As a seasoned viewer with a keen eye for detail, I must say that Alfonso Cuarón has truly outdone himself with Disclaimer. The series is not just a masterpiece of storytelling, but also a poignant exploration of human trauma, guilt, and the power of narrative.
The sun has set over Forte dei Marmi, and Catherine has returned to her hotel room with a cool, crisp white wine – a farewell drink for an unforgettable day. Nicky is asleep, as tiredness is a sign of a content child who is creating cherished memories – such work can be taxing. The balcony doors are wide open to the salty Mediterranean breeze. Today marks the final day in the last location where Catherine Ravenscroft will reside without any hidden truths.
Recently, Catherine shared with her mother, who struggles to comprehend due to her illness, the events that transpired that fateful night in Italy. Meanwhile, Catherine’s spouse has been oblivious to her ordeal, focusing solely on the clamor of his own jealousy. It’s disheartening that Stephen Brigstocke is the one who truly empathizes with Catherine’s harrowing tale. He serves as the antagonist in her life’s narrative. Yet, he is a complete stranger.
Perhaps it’s for Stephen’s sake that she chooses to Tarantino her story. Or maybe it’s because even now, sitting at Stephen’s kitchen table, Catherine can’t bring herself to say the words outright. She begins with Jonathan’s death before circling back to her sundowner and the hotel key she mistakenly left in the door. Nancy was right about the drowning, Catherine admits right away. Catherine fell asleep, and when she woke up, Catherine was paralyzed by her fear of the sea. “I didn’t risk my life for my child and that is something I have to live with.” Ten points to Nancy.
In a different phrasing: Jonathan put himself in danger as he chased Nicholas. Meanwhile, Catherine watched from the shallow water, shouting “no”, much like Nicholas did during their previous rescue attempt. At first, only Catherine seemed to notice that Jonathan was struggling in the water – Nancy was correct about that too. Catherine admits with a hint of mockery, “I didn’t do a single thing to help him.” This is a role perfectly suited for Cate Blanchett. For six episodes, Catherine Ravenscroft has been portrayed as frantic and fragile, but in the climactic scene of Disclaimer, she is coldly determined. Only an actress like Cate Blanchett could convincingly pin a man to a chair, listening to a tale he doesn’t wish to hear. (And let’s not forget, only Cate Blanchett could make the phrase “I was joyous” sound fitting to describe an ordinary day at the beach.)
When Catherine recounts to Stephen the reason she allowed his son to drown, it seems almost compassionate. Yet, her narrative method differs from that of a skilled documentarian, who might present facts in a systematic manner. Instead, Catherine relives the ordeal as a trauma survivor does, painting a vivid picture of the distressing sensory memories that linger. The stench and taste still haunt her. It’s been twenty years, yet she can’t bring herself to reveal everything. For instance, Catherine omits that Jonathan sliced his arm with his pocketknife – a token from Mr. Brigstocke – and made her drink the blood. She does not recount how he stood by her ear, the knife poised at her eye, and shouted. Instead of saying, “Next, your son hit me,” she employs a more indirect approach: “I’d never experienced being hit before.
In that moment when Jonathan retrieved his camera, a present from Mrs. Brigstocke, Catherine recalls experiencing a sense of relief. It seemed he merely desired the photographs, and if she complied with his demands, perhaps he’d cease bothering her son. Thus, she donned the red attire and assumed a pose as fittingly as possible. She obeyed his instructions: Pucker your lips, spread your legs. She let out breaths resembling gasps and groans as instructed; Jonathan followed suit, releasing himself within his cargo shorts without ever physically touching Catherine.
In these recollections, the lack of sound seems almost unbearable as if the echoes of Jonathan’s voice and Catherine’s own sobs are too painful to revisit fully. As Stephen takes in the harrowing truth about that fateful night, he remains silent, allowing the traumatized woman to consume a tea laced with sleeping pills, which he had prepared for her. After dropping his camera, Catherine pleaded with Jonathan to leave, a decision she now wonders if it was a mistake. Twenty years later, she still grapples with whether there was something more she could have done to alter the course of events. Despite her request, Jonathan did not depart. Stephen’s son subjected Catherine to repeated rapes for over three and a half hours. When he finished, he casually commented on how “enjoyable” the experience had been.
In a different phrasing: Catherine pondered calling the police, but instead she snapped photos of her wounds and saved Jonathan’s DNA sample. However, when Jonathan drowned the following day, Catherine saw an alternative path. She could feign ignorance. She could erase the images. She even tragically terminated an eagerly awaited pregnancy, fearing the child might be fathered by her attacker. So, no, she doesn’t have any solid evidence for Stephen, but what proof does he have for his wife’s cryptic notes? It’s only as she concludes her tale that Stephen’s sleep-inducing potion takes effect on Catherine. She collapses to the floor; Stephen stands above her with a knife. He declares he’s going to the hospital to put an end to this situation once and for all. What must it be like to find oneself at the mercy of another Brigstocke man in such a predicament? In this instance, Catherine is once more powerless to stay awake and shield her son.
Stephen and Catherine’s leisurely race through London to reach Nicholas at the ICU feels like a thrilling chase, except there’s no excitement involved. In a taxi, Stephen faces challenges such as an overtalkative driver and construction delays. Meanwhile, Catherine swallows down a liter of iced coffee instantaneously, her difficulties being the lengthy wait for Bolt to find a driver and speed cameras. Upon arrival, Stephen bypasses the hospital reception desk due to his newfound VIP status, only to discover that Nicholas has already been disconnected from the ventilator. He’s now breathing using a cannula, which is the closest we’ve come to seeing him alive since he tearfully phoned his mother.
Despite the night Stephen’s just had, this pathetic man really does seem like he’s about to inject Catherine’s son with Liquid-Plumr. Luckily, just in time, Nick whispers the one word in the (British) English language that instantly turns back the clock. “Mum?” There’s something about the sound of it that arrests Stephen. A man begging for his mother becomes a boy again. Nick reaches out for Catherine’s hand and finds a perfect stranger instead. Suddenly, Stephen is a father again, tearfully clutching a crying boy, the one his son died to save. Did Jonathan whisper for his own mum as the sea battered him? If Stephen kills Nick, what did his son die for? Saving Nick was Jonathan’s one selfless act, as Stephen told us episodes ago, when he appeared almost baffled by his son’s behavior. Does it make more sense to him now? Is it easier to imagine Jonathan as an atoning predator than as a hero?
Leaving the hospital in a state of defeat, I encounter Dreadful Robert, who had been disregarding his wife’s repeated phone calls and messages all morning. He’s the one who’s been avoiding her, not me. I express my apologies to him for what I got wrong earlier, explaining that there was no affair; instead, it was a horrific incident – a rape. There was no murder as they suspected; it was more like justice being served. Dreadful Robert queries how I could have gotten it all so wrong, but considering the circumstances, it’s not hard to understand why I would cling to the truth hidden in The Perfect Stranger. After all, my son displayed immense courage, and my wife demonstrated remarkable talent. Who would dare question that?
In due course, after Catherine had sprinted to the hospital with Nytol in her system, Robert was prepared with an apology. However, all she focused on was Nicky. “It’s alright,” her son comforted her as tears flowed. He showed genuine care towards her. Later, Robert would reunite with his wife by their son’s bedside, the sun streaming beautifully through the window behind Nick’s shoulder. If episode three depicted Alfonso Cuarón’s Pietà, this was his nativity scene. Each character undergoes some sort of transformation.
In a somewhat confrontational manner, Robert queries Stephen, “Why didn’t you question it?” This is then reciprocated as Stephen asks Robert, “Why didn’t you?” In essence, Robert is asking why Stephen didn’t have doubts about their friend Catherine. Instead of assuming Catherine was unfaithful, why did it seem simpler to believe she had been unfaithful? Robert acknowledges his mistake and expresses regret to Catherine, but he also shifts some blame onto her: “Why didn’t you tell me?” He implies that if Catherine had shared her experiences with him earlier, things might have turned out differently. However, Catherine feels betrayed because Robert presumed the worst of her rather than giving her the opportunity to explain herself. She is not over her resentment towards Robert because he doubted her integrity; she’s still hurt because he discovered her trauma was real instead of accepting the possibility that she may have been unfaithful. In response to Catherine’s observation about his potential relief, Robert remains silent.
In the finale of “Disclaimer,” it’s the reunion between mother and son that takes place, where they hold each other tightly and express their love for one another. Can you imagine the emotion of hugging your son after such a long time apart? Despite being in another room during the night of her attack, Nicholas doesn’t recall anything about it. Yet, can we grasp things we don’t consciously remember? Following his meek apology, Stephen returns home to destroy the remaining copies of “The Perfect Stranger,” along with his wedding ring and his deceased wife’s sweater. As he burns the photos that inspired Nancy’s novel, he notices a figure in the frame – it’s Nicky, petrified and watching from afar. The image implies a series of events leading up to this moment, which Cuarón allows to linger. When Jonathan swam towards the dinghy, Nicky shouted “no.
As a film enthusiast, I eagerly anticipated diving into “Disclaimer”, having read an intriguing interview where Cuarón expressed uncertainty about crafting a TV series. I initially thought he was playing coy, setting the stage and managing our expectations in a provocative manner. However, after completing all seven episodes, I find myself aligning with his perspective. In my opinion, “Disclaimer” falls short as a TV series. It seems more like an extended film rather than a well-structured television production.
Television adaptations often maintain a cleaner appearance compared to films, especially towards the end. While Nancy’s novel triggered the plot in Disclaimer, her name was hardly mentioned during the series finale. Do you recall her portrayal of Jonathan? He was very shy and young. What did Nancy think about her son? Indeed, she wrote The Perfect Stranger – a book that changed the terrifying monster from Catherine’s dreams into a vulnerable character. However, Nancy didn’t share this book with anyone, not even her spouse.
Was she penning down the Jonathan she thought he was, or was she, a mourning mother, crafting the Jonathan she yearned for? When Nancy laid eyes on the questionable images of Catherine and merged them with whatever Sasha’s mother shared, did it finally give her a clear image of her son? “Stay vigilant towards storytelling and structure,” Cuarón cautioned us in the series opener. However, it wasn’t deceptive narrative or form that destroyed Catherine’s life. Instead, The Perfect Stranger remained an untouched novel.
To put it simply, the plot for the lethal revenge scheme against Nicholas Ravenscroft originated from Stephen. Being an English teacher with a strong affinity for fictional characters, he struggled to discern fiction from reality. He viewed the world as populated by fallen heroes and hidden villains. In essence, we ought to be cautious of overzealous readers.
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2024-11-08 22:54