TV Rewind: 15 Years Later, How the Big Love Pilot Set the Stage for Suburban Housewife Domination
Bill Paxton’s patriarch Bill Henrickson only thinks he’s the one in charge.
Photo Courtesy of HBO
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The opening credits for the first episode of HBO’s Big Love stick with me as some of the most hauntingly beautiful and disturbing moments seen on television.
Starting with a shot of Bill Paxton’s lead, Bill Henrickson, bathed in rays of warm light and staring up at the heavens like he’s a prophet (or at least believes he is one), it pulls back to show that he’s on a frozen pond. A woman dressed in conservative mom/high school history teacher chic—whom we’ll later learn is Jeanne Tripplehorn’s Barb—skates to him lovingly, if a little stiffly. Next comes Chloë Sevigny’s Nicki, dressed in Laura Ingalls Wilder cosplay, who gazes at him adoringly as he dips her. Then there’s Ginnifer Goodwin’s Margene. Looking just a few years out of child bride territory with her hair clipped at the sides, she rests her head on his broad chest as he spins her like they’re at a daddy-daughter dance. The four lock hands and glide in a circle as the camera closes in on their wedding bands. They’re a marital unit of peace and tranquility—or maybe not? Because the ice is cracking and throwing them in separate directions.
The Beach Boys’ harmonic “God Only Knows” plays during all of this, causing Brian Wilson and Tony Asher’s tranquil lyrics to read as trepidation.
Big Love was an awards darling that aired from March 2006 to March 2011, during HBO’s Golden Age of prestige programming (it premiered on the same night as the sixth season of the premium cabler’s more-or-less nominative series, The Sopranos). It helped launch the career of writers like Melanie Marnich, Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa, and Dustin Lance Black, and cast actors like Aaron Paul, Mireille Enos, and Amanda Seyfried as their careers exploded.
It was also a story of marriage and relationships that, in many ways, was no different than most stories about these topics (money, kids, crazy in-laws, work-life balance, etc., etc.). Bill, the self-made face of a Home Depot-like Utah hardware empire, has built three houses in a cul-de-sac. They seem perfectly normal from the outside, but connect in the back to make one united compound; a different take on the Brady Bunch melting pot family. That the show was also set around the illegal lifestyle of polygamy was a tongue-in-cheek we’re-not-so-different-you-and-I nod (the show was created by married couple Mark V. Olsen and Will Scheffer; members of one historically ostracized group writing about another one).
But the more sinister, Warren Jeffs-esq world that the mainstream public mostly associate with polygamy is hanging out just out of the Henricksons’ sweet suburban utopia. Bill and Nicki grew up in the nearby extremist compound known as Juniper Creek. Harry Dean Stanton’s Roman Grant, who is the father to Sevigny’s Nicki and many others, has deemed himself to be the Prophet of that world, one where under-aged brides are as common as shady backroom deals.
The first episode does a lot of work setting up all of this. On the surface, Bill is bursting with confidence: his store’s about to franchise, he’s able to keep up with all the odd errands that the kids and wives need done on his way home from work (dry cleaning? Check. Son made a sports team? Hurrah!) and—best of all—there’s no one else in the neighborhood to know his family’s little secret. Bill even feels confident breaking their cardinal rule that he is only seen leaving from Barb’s front door in the morning.