soon as I mentioned her..."Calamity," they called her. I decided I'd better play my last card.
"That's okay; I'm not a cop," I said. What d'you know, it worked like a charm. That tough, seen-'em-all facade melted in a second, and she sang like a canary.
Brought my notes and copies of the camera footage home with me, and now I'm getting ready to find...something. Christ almighty, this guy's a 100% Certified Grade-A Creep. He's talking to her in riddles...wait, what's he holding up to the window? It's in French.
Frank's notes on what he translated turn out to be a pair of quatrains. They sound like something (I swore last Halloween that I'd never mention him again) that Nostradamus might have written. I suppose it was inevitable that he'd be name-checked on this show, but his name isn't mentioned very often; in fact, I'd say that this is probably the only time it happens in the whole series. (I suspect I'm not entirely done with him, either, but that's for another installment.)
It's almost as if Chris Carter knew that his viewers would expect a lot of end-of-the-world prophecies in general and Nostradamus' quatrains in particular, so he put them into the first episode and got them out of the way.
It's almost as if Chris Carter knew that his viewers would expect a lot of end-of-the-world prophecies in general and Nostradamus' quatrains in particular, so he put them into the first episode and got them out of the way.
I see what the Frenchman sees. He's been prowling around in a forest preserve.
Whole lot of shapeless forms wandering around, too...God damn. Not only is this guy a creep, he's a kook. Sees everyone with their eyes and mouths sewn shut.
There's a grave, a tomb, marked "A GRANDE DAME." It disturbs me enough to lead Bletcher and his boys on a dragnet. He's skeptical, but I don't blame him: It's a long shot, and one that's not guaranteed to pan out.
.....
We're trekking through the dead of night, wading across ice-cold waters and getting up to our shins in swampy mud. If this doesn't work, I'll lose whatever respect Bletch has for me. If it does, we'll be one step closer to our guy.
"A GRANDE DAME" marks the spot. Bletch looks ill at ease, like he heard something. A scraping noise--I hear it too.
THERE'S SOMEONE ALIVE IN THERE.
Pocketknife! Get these screws undone! No time to waste--he's burning air in there!
The stone is heavy and slippery. One last effort...GOT IT!
I looked at him, and the sight of him made my blood run cold. A boy, maybe 18 or 19, with his eyelids and mouth stitched shut and his hands bound. His muffled screams practically freeze my blood. Bletch radios for an ambulance as Seattle's finest gather around. Me? I take the guy and...I just hold him until help arrives. I'd be terrified too.
There was something in there with him. I remembered seeing Calamity's headless body in the morgue. We just found her head in a Ziploc bag.
Are you there, St. Peter? It's me, Frank. Make a reservation, just in case: This bastard's going down one way or another.
.......
Back at the PD, I decided I'd better call and check in at home. Bletch, ever the gentleman, stepped out for some coffee.
Busy signal? Now that's suspicious. I put down the receiver and the phone rang. The voice at the other end said that a blood sample was sent from this building to a lab downtown.
Something--intuition, a sixth sense, whatever you want to call it--led me down to the morgue. There was a man in there--The Frenchman! He looked at me with wild, deranged eyes, and demanded, "Who are you to condemn me?" That's when I saw ten gleaming inches of stainless steel come out of his ill-fitting lab coat.
He charged at me, but I managed to get the stiff in front of me between us. Important lesson: When in doubt, improvise. Not that it really mattered--he was so sloppy and undisciplined that I could dodge most of his stabs. To think that his previous kills had such cold, rational skill...I must have really gotten under his skin. Good.
Anyway, the whack-a-doodle was right up in my face, ranting about a prophecy and a final judgment. Just as I was about to face my own final judgment, a shot rang out. And another. And a third. It was Doubting Bob Bletcher, finally come to his senses. My gift sometimes inspires less-than-positive emotions in most people, but I just take my lumps in stride. I know they'll come around eventually.
.....
The hell am I thinking? I can't leave without introducing my two significant others. I hadn't forgotten about them; I was saving the best for last. (That's why they're "significant.")
My wife, Catherine, and our 'little miracle', Jordan. They said we'd never be able to conceive, but we brought her into the world all the same.
I try to protect them from the darkness of my world, and they pull me back when I get too close to the edge of the cliff. Anyone else would have left me by now, but she's stayed, and I can't possibly say how grateful I am for her.
They're also why I left the FBI and moved us to Seattle, into the bright yellow house that we call home. 'See, back when we lived close to the Fed, I was on the trail of a serial killer. I got him all right, but shortly after that, I got a thick manila packet in the mail. I found Polaroids of Cath and Jordan inside it. They were getting into a taxi marked "Seattle."
They're the light in my life. I'd do anything to keep them safe from the nightmares out there...and at that point, I felt like it was all for nothing. I'd rather not bring that up, not right now.
You may wonder, why am I bringing up stuff from what now seems like so long ago?
Because it happened again. This time, they were getting into a taxi marked "Seattle." In other words, these were just taken while I was chasing the Frenchman.
...No! Get a hold of yourself, Frank. Now, slow down and remember: You've got the Millennium Group on your side. Catherine and Jordan are still alive--you just said goodbye to her and wished her luck on that job interview.
You're not alone in this, and there's no shame in asking for help.
=============================================================
Are you there, St. Peter? It's me, Frank. Make a reservation, just in case: This bastard's going down one way or another.
.......
Back at the PD, I decided I'd better call and check in at home. Bletch, ever the gentleman, stepped out for some coffee.
Busy signal? Now that's suspicious. I put down the receiver and the phone rang. The voice at the other end said that a blood sample was sent from this building to a lab downtown.
Something--intuition, a sixth sense, whatever you want to call it--led me down to the morgue. There was a man in there--The Frenchman! He looked at me with wild, deranged eyes, and demanded, "Who are you to condemn me?" That's when I saw ten gleaming inches of stainless steel come out of his ill-fitting lab coat.
He charged at me, but I managed to get the stiff in front of me between us. Important lesson: When in doubt, improvise. Not that it really mattered--he was so sloppy and undisciplined that I could dodge most of his stabs. To think that his previous kills had such cold, rational skill...I must have really gotten under his skin. Good.
Anyway, the whack-a-doodle was right up in my face, ranting about a prophecy and a final judgment. Just as I was about to face my own final judgment, a shot rang out. And another. And a third. It was Doubting Bob Bletcher, finally come to his senses. My gift sometimes inspires less-than-positive emotions in most people, but I just take my lumps in stride. I know they'll come around eventually.
.....
The hell am I thinking? I can't leave without introducing my two significant others. I hadn't forgotten about them; I was saving the best for last. (That's why they're "significant.")
My wife, Catherine, and our 'little miracle', Jordan. They said we'd never be able to conceive, but we brought her into the world all the same.
I try to protect them from the darkness of my world, and they pull me back when I get too close to the edge of the cliff. Anyone else would have left me by now, but she's stayed, and I can't possibly say how grateful I am for her.
They're also why I left the FBI and moved us to Seattle, into the bright yellow house that we call home. 'See, back when we lived close to the Fed, I was on the trail of a serial killer. I got him all right, but shortly after that, I got a thick manila packet in the mail. I found Polaroids of Cath and Jordan inside it. They were getting into a taxi marked "Seattle."
They're the light in my life. I'd do anything to keep them safe from the nightmares out there...and at that point, I felt like it was all for nothing. I'd rather not bring that up, not right now.
You may wonder, why am I bringing up stuff from what now seems like so long ago?
Because it happened again. This time, they were getting into a taxi marked "Seattle." In other words, these were just taken while I was chasing the Frenchman.
...No! Get a hold of yourself, Frank. Now, slow down and remember: You've got the Millennium Group on your side. Catherine and Jordan are still alive--you just said goodbye to her and wished her luck on that job interview.
You're not alone in this, and there's no shame in asking for help.
=============================================================
Hmm, that's an excellent cliffhanger there. Take out the bad guy, make everything right with the world, and then pull out that one last trick.
Just from that pilot episode alone, I can say that Millennium certainly hit the ground running. This pilot means business: It establishes itself within the first few minutes and then swaggers through with solid narrative and dialogue, and camera- and set-work which enhance the script and serve to keep jacking up the tension bit by bit. The pilot tells so much of its story without words: through lighting (next to nonexistent during the hunt through the forest; warm and sunny in the yellow house where Frank and his family live); cinematography and editing; careful location scouting...I could go on and on with examples, but I can sum it up by saying that it tells its story and then some.
If a pilot is a sign of things to come, then I can say that I'm most impressed by how mundane it is. It doesn't even try to cast the main conflict as a battle in the epic war against good and evil, but keeps it at the basic "catch the madman" level. His apocalyptic rantings are given no further weight than deranged rantings, which is neat. I expected the Millennium Group to use prophecies and things to guide its epic-scale mission, but it turned out to be just a slightly-shady consulting group without mystical trappings
Best of all, it can stand on its own apart from the rest of the series. If it had only gotten a lukewarm reception, and had Fox nixed the series, it would still be an interesting curiosity and a saddening reminder of lost potential. Fortunately, it premiered to rave reviews and some of Fox's highest ratings.
In fact, I'd say that the pilot is so self-contained that it's far too early for me to say anything more about the series. Join us next time as we review "Gehenna."
====================================================
(Millennium copyright 1996, Ten Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox Television. All screenshots are property of Ten Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox Television. All rights reserved. Special thanks to Millennium--This Is Who We Are for episode transcripts, which helped me adapt the episodes.)
If a pilot is a sign of things to come, then I can say that I'm most impressed by how mundane it is. It doesn't even try to cast the main conflict as a battle in the epic war against good and evil, but keeps it at the basic "catch the madman" level. His apocalyptic rantings are given no further weight than deranged rantings, which is neat. I expected the Millennium Group to use prophecies and things to guide its epic-scale mission, but it turned out to be just a slightly-shady consulting group without mystical trappings
Best of all, it can stand on its own apart from the rest of the series. If it had only gotten a lukewarm reception, and had Fox nixed the series, it would still be an interesting curiosity and a saddening reminder of lost potential. Fortunately, it premiered to rave reviews and some of Fox's highest ratings.
In fact, I'd say that the pilot is so self-contained that it's far too early for me to say anything more about the series. Join us next time as we review "Gehenna."
====================================================
(Millennium copyright 1996, Ten Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox Television. All screenshots are property of Ten Thirteen Productions and 20th Century Fox Television. All rights reserved. Special thanks to Millennium--This Is Who We Are for episode transcripts, which helped me adapt the episodes.)
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