clivewarren:

So, I need to talk a little bit a lot about my Ben feels. In NYMag’s The Engrossing, Surprising Southland Returns (which serves as an excellent introduction to the show for new viewers, btw), Matt Zoller Seitz eloquently sums up Lydia’s journey in this episode thusly:

Pay close attention to the mental gymnastics that Lydia goes through as she deals with the informant, switching on a dime between bitter exasperation, contemptuous sarcasm, bottomless empathy, and self-righteous lecturing about how she grew up in the same neighborhood and turned out great. “People have a choice no matter what hand you’re dealt,” she says. “You can rise above it or you can drown.”   She’s torn between not giving a damn and beating herself up for not caring enough. This is what it’s like to feel responsible for an addict. It’s yet another example of Southland taking on a subject that most shows get wrong and doing it right.

My love for Lydia is infinite (and I could write pages about what Regina King does with that character), but I just wanted to add to Seitz’s insight by noting that Southland has been doing “what it feels like to be responsible for an addict” alarmingly well for three seasons now. Sherman getting drawn into Cooper’s tailspin was maybe the most finely written and acted portrayal I’ve ever seen on TV on what it’s like to be in an intimate relationship with an addict (and, yes, in the world of Southland a partnership is undeniably intimate).

Being responsible for an addict - it’s like fighting a lonely war. And as horrible and frightening and desperate as the struggle is, there’s something primal and possessive in it, too. It’s your fight, for better or worse. I’m not saying that’s healthy, I’m saying it happens. It’s happened to me. The dependency starts to go both ways, until the world is divided into two groups: the two of you, fighting an invisible enemy that sometimes wears your partner’s face, and everybody else.

And sometimes, sometimes the thing you want more than anything happens. The person you care for gets help. They get better. And that’s a fucking amazing feeling. But I’d be lying if I said that it couldn’t be hard, too. Because you want that person to be happy. And you want them to be sorry. And you want them to move on. And you want them to come back for you. And you want to be selfless and gracious and supportive. And you want to stand on top of a chair and scream What about me?

Again, I’m not saying that’s good. It’s not particularly flattering to know that you can be that selfish. But it’s real. I don’t think any part of Ben resents Cooper’s sobriety, his health, or his chance at a fresh start. But the last time we saw these two, he was dropping Cooper off at rehab, after it had become clear that Cooper was going to get people killed and Ben was the last thing standing in the way of that particular trainwreck. Now he’s back on the streets with a new partner, jumping into moving cars like it’s nothing, and the first thing he says is, “Hey, Boot” and makes a crack about low standards. Like nothing fucking happened. Like when Ben’s probation period was over they shook hands and went for a beer. That shit hurts. (Despite the fact that Cooper clearly didn’t mean to give offense. He was just being his emotionally incompetent self, I think.)

I really can’t say enough about how beautifully McKenzie plays this scene, because Ben Sherman has plenty of free-floating rage that tends to strike at the least provocation, but this isn’t that. This isn’t him being pissy or judgmental. This is him accepting that the war is over, and he got left behind.