Supernatural: Family Remains

I’m A Little Bit Poltergeist, and You’re A Little Bit People Under the Stairs
by Sylvia Bond
A Supernatural Episode Review – Season 4, Episode 11
“Family Remains”

When I watch an episode of Show, I like to fall in love with it a little bit, and walk away feeling that this fannish thing I have for it will sustain me in the coming week, when I will go to work and pay my bills and feed my fish. Well, I don’t actually have any fish, but you see what I mean. Day to day life means I’ve got Stuff to do; Show is my break from Stuff, and ever since I unplugged from cable (and my viewing choices are, by intent, severely limited), I’m really counting on Show to come through. Is that a lot to put on a TV show? Maybe? You think?

Be that as it may, I’m thinking that this week, Show didn’t really give me the goods. There was lots to love, because, yes, the brothers Sam and Dean are back from hiatus and are as beautiful and fascinating as ever, but there was tons I had problems with that managed to make the story so improbable in so many ways that I was unable to turn off my brain and just enjoy. 

This week, Sam and Dean investigate a haunted house. Turns out the house is not haunted at all, but inhabited by not one, but two feral children who are the progeny of an incestuous relationship. I can’t say it any plainer than that. The feral nature of the children was rather creepy; the family reminded me of the one from “The Benders,” which, when all was said and done, had no supernatural elements whatsoever. The fact that it’s not a ghost this time either, as the boys originally thought, but wild children protecting their lair makes for an interesting twist alright, but. Watching this ep was like watching a well-loved and bright child get really bad grades, and in speaking to such a child I would be sure to point out, very slowly and clearly, how disappointed I am. Maybe Show needs to be grounded until its grades come up.

To begin with, when the action starts and the hunt for the feral girlchild begins, there was a lot of rushing around in the dark, crawling between the walls, moving through the blackness of a cellar, or outside in the yard, all whilst flashing flashlights about. I’m all for the visual aids here, the sweep of a flashlight through the darkness is rather reminiscent of a light house beam sweeping the sea for survivors. It’s a signal that help is on the way; it also serves as a startling method of introducing bloody bits on the floor, a dead corpse screaming in rictus, or a barely conscious victim, struggling to make their way towards freedom. As a metaphor, it’s a very powerful one. 

But here, the filming was so dark, and the flashlights were swept across the camera lens so often, like overly bright flares, I began wincing every time I saw the beam coming. I’m all for darkness too, it reminds me of Seasons 1 and 2, where the filters used gave every scene a disturbing grittiness, but I’m wondering where’s the love from the Lighting Guys? For most of the action scenes, I could barely see any expressions on the boys’ faces at all. I could barely see what was happening, and found my attention wandering to the fish tank; did it need cleaning? There’s a balance that needs to be worked on, between filming with filters and using flashes of light to illuminate the problem at hand. 

Then there was the methodology of moving the action from one location to another. First the boys move the family they’re trying to protect into the house; they think it’s a ghost and salt lines are easier to draw on wooden floors. Then they realize it’s not a ghost, so they move everyone outside. I think they move them back in again, then out again, and finally into a little shed, where, apparently, it’s easier to protect the family, since there’s only one way in and out. Never mind that the very thin walls would offer no protection whatsoever. I nearly got whiplash trying to remember their location. All that movement created drama, yes, but a false, thin one.

Plus, I did not really buy that both Sam and Dean would be so scattered that they would think that moving the family around like that was really going to help. They made themselves more vulnerable by this, and I kept wondering, why don’t they just hole up in their cars for the night? And, as I watched all the ruckus and running around, I was reminded of “Poltergeist” (which has a screaming teen whose hysteria is meant to add to the drama) and “People Under the Stairs,” a totally fun Wes Craven film that has, to wit, large areas of the house not accounted for on architectural plans (that is, hidey holes in the attic and basement, plus a warren of between-the-walls corridors), in addition to the mélange of incestuous offspring who are kept out of site in the aforementioned unaccounted for areas. Sound familiar? I’d say Show needs to do more original work and not borrow from its neighbors.

Another problem I had was the loose ends presented by this episode. Case in point, there are three dead bodies by the end there: Uncle Teddy (a useless character, who, in addition to the dog, is killed to prove the situation’s serious) who dies at the hand of the feral girl, the feral girl who dies at the hand of Mr. Family Man, and the feral brother, who Dean kills. The family tells Sam and Dean to “shoo” so they can report this to the police? Not sure how that’s going to work, because even though the family can explain two of the dead bodies, the brother was shot by Dean’s pistol, and his weapon of choice was his pearl handled 1911 Taurus. 

If ballistics goes after the bullets left behind, I’m sure they’re in the system; the FBI is not unaware whose gun they belong to, and if Hendrickson were alive he’d be on them like ducks on a June bug. Granted the boys frequently walk away from gigs, letting the civilians deal with the mess, but there was so much they left behind this time of decidedly less than supernatural origins that the bodies weren’t simply going to disappear into the ether. This whole thing could have been solved by Dean saying that he’d gathered up his bullets, but then how would the family explain how the feral boy died? This is very untidy writing. I also have a bad feeling that everyone in the family is going to be under suspicion for the death of Uncle Teddy. Which is just going to make the crappy year this family has been having even crappier. 

Back to the feral children for a minute. The premise is that Grandpa (the guy that died at the beginning of the ep) had sex with his daughter (Rebecca) and had two children by her. Grandpa considered his daughter to blame, that she was the whore in this scenario, and he treated her as such. The daughter was so distraught that she hung herself, leaving her two children under the tender mercies of Grandpa. Who kept them, apparently, locked in the darkness, and fed them raw meat when he felt like it for around 15 years. Nice, huh? 

During the ep, these feral children are able to sneak up on the family and on Sam and Dean, to attack and break into the shed, and so on. They’re definitely creepy and unpredictable, and that’s good; feral children operate on animal instincts, and protecting one’s lair seems a fairly reasonable activity for them. At one point, the feral girl kidnaps the son and ties him up in some pretty good knots, which left me wondering where she learned that particular skill. At other points, the feral children leave messages like “GO!” and “too Late!” which tells me that while the feral children have no idea of the rules of capitalization, they still have a pretty good grasp of not only how to use active verbs without agents, but also adjectival phrases without subjects (which increases the emphasis of the message), AND they understand strategy enough to know when both messages would be most effective. 

That’s a pretty sophisticated grasp of the English language for two kids who never went to school. Or who, ostensibly, never had light enough to read by; the fact that they find bright light painful negates them being able to learn to read by it. Granted, they could have gleaned some of their knowledge while watching Grandpa’s TV through a knothole, but there’s only so much you can pick up this way, especially since the show Grandpa was watching when the lights went out was nothing to write home about. You see the problem I’m having?

Here’s another thing. At one point, Sam is trying to explain to Dean where the feral girlchild came from. The fun part here is watching Sam tip his head, and arch his eyebrows, and widen his eyes to get his message across without words. He doesn’t want to say it aloud, because really, the situation is a horrible one to contemplate, let alone speak of. Being the bright boy that he is, Dean is not slow on the uptake, and his response is something any one of us might say, “Incest? That’s disgusting!” I agree with him 100%; but at the same time, I had a feeling that there was some message being delivered here, that Show was trying to make a point about how Sam and Dean feel that incest is wrong. And subsequently, how fans who write fan fiction where the boys are in an incestuous relationship (wincest) are also wrong. Whereas in the ep “The Benders,” it felt like Show played off of the incest idea for the added creepy vibe, here it’s a big cartoon anvil, an admonishment dropped into the midst to teach a lesson. 

Last but not least. When Sam and Dean are caught coming out of the house and attempt to pose as inspectors, Mr. Family Man clearly states that they already had an inspector come through the house. Inspectors, as you may or may not know, inspect the house on behalf of the buyer. Every inspector that I have ever encountered, hired, or heard of has an almost fanatical devotion to their work. They look at every single nook and cranny of the house you are buying in a way that’s almost as invasive as a doctor’s exam. They go everywhere. EVERYWHERE. 

Given the amount of time after Grandpa died before the house went on the market, let’s say two weeks (which is fast even in a strong market), added to the fact that the feral children, self-fed, did not show any signs of cleaning up after themselves (there is a pile of dead bones in the basement, crawling with flies), and I would say that by the time the bank could get a potential buyer and thus an inspector in there, the smell would have been quite strong. Nothing any self-respecting inspector (and they all are) would have missed. He or she would have reported this, and inspector’s reports are anal-retentive to the max. 

Plus, if there was that smell in the cupboards and in the basement? The inspector would have searched for the source, found it, and instructed the bank, the realtors, and whoever else had their hand in, that it be cleaned up before the final walk through. Even if there was only one way in and out of where the feral children lived, the inspector would have gone between the walls like Dean did, and found it. The fact that Mr. Family Man upon opening the first cupboard in his new home seems quite surprised by the smell is pretty huge as plot holes go. 

I can deal with the darkness and flashing lights. I can deal with the boys’ harum scarum methodology with the family’s safety. I can even go along with the feral children’s ability to tie knots, spell, and strategize. But the logic of purchasing a house does not lend itself to carrion smells going unattended, so I’m thinking that the writer of this ep needs to experience some house buying. If Mr. Family Man had said, “Oh, we bought it sight unseen, I guess we didn’t realize the trouble we were getting into,” which in today’s troubled economy (foreclosures are at an all-time high), this would perhaps have been even scarier and made a whole lot more sense than the idea of two mysterious feral children who can spell and who might eat you (with a side of rat), not to mention dealing with the smell in a more realistic manner. 

I would be willing to let the lack of attention to detail go, if only there weren’t so many examples of it. My suspension of disbelief extends only so far. I got the feeling that the writer(s) considered these aspects of the story beneath their notice. I mean, who’s going to care? Audiences are stupid, right? Excuse me, but we’re not, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who thought about these missteps.

And here’s my last complaint, which I’ll talk about and then we’ll move on. At the end of the ep, Dean, rather like Garbo, talks. He tells us (and Sam) again about the 40 years he spent in hell, how 10 of it was spent torturing souls in order to avoid being on the rack. Again we are faced with the horrors that he faced and reminded that everything happens to Dean, and that everything that happens to him is bad. And then he adds, looking tortured by the memory, that he enjoyed it. In response, Sam looks pained. Given that I love angst and emo from Dean and Sam, the problem here is multi-faceted. 

First off, we’ve already had this conversation, let’s have a different one now, please, preferably between Sam and Dean, not just a monolog from Dean. Plus, having Dean tell us that he enjoyed it in addition doesn’t really add much in the way of drama or tension because what he says is blunted by the fact that Dean is repeating himself. And by the fact that, other than him telling us, we’ve seen not a single ounce, act, or bit of evidence that he’s suffering from any kind of PTSD. Which, even given Dean’s mad skills at denial, you’d think we’d have seen by now. 

Second is the fact that although there were tidbits through the ep reminding us of the overall story arc dealing with Dean’s time in hell, once again, Show stuck the emo at the end of the ep, relegating it to the last three-minutes, like an afterthought with as much importance as a side order of cottage cheese. The first time Show tried this, in “Everybody Loves a Clown,” where Dean pulls over by the side of the road to finally emote and cry, it had a HUGE impact. So huge that I think Show keeps wanting to do it over and over again, and does so until we’ve almost become inured to the impact. (I say almost because, of course, you know. Emo BOYS can’t be beat.) I can tell you for a fact that the worst fan fiction you’ve ever read could have integrated the emo inside of the story better than this.

And third, the issue of Sam, who has been for ever so long relegated to being Dean’s mirror. Over and over, while Dean emotes, Sam stands there looking pained, struggling to start a conversation that soon leads nowhere. This is not only getting boring, the imbalance of character development here is staggering. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: There is no such thing as too much Dean, but there is such a thing as not enough Sam. Padalecki’s Sam is coming across like a track pony to the thoroughbred of Ackles’ Dean, and while Ackles could sell it to me with a bucket over his head, I’m sure Padalecki is getting BORED standing around with his arms akimbo. I’m starting to feel sorry for the kid. If, as it has been reported to me, Sam has supposedly undergone a change and has matured to the point where he doesn’t need to emo all over the place, that’s all very well and good, but at no point did I see this change occur. Before Dean went to hell, Sam was emo, and when Dean got back, Sam was not. I’d like to see Show do the heavy lifting on screen, or, in keeping with the grade metaphor, I need to see the seatwork on this one.

And lastly, I miss the brothers interacting physically. I realize that they are distanced by their different positions on the issue of Dean’s time in hell, and this naturally would lead to a dearth of real communication or touching. But where has all the brotherliness of Show gone? It’s what I signed up for, you know. The squabbles, and fighting, the biffs to the back head, chuffs to the shoulder, the grabbing, the hauling, the punching. And lord, yes, let us not forget, the ever-beloved wall-slamming. It’s not like I’m asking them to kiss or anything, but I do quite love the way they used to live in each other’s back pockets, the way people (siblings or otherwise) on the road will do, the way they invaded each other’s personal space, and knew the reflection of each other’s soul. Now, however, we only see them standing off at a distance from each other, two finely honed prize fighters, neither of whom want to enter the ring. It’s getting old, I tell you. 

So was the ep worth watching? Yes, I’d say it was, almost a good stand alone ep, if it wasn’t for the tacked on part that seemed like an afterthought and weakened the whole story. So, would I watch it again? Yes, I would, fast forwarding over the boring bits to the good parts, the parts that give me what I want, when I want, and how I want them. Fans are demanding, didn’t anyone ever tell you that?  And I’ll admit that part of my problem might be based on my irritation with folks who find themselves in a haunted house situation and don’t do the sensible thing and that is: GET OUT.

There was, actually, some very good aspects to this ep, the biggest of which was the fact that Sam and Dean were on a good, old-fashioned hunt that harkened back to the days of Season 1. There was no Ruby, Bobby, or Soap Angel to get in the way of brotherly dithering. There were no angels or demons to muddy up the waters. It was just Sam and Dean doing their thing. Which would bring Show’s grade up a bit, wouldn’t you say?

There was also some very excellent camera work. Not that I know anything about the technical aspects of it, but there was such a variety of well-done angles: high crane shots (like our initial views of the house), low shots up at Sam and Dean (always nice!) when they look at the doll’s head, textured shots through screens and windows, some around corners, up and down dumbwaiter shafts, others tilted sideways, not to mention the tricky spots filmed between the walls, all of which added to the spooky, off-kilter atmosphere. So, well done Camera Guy(s)!

The Set Dressers did an excellent job as well with making the house look worn and lived in; with the between the walls cobwebs, making everything kooky and creepy the way a haunted house should be. Makeup for the feral children, well done there. The gross out of the special effects where the feral girl bites into the rat. Yeah, I covered my eyes and threw up in my throat a little. I think I might be handing out some extra credit here.

And Helen Slater, the guest star who plays the mom. I’ve always thought that Show does a great job casting one-off characters, sometimes better than it casts secondary regular characters, and this time around was no different. I’ve enjoyed watching Ms. Slater through the years in a variety of TV and movie roles, my favorite of which is when she played Sandy Kessler in “Ruthless People.” I like the look in her eye, and the sound of her voice, and the way she never seems to sit back and merely rely on her pretty, blonde looks. My favorite of her moments is when, in the shed, her character moves in front of the daughter to save her from the feral boy trying to break in. Her body language was such that I totally bought into the fact that the mom would tear the feral boy apart before she let him lay a finger on her daughter. Nicely done. 

And seriously, I would be remiss if I didn’t talk about the brotherly dialog, yes the dithering. While there wasn’t a lot of really deep interaction between Sam and Dean, somebody got it right when it came to the one-liners and the zinger responses. Plus, there was some other good stuff as well, that could, actually, bring up Show’s grade one whole level.

The opening scene with the brothers rates pretty high. In it, Dean is perusing the paper, for a gig, and up Sam pops from the back seat to inquire as to what Dean is doing. The questions from Sam are muted and sleepy; the thought of him trying to snooze in the back of the Impala does pleasant things to me and awakens all kinds ideas, chief among them is how exhausted both boys must be, the thought of Sam’s long legs trying to fit back there, and how if he couldn’t convince Dean to stop at a motel for the night so soon after their last gig (only hours in the past, we’re told), how hard he must have worked to convince Dean to stop at all. 

And then there’s Dean, oh, the boy. Resisting Sam’s questions as effortlessly as he would brush a fly away. Refusing to budge, keeping Sam at bay. I don’t mind the brothers being distant, but I want to SEE them being distant, like I see here. I loved the bit where Sam, defeated, falls back to go back to sleep and the WHOLE car rocks. That made me laugh; you fell a redwood, and the ground shakes. Exactly right. Then there’s a lovely little motion that Dean makes, rubbing the cool metal of his flashlight against his jaw as he contemplates the middle distance. This rather sets the ep up for them to be dealing with this on an on-going basis, but like I said before, we get nadda except for the static, not very engaging, tacked-on emo. (Have I driven that into the ground enough yet?)

During the hunt for the missing stupid kid, the group separates (also stupid) and Uncle Teddy and Dean are paired off and go plunging into the darkness between the walls, flashlights flashing. As they’re about to go into some cavernous hole, Uncle Teddy asks, “Do you smell that?” and Dean goes “Every day.” This was a very clever and integrated way to remind us of what Dean does for a living, where he’s been, and the smells he’s familiar with. Given the lack of sophisticated writing elsewhere, I’d say that this line was meant as a funny throwaway, although Ackles delivers it with some intent, aware of the full weight of Dean’s past in every piece of dialog given to him.

There are other good, brotherly comments and interactions as well, sprinkled throughout, like when Dean is about to go through the hole in the floor and whispers to himself, “Please don’t grab my leg, please don’t grab my leg.” Or how about this interaction: “We could tell them the truth.” “Really?” “No, not really.” Or when Sam describes the feral children’s existence as hellish, Dean snaps at Sam that he doesn’t know the first thing about hell. I like that. I like the unveiled anger there, and Dean’s refusal to let anyone minimize what he’s been through. One of my favorite moments, though, had no words at all. Dean is under the floorboards, and Uncle Teddy has just been killed. Dean crouches there, in the dust with the carrion flies all about, covering his flashlight with his hand, trying to stay still, trying not to breathe hard. The image of him, hiding like that, not that he’s fearful, but that he’s hiding at all, rather got to me. It pushed something very powerful through the screen, something about Dean and the idea of him being at bay that clenched a fist around my heart.

And lastly, just before Dean’s emo at the end of the ep, the boys are standing under a bridge, next to the Impala. They look like they’ve just come from the gig, like they’ve gotten exactly no sleep and have been rolled across a barn floor. Still dappled with blood stains and dirt smudges, dusty with wear and tear as if they took no time to clean up or sleep or anything. I like them like that, so props to the Makeup People. (The Samhair here is particularly nice, doing that half-bang thing that I’ve become quite attached to.) I think the way they look adds texture, attests to the harshness of their lives, and harkens back to the original photo shoot done about the time that the Pilot was being filmed. I’m including one of those pics here for reference, in case you’ve never seen them. Look at my boys. They’re not pretty, or polished, or clean cut. They’re dusty, and worn, and threadbare; their jeans sag, and their footwear is scuffed. Their eyes are narrow and glint into the sun much like my beloved Clint Eastwood’s. They LOOK like they’re experienced, roadweary, and ready for just about anything. I get a glimpse of the feeling from the picture in the final scene of the ep, something akin to perfection to linger over.

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.

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