First, Wes would like to break the fourth wall with a disclaimer: “None of this makes sense.” We know, puppy. We know. But we’re crazy, too. Why else would we be watching? Let’s break down episode 6, which bulges at the seams with sex, thugs, and Annalise Keating lying to the people she “loves” so they’ll be swayed even further by the power of her protection.
IN FLASH-FORWARD LAND (TWO WEEKS LATER):
Catch up if you can.
As A.D.A. Emily Sinclair lies dead at the Hapstall mansion, Annalise is rushed into surgery, having been shot in the guts. The Keating Four are in a getaway car with Nate, and last week we saw Asher flee the scene with Bonnie, then wander off to file a police report about whatever the eff just happened as she scrubbed blood from her blouse in a gas station bathroom. Whew! But wait: Where’s our favorite con artist in a three-piece suit, the murderous yet impossibly darling Frank? “Please, don’t let her die!”
Never trust what a hit man says in the presence of a hospital’s security camera. Is this the first time we’ve seen Fancy Frank act as anything less than 100% devoted to his boss? Bursting onto the scene at the last minute to establish an alibi, he urges Annalise’s doctors to go for the gold, then returns to his car, totally emotionless, before casually dumping Catherine Hapstall’s body in the green light district. Unlike most of the girls Frank disposes in the forest, though, this one’s still alive. IN THE LAND OF REAL TIME: “Tell me everything. I’ll fix it.”
In a flurry of deceit and cunning that would take many loose legal terms and violent vodka swigs to explain, Annalise basically ensures she’ll keep Asher Millstone both clueless and close by cutting off his will to testify against the group and ruining his father’s career before the corrupt judge can ruin hers first. To be fair, the Lady Keating had that big ol’ envelope of evidence against the senior Millstone long before she hand-picked his son to work at her firm, so it was only a matter of time before she used it to either blackmail or save the befuddled Sir Doucheface. The fact that Annalise gets to protect all of her loyal subjects/cult followers in the process? Huge turn-on. Worth the world, really. Now shunned from his family, Asher will need her more than ever.
As A.D.A. Emily Sinclair lies dead at the Hapstall mansion, Annalise is rushed into surgery, having been shot in the guts. The Keating Four are in a getaway car with Nate, and last week we saw Asher flee the scene with Bonnie, then wander off to file a police report about whatever the eff just happened as she scrubbed blood from her blouse in a gas station bathroom. Whew! But wait: Where’s our favorite con artist in a three-piece suit, the murderous yet impossibly darling Frank? “Please, don’t let her die!”
Never trust what a hit man says in the presence of a hospital’s security camera. Is this the first time we’ve seen Fancy Frank act as anything less than 100% devoted to his boss? Bursting onto the scene at the last minute to establish an alibi, he urges Annalise’s doctors to go for the gold, then returns to his car, totally emotionless, before casually dumping Catherine Hapstall’s body in the green light district. Unlike most of the girls Frank disposes in the forest, though, this one’s still alive. IN THE LAND OF REAL TIME: “Tell me everything. I’ll fix it.”
In a flurry of deceit and cunning that would take many loose legal terms and violent vodka swigs to explain, Annalise basically ensures she’ll keep Asher Millstone both clueless and close by cutting off his will to testify against the group and ruining his father’s career before the corrupt judge can ruin hers first. To be fair, the Lady Keating had that big ol’ envelope of evidence against the senior Millstone long before she hand-picked his son to work at her firm, so it was only a matter of time before she used it to either blackmail or save the befuddled Sir Doucheface. The fact that Annalise gets to protect all of her loyal subjects/cult followers in the process? Huge turn-on. Worth the world, really. Now shunned from his family, Asher will need her more than ever.
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Beware of Sinclair.
Eager to get Asher off the hook as a witness in Sam’s murder trial, Annalise threatens to paint the A.D.A. as an overzealous, law-breaking bitch desperate to take her down. (Which she is, for the record, but it takes one to know one.) “Why? Beats me. Jealousy… Egomania… Racismmmmmm….” Annalise trails off on the no-no word in evil delight, assuming her perky mortal enemy will cower in fear. But unlike an expensive bottle of liquor on a frigid autumn evening, Emily Sinclair does not take well to being handled. She leaks Asher’s Lake Trotter history to the press, then forces another stuffed envelope of evidence on his special ladyfriend Bonnie against her will. The truth hurts Bonbon more than Sinclair could possibly know (or care): Asher was involved in the gang rape of Tiffany Howard. Take the cobbler. Leave the attitude.
In their most dramatic sequence of love-hating each other across a closed door to date, Nate refuses to have anything to do with Annalise after the death of his cancer-ridden wife, Nia. But then he lets her in, pleading with his eyes and tum-tum for more of the peach cobbler she left behind all those hours ago. Lost in a confounding goo of both guilt and relief, Nate admits he administered the kill-pills to Nia himself. They both know it’s what his wife wanted, but the compassion stops there. Nate blames Annalise for stealing the only time he and Nia had left together, “So no cobbler or apologies could fix that.” I think he’s lying here and did try the cobbler and loved it, but I guess that’s not the point. Annalise’s tears somehow make their way underneath the fearless lawyer’s nose — a classic Keating move — as Nate jabs her where it really hurts: “I don’t hate you,” he claims. “I just don’t care about you.” Still pretty sure he’s lying and thinking about her cobbler.
Eager to get Asher off the hook as a witness in Sam’s murder trial, Annalise threatens to paint the A.D.A. as an overzealous, law-breaking bitch desperate to take her down. (Which she is, for the record, but it takes one to know one.) “Why? Beats me. Jealousy… Egomania… Racismmmmmm….” Annalise trails off on the no-no word in evil delight, assuming her perky mortal enemy will cower in fear. But unlike an expensive bottle of liquor on a frigid autumn evening, Emily Sinclair does not take well to being handled. She leaks Asher’s Lake Trotter history to the press, then forces another stuffed envelope of evidence on his special ladyfriend Bonnie against her will. The truth hurts Bonbon more than Sinclair could possibly know (or care): Asher was involved in the gang rape of Tiffany Howard. Take the cobbler. Leave the attitude.
In their most dramatic sequence of love-hating each other across a closed door to date, Nate refuses to have anything to do with Annalise after the death of his cancer-ridden wife, Nia. But then he lets her in, pleading with his eyes and tum-tum for more of the peach cobbler she left behind all those hours ago. Lost in a confounding goo of both guilt and relief, Nate admits he administered the kill-pills to Nia himself. They both know it’s what his wife wanted, but the compassion stops there. Nate blames Annalise for stealing the only time he and Nia had left together, “So no cobbler or apologies could fix that.” I think he’s lying here and did try the cobbler and loved it, but I guess that’s not the point. Annalise’s tears somehow make their way underneath the fearless lawyer’s nose — a classic Keating move — as Nate jabs her where it really hurts: “I don’t hate you,” he claims. “I just don’t care about you.” Still pretty sure he’s lying and thinking about her cobbler.
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“I’M NEVER LEAVING YOU, WES.”
The hits keep coming: In another of their incredibly tense and somewhat sexual “are they/aren’t they really mother and son” conversations, Annalise lies to Wes that she still doesn’t know what happened to Rebecca. And she understands why he’s pulling away. “Your mother leaves, now Rebecca — so I understand why you can’t trust me.” Huh? What does his mom have to do with it? Is Annalise his real mom, and if so, who was the woman who committed suicide when Wes was 12? “NO MORE SECRETS,” Annalise promises under the soft red glow of Wes’ dismal apartment. Then she immediately calls Frank, who’s finally getting rid of Rebecca’s body for good. Well done, boss. Superbly handled. Oliver twists too far.
Connor’s lovable hacker boyfriend is in danger after going above and beyond his usual pro bono work. The new suspect in the Hapstall murder case — the racist Aunt Helena’s biological son Phillip, now 26 and living 2 miles away, don’t even ask — is now creepily watching Oliver and Connor on a live feed. As they’re hacking him! This does not bode will for poor Ollie. If the show insists on killing him off, I hope he gets put on the Keating and Associates payroll for at least that final day. And then in a stunning twist, Annalise can nestle him in her pocket of protection (her magnificent dusty blue coat) and everything will be all right.
The hits keep coming: In another of their incredibly tense and somewhat sexual “are they/aren’t they really mother and son” conversations, Annalise lies to Wes that she still doesn’t know what happened to Rebecca. And she understands why he’s pulling away. “Your mother leaves, now Rebecca — so I understand why you can’t trust me.” Huh? What does his mom have to do with it? Is Annalise his real mom, and if so, who was the woman who committed suicide when Wes was 12? “NO MORE SECRETS,” Annalise promises under the soft red glow of Wes’ dismal apartment. Then she immediately calls Frank, who’s finally getting rid of Rebecca’s body for good. Well done, boss. Superbly handled. Oliver twists too far.
Connor’s lovable hacker boyfriend is in danger after going above and beyond his usual pro bono work. The new suspect in the Hapstall murder case — the racist Aunt Helena’s biological son Phillip, now 26 and living 2 miles away, don’t even ask — is now creepily watching Oliver and Connor on a live feed. As they’re hacking him! This does not bode will for poor Ollie. If the show insists on killing him off, I hope he gets put on the Keating and Associates payroll for at least that final day. And then in a stunning twist, Annalise can nestle him in her pocket of protection (her magnificent dusty blue coat) and everything will be all right.
“Come on, give her the bread!”
Upset that Laurel thinks he’s capable of murder even though it’s basically his only job requirement, Frank takes Laurel home to meet the real him. (The kinder part of the real him, not the killer part. Whatever, though, right? Lila Stangard was so last season.) I loved meeting Frank’s very loud, very loving, and almost surely Mafioso family. Laurel’s enthralled, too, that her sex toy is being so human-like: hoisting up the kiddos, kissing his grandma, and gazing fondly at her mom-approved lack of cleavage across the dinner table. I very much want to trade lives with Laurel when Papa Delfino pounds the kitchen table from his wheelchair and demands she plop down right next to him and start shoveling in the carbs. Booze and bread and your man might have feelings? A girl could get used to this. “The part about my butt? Is it true?”
Not that anyone really cares about the Hapstall twins, but Caleb and Michaela, who are begging for their names to be combined into one but I’m not gonna go there, could turn into a real item. He approves of her gossip about what he’s packing in the back, and she’s still itching from disgust or maybe something worse after sleeping with Eggs 911 so she could use the distraction. Plus, they’re both adopted. And he might have killed his parents. What could go wrong?
Upset that Laurel thinks he’s capable of murder even though it’s basically his only job requirement, Frank takes Laurel home to meet the real him. (The kinder part of the real him, not the killer part. Whatever, though, right? Lila Stangard was so last season.) I loved meeting Frank’s very loud, very loving, and almost surely Mafioso family. Laurel’s enthralled, too, that her sex toy is being so human-like: hoisting up the kiddos, kissing his grandma, and gazing fondly at her mom-approved lack of cleavage across the dinner table. I very much want to trade lives with Laurel when Papa Delfino pounds the kitchen table from his wheelchair and demands she plop down right next to him and start shoveling in the carbs. Booze and bread and your man might have feelings? A girl could get used to this. “The part about my butt? Is it true?”
Not that anyone really cares about the Hapstall twins, but Caleb and Michaela, who are begging for their names to be combined into one but I’m not gonna go there, could turn into a real item. He approves of her gossip about what he’s packing in the back, and she’s still itching from disgust or maybe something worse after sleeping with Eggs 911 so she could use the distraction. Plus, they’re both adopted. And he might have killed his parents. What could go wrong?
Famke Janssen returns next week as HTGAWM gets “steamier, schemier, and more backstab-y.” Yay! Nonsense words! My favorite.
Is there anything worse than rejected cobbler? Should Michaela follow through on her empty threat to “serial kill” Wes? And did anyone else imagine that the insanely long Nexplanon (arm implant birth control) commercial during this week’s episode was narrated by Daria?
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