The Americans: How “IHOP” Explains This Season’s Slow Burn
(Episode 5.09)
Jeffrey Neira/FX
From an International House of Pancakes in Harrisburg, Pa. to a no-frills apartment in Moscow, from an outbreak of Lassa among the mujahedeen to a tony boarding school in New Hampshire, The Americans’ tentacles reach the ends of the Earth. Though its drama often inhabits, as I wrote last week, “the space between the lines,” the series draws on the Cold War’s signature feature, which is its span in place and time: In five seasons, through flashbacks and conversations, sustained subplots and brief allusions, The Americans has asked us to reconsider World War II, the Stalinist purges, nuclear proliferation, the civil rights movement, the Vietnam War, Nicaraguan contras, and South African apartheid, condensing four decades of conflict until it fits in the Jennings’ garage. If the five-episode arc that follows “The Midges” boils The Americans down to its fundamental elements, its atomic weight, “IHOP” sets in motion a process of fission that promises fireworks to come: It is as wide-ranging an episode as the series has ever delivered, reeling in the long ago and far away until the lines begin to seem like a net.
The photograph of Kimmy (Julia Garner) in her father’s office signals this structure from the opening frames, and from there “IHOP” proceeds to rummage through the series’ attic. There’s the specter of Mischa, of Henry (Keidrich Sellati) and Paige, in Philip’s (Matthew Rhys) pledge to “do it right” this time around. There’s the shadow of William and Hans in the news of hemorrhagic fever on the Afghan front. There’s the mention of Nina in Oleg’s (Costa Ronin) discussion with two Soviet investigators. And then, of course, there’s Martha (Alison Wright) and Gabriel (Frank Langella), not phantoms at all but forthright presences, the double helix around which the episode swings.
With its brutal punctuation on Martha’s appearance in “The Midges,” “IHOP” appears to close the chapter on The Americans’ most recent interregnum, mirroring the arc of her exile in Season Four: After her wounded exchange with the Jennings’ former handler, anchored by Wright’s superb turn, the season shifts into declarative mode, as rueful and hard-edged as she is. This is the grand ambition hidden within the series’ subtle design—to situate its characters’ imprint in the narrative scaffolding, matching its understanding of “old scars, new skin” with another that goes bone-deep. In the course of a few minutes, after all, Wright captures the profound dissatisfaction that now pervades The Americans, mixing Martha’s wrenching loneliness with ice-cold wrath. (“Well, that must be nice,” she says when Gabriel mentions his family, a line spoken so sharply I felt the sting on the back of my neck.) It’s not simply that her life is forlorn, though it is—she has no career, no friends, no “suitable” suitors, only drab clothes and pitiful dinners through which she seems to be willing herself to disappear. It’s that she’s come to see her insignificance in this interminable conflict, her infinitesimal place on the Cold War map.