‘Legion’’s Eleventh Chapter Delivers Both Substance and Style

The beginning of “Chapter 11” of “Legion” is a little misleading. It starts off with yet another blatantly philosophical, time-wasting explainer. A new tic of Season Two, these typically take place in a sterilized white void room, as our omniscient narrator tries and fails to challenge the age-old “show don’t tell” rule. So far, the lessons have either been completely irrelevant or pointlessly repetitive of the show’s actual content. This time, “Chapter 11” spends three minutes explaining the nocebo effect, something I could’ve read about on Wikipedia faster.

“Chapter 11” doesn’t start off well, but makes up for it by actually paying attention to the characters—the hearts of the show—rather than the episode’s aesthetics. That isn’t to say that “Chapter 11” isn’t beautiful. In fact, “Chapter 11” demonstrates some of the most deceptively simple—yet powerful—camerawork and lighting design of “Legion.” As David (Dan Stevens) and Farouk (Navid Negahban) argue in the astral plane, the camera swings back and forth like a pendulum, creating a constant unease as Farouk upends David’s own perception of himself. “[Syd] lives in a future you are trying to change, and when you do, she will cease to exist,” Farouk says. “So really, you are helping her to commit suicide.” Everything is cast in a suspiciously idyllic golden glow under a too-blue sky, a design choice repeated when “Legion” wants to convey that something just isn’t quite right, no matter how pretty the scene.

Similar lighting washes over Ptonomy’s (Jeremie Harris) own visualization of his happy place, a garden-maze carved from roses. And while Ptonomy is able to blissfully forget for the first time (his superpower is everlasting memory), the warm glow tells us to not buy into this fabricated fantasy. We learn of Ptonomy’s innermost desire, but know that it’s time to return to reality.

This seems to be the formula for “Chapter 11.” The bulk of the episode feels like it’s split into segments, with each piece detailing the wishes or fears of certain characters, and how they must reconcile them with reality’s own, often cruel, dictations. Lenny (Aubrey Plaza) is still stuck in her purgatory, bodiless and sustained only by Farouk’s power which puts her under his control. Kerry (Amber Midthunder) must figure out how to perform simple and, for her, confusing human functions, like eating or pissing, after being thrust out of the safety of Cary’s (Bill Irwin) body. And a powerful monk (Nathan Hurd) starts terrorizing Division Three, sending David’s friends into a mindless, teeth-chattering frenzy in which they are trapped in their own minds. Melanie (Jean Smart) catches a viral-like infection, and has to come to terms with how her life and her dreams have revolved around a man whom she may never see again.

Almost every show has an episode in which characters are forced to explore their hopes and worries, and it may even feel cliché at this point to construct an episode that does this so explicitly. But after two episodes of weak plotlines and uninteresting character development of David and Syd (Rachel Keller), digging deeper into these characters’ minds feels both necessary and satisfying. It isn’t enough to have nebulous threats from the future to drive home a story—there needs to be actual substance, and “Chapter 11” delivers.

In my last review, I mentioned that David’s inner conflict with “being the good guy” was, to be candid, boring, especially considering that it really seemed like David was doing the best he could with what he had. But “Chapter 11” turns that on its head. “I’m a refugee. Do you know the meaning of that word? Refugee. Driven from my home, in exile. Prisoner in another man’s body,” Farouk says, alluding to when David’s father essentially banished Farouk from his home. “Nobody put you in my head,” David replies. “Or Oliver’s. You made a choice.” But even before Farouk, the villain of the series, responds, the rationale behind his decisions suddenly become startling clear, while David’s moral allegiances delve deeper into murky grounds. It’s this moment when “Legion”’s second season finally finds its substance, the complicated emotional work that truly-gratifying TV shows are made up of.

“Of course.” Farouk responds. “If the choice is between death or life, I choose life.”

—Staff writer Grace Z. Li can be reached at grace.li@thecrimson.com. Follow her on Twitter @gracezhali.