As much as I’m trying to view the show objectively without using the book as my guide when the series strays from the source material, I’m finding it hard to keep up. Outside of my usual gripes over the pacing and plot progression, the experimental nature of the episode didn’t quite hit the mark. However, it looked amazing and delightfully showcased Adina Porter and Alexis Louder’s superb acting.
Much like the phrase uttered multiple times throughout Lillian’s metaphysical trip down memory lane, the episode feels like a storm is coming, but the clouds never release the eagerly anticipated rain. The narrative takes us beyond our Earthly concept of time, with young Lillian and present-day Lillian colliding to tell the story of the strong and elusive Ugandan immigrant. There’s too much going on — there’s Adina Porter belting Lena Horne’s version of “Stormy Weather,” a man dying of AIDS/HIV, flashbacks of the early days of Lillian and Brian’s relationship, and, as always, plentiful prophetic quotes etched on surfaces throughout the episode. But beyond the litany of metaphors, illusions, and fragmented memories is a gripping story about womanhood, Blackness, and the pursuit of freedom. But there are a lot of confusing detours to get us there.
Spending this much time on Lillian’s characterization is a deviation from the book. However, women’s perspectives were acutely missing from LaValle’s story, which does a disservice to the novel as the themes surrounding maternal instinct are front and center. The series changes that; Lillian blossoms in the adaptation through the writing and strong performances from Porter and Louder. Porter’s Lillian is older, wiser, and weighed down by the secrets of her past. With her story paralleling Apollo and Emma’s, Lillian unravels as she tries to find her son, who has been missing for three days. She stumbles through the streets of New York, which swirls eerily out of focus in the background as she makes her way to the infamous Elk Hotel.
The New York Times referred to the hotel as “a flophouse” and a relic of a grittier Times Square before Rudy Giuliani’s influence. The Changeling’s depiction is up to par with its reputation. It’s a broken-down mess filled with pimps, prostitutes, drug addicts, dealers, predators, and filth, described by LaValle as “the shittiest hotel in New York.” Most people pay by the hour for obvious reasons, but its original purpose as a refuge for Ellis Island immigrants makes it the perfect place for Lillian’s death and rebirth. She checks in, not for the first time, and requests room 205 for the entire night, signing with her married name, Lillian Ann West. The room takes over all of Lillian’s senses, transporting her to the depths of her psyche as she grapples with the secrets and anxieties her son inherited.
New York City is not merely a backdrop location for The Changeling; it’s a character all on its own. A layered character at that, transforming from a monster to an ally or enemy at any given moment. For the purposes of this episode, the city is a siren that lures people in with its promises of the American Dream, then spits them out, battered and bruised, in the name of freedom. Both in real life and in Lillian’s fictional life, 1981 and the years that followed were particularly brutal for New Yorkers as crime skyrocketed and a tragic virus decimated vulnerable communities. Lillian was struggling to stay afloat as an immigrant who came to America during Idi Amin’s violent regime in Uganda that killed her entire family.
Past and present swirl as Lillian ruminates on the series of events that led to this moment in her life. LaValle’s narration establishes room 205 as a room that “holds a secret she’d never tell,” but it’s not until the end that we discover that secret. Before that, she speaks aloud to a tape recorder, addressing Apollo and opening up about everything she hasn’t told him in real life. There are musings about motherhood, which she calls a
“divine inconvenience,” echoing Emma’s sentiments in episode five about her excruciating love and devotion for Brian. But Lillian also talks about the sorrow, regret, and anxiety of her individual experience as a mother, laying the framework for how Apollo got to where he is today.
Lillian remembers her girlhood days in Uganda, listening to her grandma’s ancient wisdom, the wisdom that was passed down through each generation like “a human chain of information.” The memories are so vivid that she can feel the sand under her feet and the taste of the African pastry mandazi on her lips. Above all, she connects with a culture that she abandoned long ago as she attempted to assimilate into American life. More importantly, she wanted Apollo never to experience actively assimilating; she wanted her son to be an American because, for an African like her, being American is a form of protection. She recounts making Apollo eat American food, never once tasting her beloved mandazi, and relying on Brian to teach him how to be a man (and, by proxy, how to navigate a white, male-dominated world).
Present-day Lillian recalls her grandmother telling her that with her voice, she could be a lounge singer in a sparkly dress. Sadly, this was a dream that was never realized. Her journey in the city was far from a fairy tale. Brian was no white knight, and Lillian said she was color-blind to the red flags, with one particular comment from Brian sticking with her forever. During a date on Roosevelt Island (another East River island that was once home to a mental institution), Brian flippantly notes that if he had been one of those husbands who sent his wife to the institution for something as inane as masturbating, no one would know Lillian was gone because her family is all dead and she doesn’t “exist.” She said it felt like a threat. From then on, she lived in a state of fear and isolation, not knowing how the pendulum of Brian’s emotions would swing. She said every day was somewhere between “You make me so angry I wanna punch the walls till my fingers are powder” and “You shine a light on me so strong that I am blinded by it.”
In addition to his vacillating moods, Brian was a cop, making the power imbalance between them innately and permanently askew, their love story never meant to last. Lillian also notes that she was never fully in love with Brian. They eventually divorce, and their co-parenting interactions are volatile, particularly one day when Brian accuses Lillian of cheating on him with her boss, Charles Blackwood, after finding a receipt from a night at the Elk Hotel. Lillian vehemently denies the accusation and wonders why it even matters since they’re divorced. Still, Brian doesn’t let it go and states again that no one who loves her is left before threatening to take her to court for custody of Apollo. Days later, Brian shows up on that fated cartoon Saturday, revealing that Apollo’s nightmares weren’t a dream but a dramatized memory. Brian grabs young Apollo from the couch and carries him into the bathroom, where a steaming hot bath awaits, and begins to drown his son.
Lillian walks in on the disturbing moment, promptly hits Brian with a baseball bat, and kills him. Later, she stumbles into room 205 of the Elk, covered in blood and rain, prepared to jump from the window to end her life. Present-day Lillian walks in on her younger counterpart and talks her off the ledge, saying this is not how her story ends. Younger Lillian believes this incarnation of herself is God and eventually makes a deal with the higher power: if God can let her get away with this murder, she’ll take the second chance and be the best mother she can be. But, as present-day Lillian says, what young Lillian didn’t know is that 35 years from that moment, Apollo would be the one paying the price of the bargain, and we see a shot of Apollo looking at Brian’s grave.
Finally, in that little room of the Elk, we find out what was in the red suitcase. The show implies that Lillian used it to dump Brian’s body in the river. Though we don’t see her actually do that, we watch as she hears someone threaten another woman in the hotel that she’ll find herself “stuffed in a suitcase at the bottom of the river.” Present-day Lillian narrates that Lillian had found a way to erase her crime, especially once she realized that Brian, whose only family is two problematic alcoholic parents, had no one who would come looking for him either. In that suitcase are her hopes and dreams, represented by the sparkly gold dress she wore during the first half of the episode.
Then, we’re transported back to reality with the camera sweeping through the now-closed Elk, showcasing the abandoned rooms. The final scene shows the visitor log blowing in the wind, opening to a page from another visit from the past, exposing one little detail Lillian’s narrative forgot …there was a record of a stay with Charles Blackwood, his name signed directly below hers. Maybe Apollo’s father isn’t who we thought he was.
Apollo’s Breadcrumbs
• The side storylines involving the AIDs/HIV victim (played by the same actor who plays Brian) and the sex worker who was saved from an attack were excellent illustrations of the darker side of New York, but what did they do to move the plot along? I found myself distracted trying to make sense of it all, with only a portion of the episode pertaining to the story at hand. If anything, we got more unanswered questions like why was Emma’s sister Kim screaming about a possible changeling of her own?
• LaValle narrates how a trans woman in a gold sequin dress was murdered at the Elk, and her body wasn’t found for weeks. The woman offering Lillian a donut outside the Elk wore that same dress. I love how this paralleled Lillian wearing the gold-sequin dress and feeling completely alone and anonymous in the world like many women of marginalized communities do.
• A great breadcrumb that took a second to click for me is the fact that before Brian attempted to drown Apollo, young Apollo was watching Fantastic Planet, which is an old sci-fi movie with blue aliens. It’s telling that the monster Brian that Apollo remembers in his dream is blue-hued. The smoke, or should I say steam, coming from the bathroom also makes more sense.
