Supernatural: Houses of the Holy

Angels on the Bullcrap List
by
Sylvia Bond
Supernatural Episode Review – Season 2, Episode 13
“Houses of the Holy”

I adore this episode beyond reason because it’s a quiet and abiding episode about fundamental issues like whether good exists alongside evil, and whether faith is still faith if you have to have it proven. Those are some rather heavy-handed reasons for such a love, but I’ve been known to be serious even as I drool over Sam and Dean. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with experiencing joy along with some religious fervor, is there? Heck no, hell, that’s what various churches have been preaching for years, that one of the staples of conversion is a feeling of ecstasy, but in the context of this ep, Show is, as they say, preaching to the choir, and I’m already in my robes behind the pulpit, swaying and clapping. Join me now, won’t you, in seeing the light and experiencing the grace of Show?

The MOW, I’ll tell you right now, is not scary. Not even close. It comes in beautiful white light to the down-and-outers of Providence, Rhode Island, to give them the message that redemption can be found in killing an evildoer. This the down-and-outers do, after which they confess of their own free will and are locked up for believing that an angel told them to do it. It’s these whackos that bring the boys to town and the first we see of these is a hooker. Show is careful to point out that she’s a hooker because apparently only hookers wear too much makeup and sit in a slovenly hump on the couch while watching bad TV late at night. (Cause no one else on earth EVER does this.) Bored beyond reason by mind numbing sitcoms (are there any other kind?), she finds herself surrounded by a mini-earthquake and the white light of the Holy Spirit, who enjoins her to kill.

After which she ends up in a hospital room with bars on the windows (read mental institution), and ta da! In walks Sam to pay her a visit, carrying a clipboard and dressed in orderly whites. He’s head to toe beautiful, washing over the stuffy room like a breeze in a sunny glade. It’s better than catching up with the ice cream man on a hot August day, only this guy ain’t selling ice cream, he’s just standing there with those long legs of his, his elegant head and shoulders scraping the ceiling. Who wants overpriced ice cream when you can get an eyeful of this? Not me! And frankly, as he talks to her about her wrongdoings with concern in his green eyes and tenderness in his sympathetic voice, it occurs to me that this guy was BORN with a bedside manner. Am I right, or am I right?

He wants to know what she saw, but what’s intriguing to me is how Sam managed to get on the staff at this hospital with enough rank to be the guy tending to new patients who are also murderers. Did he fill out an application and lie his way through it? Or did he just pick out a guy with the right uniform and bonk him on the head and steal his clothes? Plus, how did he find a guy with pants long enough to fit him? (And they fit perfectly. Go take a look; I’ll wait.) I wish I knew. And where’s Dean while all of this is going on? Oh, baby, he’s back at the motel, with his iPod jammed in his ears and his entire stash of quarters stuffed into the machine that vibrates the bed.

Sam and Dean have found one of the few motels in the country that still supply magic fingers, and that in and of itself is a miracle. As is, I think, the fact that Dean has an Ipod; he seemed so devoted to his cassette collection in the Pilot episode, but I imagine Sam talked him into letting little brother digitize all of big brother’s music. Isn’t that sweet? Yeah, it is, but what’s sweeter is the look on Dean’s face as he’s transported to the heights of musical ecstasy on that bed, with that mouth that’s made for pleasure and a bod made for sin. Yes, brothers and sisters, SIN. Plus you have to admire a guy who finds fun where he can, because as Sam strides in, eyes rolling in dismay at Dean’s perversity, we find out that Dean is under lockdown, per Sam’s orders. (Amazingly, Sam is disconcerted by Dean’s sexuality, which seems odd to me seeing as how he’s been living cheek by jowl with it all these years. Although, then again, maybe Sam knows that when he makes comments like he does here, he’s being Dean’s straight man because he knows Dean likes to get a rise out of him. And that makes Dean happy. And a happy Dean makes for a happy Sam.)

I like the continuity here, because the reason Dean’s got to lay low is because he’s high on the FBI’s radar (from the previous ep), and Sam’s gone all protective and bossy about this.  While Dean submits with less than good grace, you know he appreciates the fact that Sam’s looking out for him. It’s unspoken of course, but the fact that Dean’s doing what he’s told tells me that, yeah, Sam’s calling the shots on this one. But as Sam washes his hands at the sink (and catch it as he glares in the mirror, it’s totally cute), I get the feeling that even though he’s got his brother on a short leash, the leather is wearing thin and could break at any minute. I like how Show demonstrates this kind of tension without any overt dialog or explanation.

Then we get a motel dither that is like manna from heaven (or pennies if you’re a capitalist pig), which is the kind of scene that never grows old for me. Never. This time the dither is about the hooker chick, and how she feels she was touched by an angel, and how Sam thinks it might BE an angel telling the whackjobs what to do. Dean, oddly, puts his foot down because for him, there’re no such things as angels. They’re on his bullcrap list because he’s never seen one and will need hard proof before he believes. Here’s where the idea of what faith means comes in. Sam’s willing to believe on faith alone, but Dean, he’s the difficult convert here, the lost sheep who has lost his faith long ere this, seeing everything in black and white and unwilling to allow for the possibility. (Also funny is Sam’s off the cuff stab at humor when he pretends to be shocked, SHOCKED, that there’s no such things as unicorns.)

What I like here, besides the brown sweater that Sam wears over his t-shirt so close to his skin (as well as Dean’s wide-eyed look of incredulity), is the way the brothers listen to each other, even as they think that the other one is wrong. I like any dither, as you know, but especially the motel ones because to the brothers, the ill-decorated room they are staying in at any given time (this one has echoes of ’70′s porno films written all over it) becomes their world. Their entire focus is on each other, into trying to reach inside and find what makes the other one tick. Here, yes, Dean scoffs at Sam’s beliefs, but you know, really, that this is his first indication that Sam’s not on the same bus with him on this one. They sit close and then they move apart, only to sit close again to nod and listen and then walk away again. The grace with which they do this is like watching the first waltz at a debutante’s cotillion; there’s a lot of practice over a lot of years being displayed here, as well as a lot of brotherly love. You wouldn’t listen like they do if you didn’t care.

After a sarcastic remark about whether Sam got any evidence of fluffy white wing feathers, Sam lets Dean out to hunt, which is what he’s been dying to do. (Dean practically vibrates with his eagerness to get the heck out of that motel room, which is clever of Show to do because this shows us how Dean is a hunter through and through, with barely a single line of dialog.) The boys go check out the most recent victim’s house to find out what’s been going on. It gives me great joy to watch them break blithely in through the storm cellar doors, flashlights bobbing as they take in the cobwebs and skanky jars of who-knows-what, and then finally dig up some old bones. Later we find out that the victim had actually killed some college students and so maybe, just maybe, deserved to die. But me, I just like the sight of them digging, although Show meanly cut from the scene of Dean grabbing, business like, for shovels, to the point where the hole had already been dug. Damnit.

Next up, comic book guy is sent by the MOW to kill someone, which he does. (I don’t know comic books from Shinola, right, so I have no idea of the significance of the title of the comic book, but, this being Show, I’m sure there is one. I know Theseus was one of the Greek gods, but that’s about it.) Dean’s sitting alone in the motel room, listening to the police scanner. (Which is what The Dad used to do, so I’m terribly fond of this little scene, you know. It indicates that eavesdropping in on what the police are doing in town was part of the training that the boys received, part of the million and one tricks to get the lowdown on what’s hopping. Sneaky, huh? Oh, he was a clever one, was The Dad.) Sam comes in with his information about the bodies buried in the cellar, while Dean informs him that there’s been another murder. (More funny stuff ensues during this scene, little throw away bits like the fact that Dean wants more quarters but Sam refuses to enable his sick habit. To which Dean would probably answer it’s only sick because Sam’s not yet tried it.)

Off the boys go to break into yet another house, but before they get there, watch how they get over the lattice fence. It’s quick, but you can go slow mo for added entertainment value. Dean clambers up in the regular way, with his manly thighs pushing him up till he can lever the rest of the way with his manly arms. Sam, on the other hand, is so tall that he merely tucks his elbow against the surface of the trash bin and then ROLLS onto the top of it as though he were rolling into a rather high but perfectly accessible bed. Then he sort of just walks over the fence. Now THAT is tall. They boys break in with Sam using the old “knife on the latch trick,” and while I admire his handiwork I wonder if people really have windows this flimsy anymore. Anyway, once in the house, Sam breaks into the dead guy’s computer via the use of his own magic fingers (heh heh), and the boys find out that the dead guy was a screaming pedophile. This squicks both boys, although Dean allows that if you’re going to stab someone, a pedophile is a good target. And who wouldn’t feel the same? I mean, instinctively, on the inside?

Sam postulates during a quick little dither that an avenging angel might be at work here, but Dean says that while the dead dudes were, yeah, world class pervs, it’s not right that people go around killing people like that. Then the boys find out that all the dead dudes went to the same church so off they go to visit the Sacred Heart of the Bleeding Whatever to pretend that they’re devoted Catholics who want to join. While falsifying faith might or might not get you into a special hell, what’s funny here is that the town the boys pick to pretend they’re from is actually well-known to the Father they are talking to. Naturally, Dean draws exactly the wrong name out of the hat, but I love watching his eyes sparkle and his mouth move as the struggles under the weight of this particular lie. Because not only is he lying to a man of the cloth, he’s doing it in a house of God, and even for Dean with all his protestations about angels, he’s fully aware of the implications of what he’s doing. Plus, he’s just straight out adorable when he gets caught like this.

Then Sam is looking around, you know, like he does, and sees the painting of the archangel Michael. We get a little bit of clumsy exposition here as Sam asks about the saint like he has no idea (which, of course, he must have), but the information provides interesting results. While the Father goes on and on about how St. Michael is a fighter of demons and carries a flaming sword, watch Dean’s shoulders go back as he straightens up and suddenly becomes more attentive to what’s being said; watch Sam grow just a little more twitchy. This particular angel, as you may or may not know (I had to look it up myself) is, according to Wiki, considered to be the good angel of death and a field commander in the army of God. I don’t think it’s a mistake that Show lays this particular thread down, because certainly both boys can be considered to be fighters of demons and good angels of death, albeit dressed in scruffy jeans and worn out jackets rather than shimmering robes of samite.

Soon after, on the steps of the church, the boys learn of another priest who was shot for his car keys and died without any last rites. All thoughts of holy missions or divine power fly right out of Dean’s head; he knows that what’s telling the whackjobs to kill is the ghost of the priest (Father Gregory), which still doesn’t make it right. Dean explains it as pure “vengeful spirit material,” and asks Sam what’s his deal. Demands to know whether Sam’s going to start praying every day. And thus a beautiful conversation ensues, right there on the steps, against the mournful sky and the grey stone of the church. It’s here we learn that Sam prays every day and that he has for a long time. He lays this out as a simple fact, without a single ounce of defensiveness; there is strength in Sam’s faith and his need to believe.

There’s also some lovely freckle porn here as the camera flips to Dean to take in his astonishment that he tries so hard to hide with several twitches of his face and flicks of his eyes. (Now brightly lit, oh so lovingly, by the lighting guys. Hello boys!) Again he is shocked to learn that Sam is not only on the same bus, he’s not even on the same planet. He says, somewhat diffidently, “The things you learn about a guy.” This isn’t the first time he’s ever said this (or something like it) to Sam, and it says to me that he’s hurt by the fact that here is yet another factoid that he doesn’t know about his brother, which must be like a whap in the face for him. Plus, I like it because Show demonstrates to me that the boys’ relationship is not perfect, which makes it all the more interesting to me. Beyond the camera’s gaze are more spats and squabbles AND dithers than I could ever dream of, and if that’s not fantasy fodder, I don’t know what is.

The boys check out the crypt and this time it’s Sam who sees the MOW, the white light that shakes the ground and hands out directions of who to kill and how and when. But what’s even better, what is the BEST, really, is what white light does to Sam’s face. Why, it lights it up, that’s what, and I get an eyeful, and absolutely glorious eyeful of Sam, from the inky locks across his forehead, to his bright, wide eyes, and that cotton candy mouth, all lit up in living color, every graceful line, everything. Everything. It’s like a gift from above, and I begin to wonder what I must have done to have earned this unexpected gift. Only you shouldn’t, you know, question gifts like these, but rather, should accept them with grace and humility and many, many prayers of thanks. Oh Lord, we pray, thank you for Show’s Lighting Team, who know just where to stand and where to aim their Halogens at Sam’s beautiful face to make it more gorgeous than it already is. If that’s possible. Amen.

Sam is suddenly a collapsed puddle on the floor (a rather long-legged puddle at that), and in Dean comes to the rescue. Another gift! There’s brotherly clutching as Dean hauls his baby brother to his feet and drags him into a little side part of the church where they sit down and YES, have another dither. (Which means I must have been very good in a past life to deserve so much.) Only this one is like a religious dither, and takes on all sorts of heavy-duty meaning because apparently Sam has not only, as they say, seen the light, but he truly, truly, truly believes that it was an angel. An angel with a message, and he’s practically dancing with religious rapture as Dean sits him down and tries to feed him hard liquor. Only Sam doesn’t need liquor, now that he’s filled with the purpose of the Holy Spirit.

Amidst the sad piano chords in the background, what keeps the conversation grounded, what keeps Sam from floating off into the clouds is Dean. Dean who knows with a certainty that it’s not an angel. He allows that maybe the divine bat signal can show them who should be stopped next, but it’s not an angel. Camera work, lighting, and dialog all come together in the perfect and shiny glitter in Sam’s eyes. I always wonder, after scenes like these, whether and how the camera guys know what the output of aiming their lenses in a certain way will be. I mean, Sam’s eyes are GINORMOUS here and shiny with tears as he says in a shaky voice that if he can do what he believes to be God’s will, if he can be shown where the badness is, then maybe he can stop it. It’s just lovely.

As is the sharp angle of the camera on Dean’s face, because the camera guys are on a roll here showing me every line and pore and that fan of eyelashes across Dean’s eyelids, which is rather sanctifying, don’t you think? Dean says that maybe Sam is the bad thing and that maybe Dean should stop HIM. Whoa there – did he just SAY that? All along he’s been saying that he’s there to protect Sam and no matter what The Dad said, he’s not going to kill his brother. Here, he’s absolutely (and majestically, I might add) stern about this: you can’t just go around being a vigilante, because vengeance, as they say, is the Lord’s. Which is rather startling when you think about it. Sam is arguing that he be allowed to stop evil – which is what they already do, and Dean is arguing that vengeance is not theirs, which it totally is, because that’s what they go around doing, like, ALL the time. And not only that, he’s using the kicker argument that maybe Sam should be stopped, as in killed. Just like The Dad said. Obviously he’s just trying to make a point here, but it’s like a dash of cold water to hear him actually say it.

And then, as I’m reeling from this, Dean explains in a cracked glass voice why exactly it is that he has no faith, nor believes in angels. This is a weeper of a scene, underplayed and subtle in exactly the way it should be as Dean explains that The Mom had exactly the same kind of faith, and that her last words to Dean were that angels were watching over him. Which turned out to be so NOT true that Dean has been convinced ever since that chaos and random evil rule the world. You just know that the only reason Dean’s telling this particular story is because it needs telling, then and there, to convince Sam of the error of his ways. Wild horses couldn’t have gotten this tidbit out of Dean otherwise. As for Sam, the tender, confused drawing his noble brow into a knot tells me that while he feels pretty bad for himself about the whole angel thing, he feels worse for Dean. I think, personally, that he always feels worse for Dean because Dean has nothing to hold onto. Oh, boys. You tear me up sometimes, you know that?

Businesslike, the boys investigate the crypt that holds Father Gregory. There’s wormwood crawling all over it, which indicates the site of an unsettled grave. Dean decides they will do a séance to summon Father Gregory. Sam hesitates; Dean’s willing to be proven wrong, but I think Sam is not. This bit is followed cutely by the boys coming out of a local corner store, brown grocery bags in their arms. I love the mundantity of this. Next to all the spiritual heavyweight concepts contained in this particular ep, the idea of the boys prowling a downtown quickie-mart in search of black candles, something that sparkles when it hits candleflame, and a Sponge Bob Square Pants place mat that will need to be turned Sponge Bob-side down before the ceremony begins, is like a walk in the park. Perhaps Sam talked Dean into getting some twizzlers; perhaps Dean snuck some beef jerky into the basket before their groceries were rung up. One of The Dad’s rules was, I’m sure, eat when food is available, followed quickly by one of Sam’s maxims: eat candy when you can.

Along the way, Sam sees his sign that he’s been expecting. He’s ready to jump in the car and follow the next bad dude, but Dean tricks him, and leaves Sam standing on the street. Sam’s job is to raise Father Gregory, while Dean goes after the bad dude. Alone. Naturally. This is yet more proof (as if I needed any) that Dean, no matter what else is going on, will ALWAYS be Sam’s big brother. In this case, he’s going to take on stopping the bad dude in order to keep Sam from having to commit murder. Dean’s chase takes him through dark, fog dappled streets, tires screeching and all stop signs and turn indicators ignored. Dean’s at his hunting best here, smashing through windows to punch the would-be rapist’s lights out, and comforting the girl in his hurried Deanish manner, running off while telling her to dial 911. A second chase ensues, much like the first, but this one ends with Dean witnessing one of those horrible accidents that makes you NOT want to follow behind any truck with long, pointy poles tied to it in an obviously sloppy manner. The pole goes through windshield, and he’s very dead in very short order. There’s also, if you look closely, a very artistic drop of blood that falls down the dead dude’s chest.

Back at the church, Sam goes through the spirit raising ritual all by self, even though he’s only little, and incurs the wrath of the Father, who demands to know what’s going on. Just as Sam is unable to explain (in a delightful, unSamlike stammer), the ritual works, and lo, out comes Father Gregory in a beam of startling white light. This makes Sam’s eyes greener than any earth-dug emeralds you have ever seen, and the lighting guys outdo themselves to light up the plane of his jaw and the astonishment that tightens the tender skin across his cheekbones. Yeah, Father Gregory, blah, blah, blah, he thinks he’s an avenging angel, the Father knows that he is not, but who cares about that. Although the scene is moving (I always get rather veklempt as the Father says to Father Gregory, in the tenderest of tones, “Rest.”), Sam is beautiful here, and that’s what’s important. Except that Sam also knows that Father Gregory is not an angel, which means, unfortunately for him, that angels do not exist. That’s the dealio going down, and you can see Sam age about 10 years as the realization hits him. The last of his faith that he struggled so HARD to hang on to has been burned clean away as though by holy fire. Poor boy. Poor Sam-I-Am.

Back in the room, and I don’t know whether this is my favorite scene in this ep (both of the scenes with Sam’s brightly lit face rise rather sharply to the top, as you may have guessed), but it’s a good one. Sam’s by himself packing morosely. The lighting is low, and Sam’s head is tipped down so that you can see the hard plane of his jaw, flushed red along the curve in that way it does for tough men, when the emotional levels are pushed to their highest limits but there’s no way they can be let out. His hair is in his eyes, even, and I become a secret Samgirl at this point, secret and passionate and devoted, peering out from my priest hole, the liturgy in one hand and the holy sacrament in the other. Not that I know anything about any of that, but with a vision like this, even an atheist could be converted to believe. (Plus Padalecki nails the whole of Sam’s impacted, emotional state, with just that simple dip of his head.)

In walks Dean, asking Sam, how was your day, dear. To which Sam can say nothing, because at this point he’s supposed to eat crow, and while he’d normally be willing to do that, he’s so overcome by grief at the thought of his lost faith, he can barely say hello back. Dean, to his credit, doesn’t look much happier at having proven his brother wrong, so, to comfort, he takes a drink and then hands the flask to Sam. There is sharing of brotherly spit and a reverential moment of silence for Sam’s dearly departed faith. Then, are you with me? We get MORE dither. Oh, man, this ep is like a cornucopia of close, intense conversations as only the Winchester boys can have, a slew of emotion and protectiveness and energy zipping through the air between their eyes like you have never seen. Especially here, as Sam explains how badly he wanted to believe. How hard it all is, how he’s drowning in evil.

Like, wow. To look at Sam, going about being a do-gooder doing good deeds, you would never expect to see such a dark and depressed inner landscape, but apparently it’s there. Plus, there’s shiny tears standing in Sam’s eyes, but he’s grown so old so fast, he’s not about to shed them, and not because Dean’s watching, but because there’s almost no point. And if that kind of grief, that type of loss for poor old Sammy doesn’t make a fist clench around your heart in shared grief, than you are much more stalwart than I managed to be during this scene. Plus add to that the mournful strains of “Knocking on Heaven’s Door,” rising through Sam’s litany about his failed faith and I’m a mess. It gets me every time.

As does Dean’s quiet watchfulness as he observes the last vestiges of innocence rip through Sam’s shaky voice. There’s nothing he can do to stop it, so he stands very still and absorbs it through his skin and his eyes and his heart. He tries to remind Sammy Sam Sam that he, brother Dean, is looking out for him. And then Sam says the clincher of an argument, the one that has me bawling and wiping my nose with my shirtsleeve, and I just adore what he says because it wraps it all up in one powerful and painful cluster of dialog: “You’re just one person, Dean. I needed a higher power, some greater good, so that maybe I could be saved.” Which points out Sam’s biggest fear, that his destiny is written in stone and nothing and no one can save him from going straight to hell. (It amazes me that he’s that worried about it, but I guess he is. Plus it just adds another layer to his already interesting interior mystique.)

But Dean’s going to try, right? And that’s because he’s Dean, big brother, the one who’s always right, because that’s his JOB, damnit, and there’s no way he’s going to let this one go without trying. So he hauls out the story of the bad dude’s death, and how if he’d not seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it. And that maybe it was God’s will. Of course, the implication is supposed to be that if Dean saw God’s will, then maybe Sam can find his faith again. Dean is laying out the breadcrumbs for his little brother; he’s giving it all he’s got, even to the point of pretending that he’s found a little faith of his own. Yes, I know, some fangirls believe in Dean’s conversion here, but I don’t. It’s too sudden and too obvious for all that Sam grabs for it like a dying man for a life preserver. Dean has forever been a doubter, a questioner, and even though now, for this moment, he believes, come the night, he’ll be pointing fingers and jabbing at the strings he can see and the man behind the curtain that he knows is there.

All in all, this episode keeps up with the best of Season 2, for all that it’s so serious and erudite in its message about faith and angels. Frankly, at this point, I applaud Show for denying the existence of angels, in spite of the prominent display of demons and other bad critters of all shapes and sizes. Because if Show introduced the idea of angels, it would not only jump the shark, it would cause its viewers to completely miss the point. Which is so freaking obvious you’ll be amazed, just as I was when I had it pointed out to me. Yeah, I do miss the obvious sometimes, because I’m admittedly busy drooling over Sam’s hair or those shoulders or fantasizing about Dean’s mouth that I’m oblivious to the underlying message. There are angels walking among us, they say, and in this case, they are Sam and Dean. What makes this even more wonderfully delicious is the fact that the boys are completely unaware of this fact. That while they are waiting for the cavalry to come over the hill, no one is coming because they are already there. It must be hard being the last bulwark against the forces of evil, especially if you have no idea that you are IT. I mean, sure Sam and Dean know they are in the battle, but they don’t know, apparently, that they are the rescue that they are waiting for.

Sylvia Bond is a ten-year technical writing veteran with too many degrees under her belt to count. She lives in Colorado, but does not ski, preferring instead to spend her money and time at the annual Great American Beer Festival, taking road trips across the United States, and reading historical fiction from the comfort of her fluffy green arm chair. She has been involved in fandom since 1993 and been writing fanfic since approximately 1993. What she finds most amazing about fandom (besides the open heartedness of fans and the sheer amount of creativity) is how visible fandom has become. “In my day,” she says, “we had to hide behind P.O. boxes to get fanfic. But nowadays, people wear t-shirts that shout their affiliation and share their shiny toys on the internet.” It’s a wonderful world.

Never miss an update. Subscribe to Pink Raygun by Email or subscribe via RSS

Related Stuff: