Flashbacks and Fast Forwards
Narrow hallways, skewed perspectives. The camera stares straight ahead and into its subject’s eyes. It tries to peer inside Beth Harmon’s mind, to see what makes her tick, to learn what drives her to do the crazy things she does. It also follows behind her, in her frequent trips to the local drugstore. Acting, for all the world, as if it was a suspicious police detective, the camera retraces her steps but from the front angle.
Beth purchases a newspaper with the change from the cigarettes her stepmother asked her to get. Realizing she’s a few cents short, Beth steals a chess magazine, doing to the newspaper what she did earlier to the doll she received as a gift: she dumps it into the nearest wastebasket. Which, as in the previous episode, tells viewers all we need to know about how Beth feels towards objects that remind her of her past.
Nothing is more important to her than chess.
Prior and subsequent to this sequence, the druggist eyes her suspiciously — with good reason. Beth brazenly walks out of the drugstore with the purloined chess magazine. She returns the next day to get a prescription filled for Alma’s nerves (poor thing). When the druggist gives her the prescription, Beth is intrigued to learn it’s for those little green pills she once yearned for at the orphanage. The things that gave her those nighttime hallucinations. Tranquilizers, heaven sent.
Returning home with the medication, Beth hands Alma the bottle, but it’s only half full. Alma wonders why the prescription was only partially filled, but Beth turns sheepishly away from confrontation. Some things are better left unspoken. Leafing through the stolen magazine, we see flashes of chess masters Valery Borgov and Benny Watts, shown briefly in subliminal sparks that remind us of situations to come.
Beth relives her earlier triumphs with players who, albeit far below her level of excellence, at least offered her somewhat of a challenge. It’s here, at a Lexington, Kentucky high school, that she meets Townes, a journalist and fellow chess buff. It’s also where Beth experiences her first agonizingly vivid period. Her ignorance of basic bodily functions (similar, in some ways, but not nearly as traumatic as that experienced by the clueless Carrie) drives Beth straight to the girls’ bathroom. Ironically, the first girl she beat at chess, Annette Packer, comes to her rescue with a tampon — but Beth has no idea how to use it. So smart, yet so dumb.
The flavorful music score by Carlos Rafael Rivera (A Walk Among the Tombstones, Godless), an elegant recurring piano arpeggio with an orchestral obbligato, provides both background commentary and mood. A perfect “score” for a Netflix series about chess.
Young Beth has a permanent blank stare on her expressionless face. She feels nothing, shows no emotion. She is dead, inside and outside. People talk about the deceased, about being in better places. There’s no better place to be, however, than inside your own head. For that matter, Beth’s head. And nothing can be worse than being brought up, alone and discarded, in an orphanage.
Beth’s only refuge is in tranquilizers and, later, in alcoholic beverages, booze for short, with hints of other addictions to come. The pills do their job, only too well in fact. For instance, Beth’s first night at the orphanage is uneventful: the wind blows the trees outside the dormitory, their shadows reflected in the ceiling overhead. Soon, the trees will be replaced by a chessboard, with massive chess pieces moving in all directions. They will be guided by Bess’s thoughts and fueled, so she thinks, by the tranquilizers.
Fitful memories of her mother Alice’s past emerge, along with Beth’s runaway father and her mother’s discarded PhD dissertation — mementoes of a lost mind and a broken body.
Beth watches the custodian, Mr. Shaibel, move funny pieces on a board in the basement. Odd, that. Why does Beth see these same pieces on the ceiling? At night, in bed, and while she’s trying to sleep? Where did they come from? What do they mean? Did the little green pills she takes at bedtime, her “vitamins,” do all that?
The chess pieces begin to take their proper place on the imaginary board. Each in their designated area. Deftly and securely, Beth moves the pieces with her eyes, then her hand, her thoughts, her power over them growing. She’s hypnotized by them. But does she really control them, or do they control her?
Beth’s path appears before her. Mr. Shaibel, the custodian, is the first of her mentors, the one who instructs her on the fundamentals of the game. There will be others, of course, some good, some poor. Beyond that, Beth is basically on her own. Her own best adviser, her own best friend. And her own worst enemy.
She plays, over and over and over again. She can think of nothing else. Reading and learning from chess books, most given to her by well-meaning friends and associates. People she barely knew, people she had little interest in. The moves: the Sicilian Defense, and the Queen’s Gambit. Where the queen is sacrificed for a higher cause. Her life and everyone’s lives, such as they are, have been sacrificed as well. To chess.
Pulling a Bobby Fischer-style performance, Beth wins her first challenge by beating all the boys at a high school chess club’s “simultaneous” match. An hour and 45 minutes’ worth of her time.
Winning was never so easy. Life was never so hard.
Who Needs Frenemies?
Benny Watts is the only character who does not fall under Beth’s spell. He is his own man so to speak, one who guards his personal feelings about her as much as a Buddhist monk would protect his star pupils’ secrets, or a priest their sins. Benny, too, is his own master. And he keeps his own counsel — a wise policy.
Fittingly, Beth is thrown off balance by Benny’s seeming nonchalance, his ability to lower her defenses with little to no effort. Does Beth allow him to do this to her on purpose? Because she “likes” him? Because she wants Benny to notice her? Still, Benny remains aloof, an enigmatic figure, a grandmaster of the game of life, one practically born to it. Benny comes and goes, even showing up at inopportune times, mercurial in his manner and ways.
Surviving by his wits and on little monetary means, Benny is Beth’s constant tempter and tormentor — the slimy serpent to her pliant Eve, a fellow chess lover and all-around champion whose life revolves around the game. When Benny invites her to his apartment in New York City, Beth half expects it to be a posh Park Avenue loft, or at the least a lavish bachelor pad in keeping with Benny’s reputation. While we feel her surprise and disappointment at his sub-basement dwelling (with Toronto standing in for midtown Manhattan), a veritable air-raid shelter bereft of the barest amenities (he takes the term “Spartan lifestyle” to new heights), she’s nevertheless drawn to him — and he to her — as they sleep together, probably for the first and only time.
With that bold move, Beth experiences her first orgasm with Benny, not necessarily the “climax” of their pseudo courtship. He stupidly destroys the moment, though, with pointed criticisms about her chess moves. A conversation killer to say the least. Oh, well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. In that Parisian hotel room later on, Beth meets up with ex-model Cleo, a resourceful French girl who once had a brief fling with Benny but (in a very modernesque move) shares our chess champion’s bed. As usual, Beth has one too many cocktails at the hotel’s bar, the reason for her hangover and late appearance in her rematch with Borgov.
Nevertheless, the playing field has been leveled as both combatants, Beth and Benny, maintain a mutual regard for one another’s skills (and private space), both on the chess route and in the boudoir. Think of them as Jadzia and Worf of Deep Space 9, or Trip and T’Pol of Star Trek Enterprise: a love-hate, combative relationship built on professional courtesy if nothing else. “Frenemies” would be the term of art that’s called to mind, for better and (sometimes) for worse.
Still, Beth finds comfort in a man’s world. She has never experienced that same level of comfort or challenge in the world of women. We see this at the Methuen School, at Fairview High School, and especially at an all-girl’s party where her classmates are all dressed in like manner. You know the routine: hoop skirts, bobby socks and saddle shoes. Beth’s classy outfits, straight out of a fashion spread, clash with their girlie attire. And during the singing of the pop group, the Vogues’ “You’re the One,” a favorite tune of the era, Beth steals a bottle of gin from the premises and flees the party. “Chess isn’t the only thing in life.” That is for sure. Add kleptomania to her many faults.
The camera follows Beth from behind. We, the viewer, are tracing her footsteps, her rite of passage, her slipping into adulthood — hmm, not always a good thing. We experience what Beth experiences. We thrill to her victories; we wallow in her defeats. Her pain, our gain.
We commiserate with her failings. We see what she sees, and we absorb what she absorbs: the ambience, the particulars, the décor, the scenery — they are all of a piece, a total conception that draws the viewer into her world, a world of competition. Win or lose, up or down. The pieces are there, and so are the competitors.
Early on Beth loses her queen — or her mother and/or stepmother, metaphorically speaking. She spends the rest of the series in trying to regain her lost queen (that is, her very self and her self-respect). If you haven’t as yet picked up on the series’ “thread,” all the “queens” in the drama are to be sacrificed. In other words, Beth’s quest for rising to an unrivaled position over and above every other player, usually of the male variety, will demand some form of sacrifice. She finally becomes that which she had lost.
In the end, Beth is surrounded by dozens of old Russian men, all obsessed with the game of chess, her own private army of Shaibels (William Shaibel, the janitor who taught her the game) who Beth finally pays belated tribute to as the man who started her down the path of a chess master.
Now a grandmaster herself, a champion. The queen of her realm. She discovers the true love of her life. Chess. She is the black and white queen. The lone survivor and the one left standing.
Make way for her majesty! Long live … the Queen!
Creating the Queen: What to ‘Make Of’ the Series
The cost of genius is high. We know this from Beth’s upbringing and life experiences. But it’s more about escape: escape from her demons, escape from reality, and escape from her troubled character. Much like Benny, she is her own worst enemy, per writer-director Scott Frank: a self-destructive individual despite her brilliance at chess. It’s what makes Beth the heart of the drama.
The 1950s, accurately recreated and depicted in the Netflix series, revolves primarily around chess and, more broadly, around any male-dominated discipline. Here, the depiction is of chess developing into that of an “all-boys club” from that era, to coin a phrase, and the “no girls allowed” mentality that prevailed. Who is Beth Harmon to come along and invade this fortress? This all-male preserve, such as it was, of macho dominance?
Equality of the sexes and the subsequent 1960s Women’s Liberation Movement, then, are hidden aspects that the series gets right, with Beth’s search for a place in this new frontier part of a broader schematic.
That schematic, according to Frank, was first put forth by the Kennedy Administration and their coining of the “New Frontier” slogan. On the opposite end, Beth’s homelife and prior relationships with her natural mother left her extremely unstable. So much so that she had no idea what was in store for her or where she would end up. Neither did viewers.
For instance, Annette Packer (Eloise Webb), the first opponent that Beth beats at chess, sees her again after Beth has had a particularly “bad bender” (in other words, she went on a booze binge). Beth is a veritable walking wreck. Her eyes are heavily made up with bold eyeliner. She looks like a vulture, a rapacious, angry bird not certain if she’s going to pounce on her prey, pull back or fly away from the conflict. She could claw at Annette’s face at any moment, she’s that unpredictable.
What does Beth do? Does she strike? Does she go to pieces? Does she back off from her attack? Just then, she runs into Harry Beltik, the last person she wants to see. There are people, such as Annette and the twins, who care about her, but she pushes them away, partially out of instinct and partially out of shame for what Beth has brought upon herself. How low she has descended in her climb to the top — or is to the bottom?
Even her old foe Beltik worries about her. Despite his concerns, Beth cares not a whit for his feelings toward her. She remains defiant, a personality quirk that needs to be addressed and worked on. In point of fact, she’s beyond caring. She’s addicted to winning or losing, take your pick. Addiction, for Beth, comes in many forms: addicted to success, to nice clothes, to a jet-set lifestyle, to swanky hotels, to bars, to restaurants. Also, to alcohol and debauchery. You win some, you lose some.
Her stepmother, Alma Wheatley (Marielle Heller, in a bravura performance), is one of the few people around who can get to her, who understands her motives, who loves her, and who sees Beth better than Beth sees herself. Alma, which means “soul,” recognizes the potential that resides within her stepdaughter. She should know. Alma was once a promising concert pianist who lacked the confidence to perform before a live audience. Stage fright, as Alma termed it. She is also a neurotic and, like Beth, is addicted to alcohol and sleeping pills. Poor Alma!
“Creativity and psychosis go hand in hand,” so claimed the chain-smoking LIFE reporter who interviews Beth. But is Beth Harmon crazy? Is she insane? Her mind works so fast, faster than a normal person’s, whatever normal is. She sees a lot of herself in Benny Watts — his swagger, his boastfulness, his incessant chattering about himself, although Benny is unlike her in his slovenly habits and motivations. They try to get into each other’s head with mind games. And they keep at it, the one daring the other to top their last move.
What about her old buddy Jolene? Ah, Jolene! That’s what good friends are for! She happens upon Beth after a particularly bad night of boozing it up. We smile to ourselves at the outcome, though. Jolene’s generosity, her empathy toward her sister orphan in arms are what lift the story to its satisfying conclusion. And not just Jolene, but Townes, too. In Moscow our heroine reconciles with the unflappable chess journalist, who opens up to Beth about his own personal proclivities. Others chime in as well, including the genii-like Benny and the over-protective Harry.
Chess itself is explored, but only to the extent that director Frank wants the focus to be on the protagonist Beth, to get inside her, to see what she sees, and to feel what she feels. But can she overcome the challenges? Can she leap over the hurdles that life has placed before her? Especially her handicap as a woman, where men see her as a pushover? An easy mark? A quick conquest?
Oddly enough, being a woman is not only her greatest handicap, but it’s also her greatest strength. People underestimate her abilities because she’s a woman in a man’s game. Reaction shots are key, the drama playing out on people’s faces, both Beth’s and her challengers.
As Beth gets older, her hairstyles change in conformance to the styles and eras in question. So do her eyes: they get larger and sexier, i.e., more makeup and eyeliner (as noted above). “Beth has a thing for flare,” Anya Taylor-Joy remarked. “She likes the finer things in life — like clothes.” From drab, dull and lifeless to glamorous fashion icon, courtesy of costume designer Gabriele Binder.
Beth is the white queen — long white coat, white hat with poofy pompom on top; tall, lithe and wonderfully charming. She suffers from an “emotional and intellectual” loneliness. Few people, men or women, can come up to her level, to her unbelievably high standards. And because of this, Beth is lonely, unfulfilled, ever searching, never finding satisfaction.
Her story is complex, but nevertheless fulfilling. She’s a winner on all counts.
Check and mate!
(End of Part Three)
Copyright © 2022 by Josmar F. Lopes
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