Photo : Bill Skarsgård ( Dana Starbard ) The biggest revelation of “Henry Deaver,” the penultimate episode of Castle Rock’s uneven first season, isn’t the identity of Bill Skargård’s The Kid. It’s the atrocity visited upon André Holland’s Henry when he went missing as a child. That Henry—let’s call him Henry I—was missing for days. But he was imprisoned for decades. Locked in a cage, pleading with his own father to free him, to believe him, to see as something other than a devil, Henry Deaver lived, unchanging and ageless, in a hell of his father’s creation. He was so isolated that eventually he all but lost the ability to speak, to sit in a lighted room, to bear the nearness of other people. Advertisement Alternate-universe Henry Deaver, played with bright good cheer by Bill Skarsgård, is markedly different from the wary, drawn man found in Shawshank nine episodes ago, and with good reason. Henry II had a troubling early childhood, but his mother managed to leave his father, moving him away from Matthew Deaver’s obsession with the schisma and his incessant, abusive attempts to make Henry hear it, too. This Henry is more than superficially sunny and successful. He’s a different man down to his bedrock. He’s confident, he’s eloquent, he’s outgoing. Over and over, “Henry Deaver” shows Henry II’s optimism. He expects his project to start earn profits almost immediately. He “just [has] a feeling” that his wife (like Wendell’s mother, named Marret) is pregnant though they’ve just begun trying to conceive. Even as he cradles Molly, bleeding out on the forest floor, he promises, “It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay.” Henry II is as different from The Kid as the spry cat he releases from his luxury carrier is from the pitiful, lost Puck before Henry’s hippocampal implant restored the cat’s memory and his zest for life. Only decades spent ripped from his rightful universe, locked in a dark cage, can strip away the bright, easy joy from this man’s face and bearing. Much remains the same from universe to universe, from timeline to timeline. The Deavers’ son, whoever he is, is named Henry. Henry’s pet, whether dog or cat, is named Puck. Matthew Deaver remains obsessed with the haunting sound he hears in Castle Lake’s woods, and in each universe one of the pillars of Castle Rock’s community builds a secret prison for a supposed devil. The men obsessed even use the same words to describe their burdensome desire to serve God: “Let me stand athwart a doorway.” And in each case, these men are the true evil, caging a stranger, assuming they and they alone know and understand God’s plan, or of the devil’s. It’s possible to interpret the profound change in both Henrys—in the adult Henry II, in the young Henry I—as an indictment of institutional imprisonment of adults and children alike, but that reading requires an unearned faith in the writers. In its early episodes, Castle Rock gestures toward considerations of larger social evils and ills, but it seems that gestures were all those ever were. Its early indictment of for-profit prisons, its cursory indictment of the casual cruelty of Shawshank’s guards and the willful inattention of their superiors, the terror of a black child (or the man he would grow into) facing off against armed and angry police officers, are entirely abdicated by the ninth episode. Even Dennis Zalewski, who wept over the wrongs perpetrated by his fellow COs, seems comfortable in his alternate-universe position as the sheriff’s right-hand man. If Castle Rock’s writers didn’t plan to excavate those issues, they would have been better off not paying lip service to them. The same is true of Matthew Deaver’s ponderous reminiscences about his mother (Mamie Gummer), an ungainly excuse to shoehorn in more ruminations about resurrection. Dennis Zalewski, dead in the fourth episode, is resurrected here as one of the sheriff’s most trusted officers. Molly—not the exhausted, hesitant Molly of the first eight episodes, but a buoyant, bright-eyed go-getter—dies in the woods of Castle Lake, but lives on in the original universe. Alan Pangborn, shot down by his true love in the first timeline, here lives on with Ruth, safe in Sarasota. Even the town of Castle Rock, once at death’s door, is resurrected into a bustling small city, full of ice cream parlors, gastro-pubs, and smiling crowds eager to spend their time and money. Advertisement This revival of the doomed town as a booming success points out my biggest question about setting this story in Castle Rock, or indeed in any Stephen King setting. King is masterful at trapping his characters in dire circumstances, tying them in place not just with the bonds of love or loyalty, or family and friendship—though he can write both of those with heartbreaking honesty. However incredible Stephen King’s worlds may be, at their best, his characters and settings are grounded in practicalities, often cruel ones. Wendy Torrance doesn’t throw her lot in with Jack’s winter caretaking just because she loves him, though she does. As the novel makes brutally clear, all her alternatives look worse… until it’s too late to change her mind. Delores Claiborne hatches a scheme to outwit her vicious husband only after her first plan, one crafted from pure pragmatism, falls through, and after she sees there’s more at stake than her own safety. Even the characters in The Stand, surrounded by all the consumer goods and canned foods they could want or need, are trammeled in situations, in relationships, in communities they might rather be freed from by concrete practical concerns. Advertisement But not in Castle Rock—not in this Castle Rock. In Sam Shaw and Dustin Thomason’s Castle Rock, despite the town’s trappings of economic decay, most characters are driven by abstract concerns, not by the mundane but unrelenting pressures of workaday life. Even Molly, so strapped for cash she’s nickel-and-diming her teenaged drug dealer, can scrounge up the credit to rent a massive mill. Only Dennis, who spits out that he’d rather work at Walmart than Shawshank, seems genuinely driven by the threat of poverty. That’s precious little gritty reality for a series that takes its setting and its name from the works an author celebrated for the gritty reality of even his most fantastical tales. Stephen King is the architect of unbelievable worlds and impossible horrors, and one element that keeps them plausible is the terrible reality of the challenges pressing on the people who live in, and through, those horrors. Advertisement Photo : Bill Skarsgård ( Dana Starbard/Hulu ) A researcher into Alzheimer’s prevention and recovery, Henry II announces to an attentive boardroom that “when continuity is interrupted, everything starts to slide.” That statement is the core of this season’s story, and a terrible foreshadowing of Henry Deaver’s own fate. Of both Henrys’ fates. But it’s also an argument for watching Castle Rock as a bingeable series instead of in weekly installments. Castle Rock toys with its own continuity a little too blithely and with too little command of its timelines, so that individual episodes feel fractured and unreliable, and not with the rich ambiguity of an unreliable narrator. The delay between episodes gives us time to reflect on its red herrings and detours without the reassuring sense of speedy resolution. Advertisement For all the graces of its remarkable cast, its thoughtful direction, its lush visuals and unsettling sound design, Castle Rock is a little rockier than its writers seem to realize. As a horror series, it’s fine, meaning it’s more than satisfactory as a collection of complexly connected characters and heady horrors, admirably performed and elegantly presented. It’s good! It’s fine! But Castle Rock is a drink that would go down smoother taken in a few lusty draughts. This ain’t sippin’ whiskey. Stray observations The overhead shots of Molly and Henry II at a table as they listen to Matthew’s tapes feel a little showy, but later in the episode, they’re mirrored by overhead footage of Molly, Henry I, and Henry II making their escape from the trailing police cruiser. It’s a visual echo underlining the many narrative and situational echoes of “Henry Deaver.” If Henry I, Henry II, and Molly can connect to other versions of Castle Rock only at the vortex in the woods, why can Ruth slip from reality to reality as easily as crossing a threshold in her own home? If her illness is what untethers her from fixed reality, that’s a gaffe on par with (narratively presumed) depression granting visions of alien monsters autism as superpower Should I still expect dire happenings on the Pangborn Bridge, or is Castle Rock’s fondness for bridges (including this week’s introduction of Henry II jogging along the grand expanse of a bridge) merely a nod to the bridging of universes? The empty Moxie cans on Matthew Deaver’s desk are impossible to miss, but fewer will note the half-seen bag of Little Lad’s popcorn<doc-sep>**MASSIVE CASTLE ROCK SPOILERS AHEAD** (No, really, don’t read on unless you’ve seen Castle Rock, Episode 9, “Henry Deaver”) Castle Rock just did…that. After eight episodes of teasing the Kid’s identity, the show finally revealed that Bill Skarsgard’s character is…Henry Deaver. Well, sort of. Episode 9 of Castle Rock, pointedly titled “Henry Deaver,” takes us to an alternate reality where Castle Rock is still haunted by tragedy, but its locals have managed to do a lot better for themselves. In this timeline, Ruth Deaver ran off with her young son to be with Alan Pangborn, Molly Strand is a respected member of the city council, and Henry Deaver is a respected Alzheimer’s researcher based in Boston…and he looks like Bill Skarsgard. So what’s this all about? Who is the real Henry Deaver? And what does it mean for the rest of the series? Let’s break it down. So WHAT Just Happened? The latest episode of Castle Rock argues that Bill Skarsgard’s Kid has been Henry Deaver this whole time. The Henry Deaver we’ve come to know — Andre Holland’s — had been zapped to Skargard’s timeline as a child, where he was held prisoner by the alternate Matthew Deaver for 27 years. After this other Matthew dies, the Skarsgard Henry visits the house and discovers that his wayward father has been keeping the kid trapped in a cage for decades. As soon as the child Henry is released, violence reigns and terrible things happen. (You know, just like when Skarsgard’s Henry is released unto Holland’s version of Castle Rock.) Molly and Henry conspire to help the child escape to the woods, where they encounter various overlapping timelines. We see the mythic Canadian girl who ate her own family, a couple of Shawshank escapees, and a girl committing suicide. This is a doorway created by the Schisma — it’s a place where these alternate universes and timelines converge. After Molly is shot and killed, the two Henrys are transported to Holland’s timeline, but back in the early 1990s. Pangborn discovers the amnesiac young Henry on the ice pond, thus setting the events of the show into motion. Skarsgard’s Henry sees all this, and according to his version of events, is stuck looking for a way to return to his reality. Lacy finds him, imprisons him, and holds him in Shawshank for another 27 years. Who Is The *Real* Henry Deaver? This latest episode of Castle Rock introduces the idea that there’s more than one Henry Deaver. In the timeline we’ve been following, Ruth and Matthew were unable to conceive, so they adopted the Henry we know. In this new timeline, they managed to have a son — Bill Skarsgard’s The Kid. Basically, both Holland and Skarsgard are real “Henry Deavers.” They just come from different overlapping timelines. In Skarsgard’s timeline, the younger version of Holland’s character was discovered and kept prisoner, and when Holland’s character returns, his place is taken by Skarsgard’s Henry. This revelation also explains why the Kid knew so much about Ruth Deaver — her wedding day, her troubles with Matthew — because he is really her son. Well, in another timeline. Before the season began, showrunners Sam Shaw and Dustin Thomason said that the theme of this season of Castle Rock was “Crime and Punishment.” You could almost see the Kid’s time holed up in Shawshank as punishment for his father’s crime of locking up Holland’s Henry in much the same way. What’s The Deal With The Schisma?! ? It turns out the schisma is very, very real. In the alternate timeline we see a variety of timelines converging in the woods outside Castle Rock. This suggests that maybe — just maybe — we’ll see some of these other horrific storylines play out in future seasons of the anthology series. But one thing that’s really interesting is what seems to happen to those who have passed through the schisma to other realities. Neither young Henry nor the Kid seem to age for the 27 years they remain locked up like animals. Furthermore, both seem to create distortion fields around themselves. The suggestion is when you’re in the wrong reality, that reality knows it. You become a magnet for evil and destruction. It’s also worth pointing out that both versions of Henry Deaver seemingly burn down the local mental hospital after they’re admitted there. (What’s up with that?) What Else Does This Mean About Castle Rock? It means that the Kid probably isn’t the Devil, nor is he a nexus of evil. He, like Holland’s Henry, is just a victim of these awful circumstances. Terrible things will continue to happen unless he’s returned to his timeline. Oh, and there are more timelines with more terrible things layered on top of each other in Castle Rock... The Castle Rock Season finale will air on Hulu next Wednesday. Where to Stream Castle Rock<doc-sep>
Have you guys seen Henry Deaver around? You know — tall skinny guy, floppy hair, big Gollum eyes, white as the Swedish snow? The renowned Alzheimer’s researcher who fled Castle Rock when his mother escaped his abusive preacher father? The guy who found a little boy locked in a cage in his old man’s basement, where the kid has apparently lived without aging for nearly three decades? The one who realizes that this little boy’s name is also Henry Deaver? You have now. Titled “Henry Deaver” after not one but two of its main characters, the penultimate episode of Castle Rock‘s first season takes the biggest storyline swerve the show has seen yet. It relocates us to a different version of the town, one that’s still marked by tragedies like helicopter crashes and schoolbus accidents but noticeably healthier and wealthier overall. (Best gentrification joke: That awful dive bar is now a “gastropub.”) Here, Molly Strand isn’t a pill-popping real-estate agent, but a member of the city council who’s got serious clout with folks like the police department — and their top cop, Dennis Zalewski. Most importantly, Castle Rock 2.0 is the hometown of Henry Deaver — not the African-American defense attorney played by Andre Holland as an adult and Caleel Harris as a teen, but a white neurologist played by Bill Skarsgård, a.k.a. The Kid. You thought Lost had some wild timeline-shifting tricks up its sleeve? Hold Castle Rock‘s beer. Because in this world, the Kid is apparently not the Devil incarnate — he’s the “real” Deaver, before 27 years in an extradimensional limbo turned him into the negative creep we’ve come to know and loathe. A successful doctor, he’s returned to town to clean up the house left behind by his late father. (As for his mom, she had relocated happily to Sarasota with Alan Pangborn, where she succumbed to Alzheimer’s years earlier). When he looks through the basement, he finds … Henry, the teenage version of the character from the main storyline. Before long, a clear picture of what’s been going on emerges. Remember all that business about “the Schisma,” the supposed “Voice of God” that represents the sound of the universe trying to reconcile different versions of itself? On the fateful night long ago in which our Henry disappeared, he somehow warped into this alternate reality, where its version of his own crazy father kidnapped him and kept him imprisoned for 27 years. In the course of investigating the identity of this strange kid, the Skarsgård version teams up with Molly. They rescue young Henry from getting arrested after one of those suspiciously frequent fires breaks out, killing 17 people. When he makes a break for it into the woods, they all find themselves trapped in an Annihilation-esque warp zone, where glimpses of figures from the town’s awful past — a French settler who ate her own family when their colony starved, a pair of convicts on the run, a young woman attempting suicide — flicker in and out of view. The horror is compounded when Officer Zalewski fires a warning shot to stop the runaways, but the distorting effect sends the bullet straight into Molly, who dies. The new Henry suddenly warps into a wintry version of the same woody landscape, where he witnesses the rescue of the original Henry from the middle of the local lake by Pangborn … and realizes he’s now stuck in this version of the world himself. According to him, he wandered around aimlessly until Warden Lacy found and abducted him. The rest is history. But the episode’s biggest revelation isn’t a shift in the spacetime continuum. It’s Bill Skarsgård. After spending the entire season silently skulking around, the actor suddenly gets to try on an entirely different personality and appearance. He’s genial and clean-cut, intelligent and outgoing, caring and talkative. (The man also looks great in a suit.) “Local boy makes good and returns to the tortured small town he grew up in” is the King protagonist archetype, and he inhabits the model to a tee. The effect is a bit like if an actor who played the Joker wiped off the greasepaint and became Bruce Wayne — or, more to the point in Skarsgård’s case, if Pennywise the Dancing Clown cracked open and one of his opponents in the adult version of It‘s Losers Club stepped out.