It draws attention to its own textuality, it does not produce a singular reading subject but one that is involved in the process of representation rather than a victim of it, it plays with the difference between the representation and the real… and it replaces the pleasures of identification and familiarity with more cognitive pleasures of participation and production. (95)
This grants viewers a perspective from which to take a more objective look at the consequences of Walt’s actions.
The last sequence that I analyze consists of a succinct sketch of the private life of Gale Boetticher, Walt’s chemist assistant and designated successor in Gus’s meth laboratory, at the end of the episode “Full Measure,” which I have discussed earlier. Gale is shown singing along to an old Italian swing song, “Crapapelada,” while preparing tea and watering plants.[22] In the meantime, we see a view of his flat, which is full of books, memorabilia, a telescope, a hookah, a potato-powered clock, and rugs aplenty, in sharp and deliberate contrast with Walt’s dull, spartan apartment. The thrilling effect of the scene arises because, even as we are getting acquainted with Gale’s intriguing personality, we already know that Walt has sent Jesse to kill him.
In all likelihood, the song is unknown to the audience, so that it can hardly work to track affiliating identifications in the way that Kassabian suggests. On the other hand, there are many elements of Gale’s characterization that could work in that direction. In fact, Gale, unlike the other characters, is not greedy or aggressive, and he has a keen interest in science, ethnic cultures, literature, and even social anarchism. He is not a passive consumer but has a refined and unconventional music taste that transcends the borders of American popular culture. Furthermore, not only does he choose his music, but he also knows it well enough to sing along. It may reasonably be argued that Gale has more in common with Breaking Bad viewers than does Walt, and he would therefore be an ideal target for positive identification processes. Nevertheless, identification with him would be problematic, firstly because we already know his fate, and secondly because he has become a rival to the protagonist, who, as such, is still a more likely target for identification. Again, the music works to defy identification processes, although in a different way than in the sequence with “Windy” during the same episode. At the same time, since the music is both “visible” and “audible” (Gorbman 1987, 73), it is unlikely that it works as dramatic scoring to track assimilating identification. It is indeed diegetic music, in that its source belongs to Gale’s world, but its function is not merely descriptive or realistic. Rather, together with the other details of the mise-en-scene, the oddity of the song and Gale’s somewhat surprising ability to master its intricate melody—unlike his own fate—manage to complicate the story further, ultimately inviting us to extend the diegetic space beyond the text.[23] Once again, as spectators, we are stuck between sympathy and bemusement before identification can take place.
But there is a further element that adds to the text’s indeterminacy: at the end of the episode—the season’s finale—Jesse faces Gale with a gun, we hear a gunshot, but we do not see Gale being hit. Interestingly, many viewers refused to accept that Jesse had actually killed Gale—an eventuality that producer Vince Gilligan had not anticipated.[24] The point is that identification with Walt and Jesse, whom viewers struggle to think of as cold-blooded killers, induced viewers to infer conclusions that, to paraphrase Bunia (2010), are not explicitly conveyed by a representation. What I argue is that the condition for this (mis)interpretation is not limited to Gale’s implicit death but is also due to the role that music plays in enticing and puzzling viewers at the same time. That is, by implying that (fictional) reality is more complicated than it may appear at first sight (and at first listen), this sequence demands an interpretive effort that breaches the confines of the text to involve the viewer in the construction of an expanded diegesis. In this way, the producerly text becomes a platform for a selective application of moral codes in order to maintain cognitive consistency with character disposition or, alternatively, an opportunity for monitoring characters’ moral behavior—a task that may require, once again, a significant expenditure of cognitive resources and the capacity to cope with cognitive dissonance. Moreover, the chance to discuss this expanded diegetic space with others can increase viewing pleasure, making the producerly text a collective rather than an individual endeavor.
CONCLUSION
Not only is music of central importance in Breaking Bad, it also plays multi-dimensional roles in the series, thus affecting character liking and mediating identification processes. The need to maintain bonding (especially, but not necessarily only) with Walt throughout the series, or, in other words, to keep viewers interested enough to watch each new episode—an essential feature of serial drama—is continuously challenged by his becoming involved in actions that viewers may well find morally repugnant. In fact, the dissonance between the viewer’s moral code and Walt’s troubling wrongdoings can impact negatively on identification processes. To obviate this, Breaking Bad employs various strategies that allow for temporary shifts in identification while also using more subtle techniques that simultaneously prompt identification and detachment, engaging the spectator in Walt’s concerns through emotional affinities, while glossing over the consequences of his actions for society at large.
The ambivalence of identification processes in Breaking Bad implies that liquidity is not just an option but a condition that viewers have to negotiate throughout the series. This is because we realize that there is no higher morality justifying Walt’s efforts to defend his drug empire, just as there is no grand narrative to make sense of his initial impasse. Instead, viewers are faced with the deterioration of social bonds as a structural condition of late modernity—viewers share this condition with Walt, who experiences it on screen, and around this similarity, identification, albeit unsteadily, is built.
WORKS CITED
Bandura, Albert. “Selective Moral Disengagement in the Exercise of Moral Agency.” Journal of Moral Education. 31(2) (2002): 101-119.
Bauman, Zygmunt. Liquid Modernity. Cambridge and Malden, MA: Polity Press, 2000.
———. Does Ethics Have a Chance in a World of Consumers? Cambridge and London: Harvard University Press, 2008.
Booker, M. Keith. Postmodern Hollywood: What’s New in Film and Why It Makes Us Feel So Strange. Westport and London: Praeger Publishers, 2007.
22
The song “Crapapelada” was composed by Gorni Kramer (music) and Tata Giacobetti (lyrics) in 1936, therefore during the fascist regime, while the version used in the series was recorded in 1945 some months after the Liberation. The title of the song is the equivalent for “bald head” in Milanese dialect and allegedly was a way to make fun of Mussolini while avoiding censorship. Interestingly, some fans interpret the song as a riddle and discuss on YouTube and in other forums whether it is a reference to Walt’s shaved head.
23
This sequence, surely supported by David Costabile’s remarkable performance (he is a trained classical singer) as Gale, leaves us with the impression that this character would have many more surprises in store for us, were he given more fictional time to live. In fact, in a later episode (“Bullet Points”), Gale reappears while performing in a Thai karaoke booth (we can recognize it from the Thai subtitles). His passionate performance of Peter Schilling’s English version of “Major Tom” and the exotic setting add further mystery to this character. The scene with this video, recorded on a DVD that has been sized as body of evidence in Gale’s flat after his murder, allows us to compare Hank’s sarcastic reaction at “Albuquerque’s public enemy number one,” to Walt’s enigmatic concern, which is left to the viewer to interpret: does he feel guilty that he has killed such a friendly and positive person? Or is he just worried for himself, as he foresees clues that may lead to his identification? Or rather, is he outraged that this bizarre guy, passing for Heisenberg, is taking all the credit for the purest blue meth that has been such a big hit?
24
“Gilligan’s intention with the scene was to have Jesse hit his target. But viewers found it so hard to believe that Paul’s sensitive, soulful character could commit cold-blooded murder—debates raged in fan forums—that Gilligan reconsidered, opening the season-four writers’ room ‘with a long and spirited discussion of whether we should actually have Aaron go through with it.’ Paul’s performance was that powerful” (Romano 2011, par. 19).