The original CSI has been a favorite show of mine for quite some time, but it has always been something of a guilty pleasure. Why? Though CSI often sparkles with intelligence, it also strikes me as a show that values style over substance. With all of the trendy subject matter, pop culture references, stylish sets, clever plot twists, and lavish visual effects, the show generally seems to offer little more than titillation. CSI often tells stories of lives that are rich in psychological and emotional nuance, but rather than delving into those nuances, it lets the brunt of the focus fall upon plot details, generalizations, and the detectives' wisecracks. As a result, watching the show often leaves me with the feeling of having indulged in soulless entertainment that lacks the more morally or emotionally provocative elements of other crime dramas.

So how is it that an episode that featured one of the most hackneyed and replicated plots of all time--heroine is endangered by forces of darkness, heroine survives and is rescued--became one of the most soulful CSI episodes ever to air? CSI is a show that communicates in stereotypes and generalizations--here is Grissom, the aloof, introverted intellectual; here is Catherine, provocatively sexual and tough; here is Greg, amiably goofy and innocent--and that we saw Sara play out the role of the vulnerable woman who yet is ultimately a survivor was no revelation. Not only was there little doubt that Sara would survive, but the traits she exhibited in this episode were traits that have long been associated with her character.

So again, how is it that, in an episode plotted strictly according to preexisting templates, a by-the-book melodrama if there ever was one, there could be so much soul and emotional power? Part of the credit goes to Jorja Fox, who made her performance raw and personal, rather than overplayed. Because Fox did not overplay them, the scenes with her character convey many nuances of emotion. The viewer sees not only her fear and determination, but the loneliness of her struggle. Sara is courageous not just because she fights for her survival, but because she displays the psychological fortitude to face her dire situation with an almost supernatural grace. Though she obviously wants to live, she does not panic or fall into hysterics, and she draws us into the silent well of strength inside her that balances acceptance with fierce determination not to give up. The setting of her trials in an isolated stretch of desert further enhances the spiritual qualities of the inner journey Sara makes.

I disagree with some of the criticisms others have made about this episode. I found it believable that Sara wandered through the desert during the heat of the day. While she might have known better than to do that in more normal circumstances, she had just experienced a traumatic event. She would have been disoriented and in an unusual emotional state, and her actions would have been driven by an emotional impulse rather than a logical choice. I also disagree that any of the performances this episode were wooden. William Petersen plays Grissom as a man who is not typically prone to outward displays of emotion, and I found the way he played his response to Sara's abduction to be both moving and in character. I could see his panic, regret, and ultimately, his relief; there was no need for Petersen to play these emotions any less subtly than he did for them to come across. If he had, the episode would have been much worse for it.

Ultimately, this episode of CSI impressed me and defied my expectations by bringing a compelling storyline to a close in a way that focused on character, nuance, and emotion rather than plot points. True to CSI form, the episode showed us the technical details of how Sara survived, but it also did more than that by showing us the soul of her journey. This episode wasn't just about escaping a serial killer's machinations, but the qualities that allowed Sara to do so. In this episode, we got to see the soul of who Sara is, something that cannot be captured in an easy label like "survivor," though that word finds new resonance through what we saw onscreen. By accompanying Sara on her journey, the viewer is not simply entertained, but enriched and uplifted in ways that transcend language. That is one of the highest aims of any art, and it was truly a pleasant surprise to encounter it on an episode of a guilty pleasure cop drama.

***
SPOILER WARNING
This review contains spoilers for this and other episodes of The Sopranos.
SPOILER WARNING
***

"The Second Coming" is a definitive episode of The Sopranos that I believe captures the heart and soul of what this show is about. Many of the conflicts that have driven the show make an appearance, including the rivalry between the New York and New Jersey families, Meadow's uncertain path to a future beyond the dark reach of the mafia, and Tony and Carmela's struggles as a couple, among others. We also see Tony's internal struggle between impulsive reaction and measured restraint, and his own doubts about himself and his life, which could be considered the crux of the show. Yet perhaps even deeper than all of these conflicts is the philosophical conflict the show has examined from its inception: the struggle between a nihilistic worldview in which nothing matters and a life-affirming view in which everything that happens matters, and matters greatly.

I've read commentary that proposes that David Chase sees Tony in unambiguously negative terms, as an unrepentant sociopath with little to no redeeming qualities. This stands in stark contrast to the views of many fans of the show who see something good in Tony. This episode explores Tony from both perspectives. On the one hand, we see the pessimistic view of Tony when Melfi's therapist cites a study that supports the theory that sociopaths who engage in talk therapy are not only not "cured" through it, but are even made more sociopathic, as the therapy becomes a venue through which to hone their skills as con artists. But on the other hand, we watch as a Melfi who very likely is feeling skeptical and cynical, if not angry, sits back in surprise as Tony offers some of his own surprisingly sharp insights into human behavior. Tony really seems to have understood something during his experience. Is it possible that Tony ever could actually "see the light"?

These moments with Melfi provide the much-anticipated clarification of the closing moment of the previous episode, in which Tony watches a desert sunrise and shouts, "I get it!" Fans were moved to speculate that this moment of peyote-induced enlightenment was another moment of self-deception for Tony, who has shown himself to be prone to outwardly professing wisdom and insight about his life while continuing to think and act in the same ways he always has, endlessly excusing even his most heinous actions. Recently, we saw him engaging in this game of self-deception by fixating on the image of a tree limb piercing the baby seat in Christopher's car after their wreck as a way to justify his snuffing of Christopher's life. Tony turned to this image for justification of his actions, even though he obviously didn't kill Christopher out of some noble impulse toward Christopher's family, but because Christopher was an inconvenience for him. It seems to follow that his moment of discovery in the desert was just another moment of trying to fool himself that he is better and wiser than he really is, another lie to silence a guilty conscience and justify his selfish behavior.

Perhaps neither we nor Dr. Melfi should be surprised at Tony's capacity for dispensing language that sounds insightful. Throughout the show, Tony has shown himself to be interested in attempting to understand his life and his mind. His problem has not been a lack of pieces of wisdom to turn over in his head and reflect upon in the context of his life experiences, but his inability to do anything with them other than collect them like useless, tacky knick-knacks. A running gag on the show has been how Tony mangles words and phrases in such a way as to reveal his lack of understanding of them; he feigns a wisdom he really does not have. What gets in the way of his understanding any of the wisdom he's stored away in his mind is his inability to consider anything from a perspective that does not justify and support his actions. He turns even the deepest insights into self-serving defenses. And as a viewer, one expects this to ultimately be Tony's tragic downfall: his cowardly evasion of responsibility. We suspect Tony will carry his lack of self-awareness to the moment of his death.

Yet for as much as Tony is a sociopath, one who justifies his every self-serving action to make it seem more noble and brave than it really is, there is one realm in which, throughout the show, we have seen him held to greater accountability: the realm of home and family. In this episode, we see Tony at his most vulnerable and human in the moment he encounters his son floundering in their swimming pool after a botched suicide attempt. A.J.'s suicide attempt is a standout example of the pitch-black dark humor that has been a staple of The Sopranos; it's poignant, on the one hand, but on the other, A.J.'s ineptitude makes even such a dark moment comic. He shares his father's penchant for self-deception, having convinced himself of having more conviction than he really does. When the moment of truth arrives, A.J. discovers that he is terrified and clueless, not all-knowing and resolute about life as he thought he was. The tormented man of the world proves to be nothing more than a helpless, terrified boy.

It seems that the only people Tony sincerely places before himself are his own children. Throughout the show, Tony has expressed hopes and concerns that his children will not follow in his footsteps, and will escape the world of crime and violence in which he is embroiled. This wish for his children reflects his genuine ambivalence about himself and his life, an ambivalence he rarely faces head-on for more than a fleeting moment. This ambivalence is what makes him a tortured character, what gives weight to Sonya's telling him that unlike Christopher, who talked about sad things, Tony truly seems to be sad. Tony resists this characterization, even though it is an apparent part of who he is to those looking at him from outside. And what makes him this way is that underneath his pretense of happiness and success, he questions his life. This distinguishes Tony from most of his fellow mafia members, who unquestioningly pursue their own hedonistic impulses without being weighed down by the sorts of second thoughts that contribute to Tony's guilt and depression.

Tony's suffocation of Christopher is especially poignant in light of the fact that Christopher was the only other member of his crew who shared Tony's subconscious distress over their lifestyle. For Christopher, this unease manifested in the behavior of addiction. Christopher's life was tragic because he retained a certain innocence that those around him did not. He fought hard to be a better person, but lacked the ability to recognize the source of his struggles. While he shared in Tony's ambivalence about mob life, his inability to connect his psychological and emotional difficulty with the results of his harmful actions and choices came not from the active resistance of this knowledge through forceful denial, as it does for Tony, but through a lack of insight. Chris struggled to understand and to better himself in a way that Tony never did, at least not as sincerely, and fittingly, Tony and his fellow crew members mocked Chris for it. Whereas Chris never could see himself clearly, despite his attempts to do so, Tony has the capacity to see himself clearly, but refuses it.

Tony seems to have no reason to give up his persistent state of denial. He lives a comfortable life, surrounded by access to every luxury and pleasure imaginable, and enjoys a rare level of power and status. To admit to himself that his depression is driven at least in part by a guilty conscience would mean seriously having to consider giving up all the things he's come to enjoy. We have seen this cyclical pressure bear on Tony throughout the show, as he has continuously resisted facing his guilt in order to hold on to the pleasures provided by his lifestyle, even if he can never fully enjoy them because of his uneasy state of mind. But the one thing that has the potential to break Tony out of his self-serving game of denial is the realization of the impact of his actions and choices on his children. In this episode, we saw that even Meadow was not safe; a man from Tony's world could find and threaten her, and on top of that, we saw that even this far along in her life, she could fall away from the successful career that seemed almost guaranteed for her, and back toward the violent criminal world in which her parents are enmeshed.

And, of course, there is A.J., whom we have also seen tragically drift toward his father's world and into his father's footsteps. He has shown himself to have his father's dangerous mix of sadistic urges and a violent temper with a dramatic capacity for denial. But A.J. lacks his father's ambition as well as his father's tenacity, and his ability to survive in the world in which his father lives is questionable. The tragic consequence of Tony's self-serving denial could be the loss of the one thing that means more to him than his wealth, his status, or his many hedonistic pleasures: the health and happiness of his children. The poetry of this episode was seeing exactly what Tony stands to lose, which is the hope for redemption in his children's futures. What Tony refuses to see in his own life, he will be forced to see in his children's lives as they begin to falter and stumble through the same errors he made.

This challenges the nihilistic perspective sometimes hinted at by the show, as the consequences of Tony's actions are not insignificant. There is something more at stake in these final two episodes than Tony's life or security, and that is the fates of his children. Hinted even further by this episode in A.J.'s lamenting of the situation of his country and the world is a larger scale view: that the fate of the entire world depends on whether or not people like Tony can ever see themselves and their motivations clearly and set aside their self-interests. If people cannot do this, the generations that follow them will be doomed to repeat their violent and self-destructive mistakes. As a result, every action has meaning and significance, as every action creates the conditions for the future.

[This review contains spoilers.]

Much of the sixth season of Criminal Intent has been uneven in quality. Many episodes with otherwise compelling plots have given way to either campy melodrama or mediocre writing, and the new elements often have not made up for the missing elements from prior seasons.

Starting in the fifth season, Goren went from being a passionate and fiery presence to a detective who seemed exhausted, beleaguered, and haunted by personal demons. In the fifth season, this change in Goren was not explained, and one surmised one might just be seeing D'Onofrio's own personal fatigue creeping into the depiction of his character.

Season Six has taken the risk of introducing a personal story arc for Goren that has revealed the reasons for the character's signs of personal distress. These forays into the personal have arguably been the highlights of this season, because they have offered some of the psychological insight that the crime stories have often been lacking, with Goren's "arias" having disappeared from the show.

This season, in place of such past staples as the "aria," viewers have been treated to numerous gimmicks such as the "stalker cam" and teasers in the form of "music videos"; it seems that those running the show have been attempting to make it more stylish and muscular, and less driven by dialogue. This has generally been to the show's detriment, as what has made it compelling over the seasons has been its intellectual scripts and psychological insights. Criminal Intent will never be as stylish and hip as CSI, and its drift away from its niche as a thinking person's show has generally not been successful.

That said, not all of the new elements this season have been negative in and of themselves, and "Siren Call" stands out as an example of how these elements can be made to work in the show's favor. The suspenseful, visceral quality of this episode is unparalleled in the history of the series, but this quality does not detract from the show's emphasis on "intent"; one manages to get a sense of the characters and their motivations even as the plot develops rapidly through action rather than analysis. How the writers managed to give the viewers character insights, a portrait of an entire insular community and its social dynamics, a compelling crime story, and many moments of action and suspense in forty-five minutes is impressive.

The guest acting in this one is superb. Even Brooke Shields is convincing as Kelly Sloane-Raines. The small-town police officers, the family of the victim, the victim's peers, and Jason Raines (Joel Gretsch) all work together to create a convincing picture of an insular world in which everyone is searching for some measure of security and solace, a personal haven shielded from outside threat and disruption. The standout by far in the guest cast is David Warshofsky, whose Officer Ray Wiznesky is chillingly potent as a man so determined to protect his home that he will go to any length to neutralize even the vaguest threat. Bulldog-like in his compact muscularity, tenacity, and easy-going aggression, he radiates intimidation. Warshofsky's charisma compels attention, and the desperate man he portrays offers a disturbing look into a dark psyche controlled by paranoia and aggression.

Much of Criminal Intent takes place in the interrogation room of the Major Case Squad. However, in this episode, the detectives are constantly on the move, getting repeatedly thrown into situations in which they are called upon to neutralize an immediate threat. There is the pointing of guns and the breaking of windows, physical grappling and much car travel. The intellectual, introverted quality of the show is completely gone in favor of a very different style and feel. Yet it works in "Siren Call," and is in keeping with the show's original goals. The script writers and actors show us the motives of the characters in as much detail as we need, revealing their secret fears and passions in economical bursts of speech and action, and there is no need for lengthy exposition or detailed confessions. This is the perfect meeting point between the show's original features and its new direction.

I respectfully disagree with ebrown about the final scene of this episode, which I found to be transcendent, lifting this episode from simply being a solid story to being one of the most powerful episodes of the entire series. What I saw was not Goren "cowering like a poltroon" (what a great word!) in fear of his own life, but a man, beleaguered with relentless exposure to intense suffering, overwhelmed by empathetic and existential distress. Goren is confronting the face of human despair, a man who has tried to be good but who has been destroyed by wave after wave of the kinds of anguish and helplessness Goren has confronted himself in his work as a detective. I think what we are seeing in Goren in that scene is the horror of the realization that there is no evil exterior to us that can be separated from the whole and neutralized, just human torment and its reverberations, as unstoppable in the destruction it can cause as a raging wildfire.

A point of interest for me with the show is the story behind the emotion the viewers see onscreen. As D'Onofrio is a method actor who emphasizes the importance of expressing genuine emotions, there is always the question of just what he is experiencing in some of these intense scenes. Part of what makes the show so compelling is how real and powerful these emotions seem to be. I wonder what D'Onofrio called upon for his intense delivery of that final scene, which I see as moral terror rather than a fear of death. I see a real sense of existential despair there--the sea of suffering finally eroding away at Goren's amazing will. How much can you take before you just want to give up in despair on the human condition? You look into the abyss, the abyss looks into you--does it pull you under? If not, how do you overcome that darkness of spirit? How can you save yourself, much less humanity, from what seems intrinsic to the human condition?

We live in a world full of confused and desperate people, and one moment of moral error on another's part can irreversibly damage or end the lives of many others. All of us are susceptible to heinous behavior. How do we resist the urge to hurt or exploit? What does it mean to do good in this world? What can we do to help? I find that Criminal Intent portrays a very real sense of the feel of wrestling with these sorts of things, and finding one's way through the darkness. I see the final scene in "Siren Call" as a microcosm of this struggle, and as such I think it's one of the finest moments the show has produced, a shining conclusion to a great episode.

(Warning: This review contains spoilers.)

This is one of those rare episodes of Criminal Intent in which Vincent D'Onofrio as Detective Goren does not steal the show. Not to say that he is not on point in this episode--he is--but the quality of the episode does not hinge on him as much as it does in many other episodes. The result is an all-around solid episode that is one of my favorite episodes of Criminal Intent.

While the acting on part of everyone cast in this episode is top-notch, I think that the quality of it has to do most with the quality of the script. The crime is a little more gruesome than usual, and the twist is one I found to be more unexpected and interesting than it is on average. The plot is complex but not so much so that it becomes confusing and labyrinthine; the story is dense, but tightly plotted. Though the episode has the same running time as other episodes of the show, it feels especially long, but not in a bad way. This one plays more like a TV movie than an episode of a show, given its gritty nuance, in-depth characterization, and absorbing atmosphere.

That said, the actor Kevin Conway, who plays Frank McNare, also has much to do with the success of this episode. His on-screen presence is compelling and riveting; he is perhaps one of the most disturbing "villains" the show has ever seen, both in the heinous and sadistic nature of his crimes and in his ruthless, unremorseful demeanor. There is something frighteningly real about his cruelty and viciousness, which is perhaps evinced as much by the quality of his voice as by his facial expressions and body language. His charisma is such that he's a fair match for D'Onofrio in several scenes, which is saying a lot.

Perhaps the central theme of the episode is the issue of nature versus nurture, and the extent to which the "sins of the fathers" are visited upon their children. Keith Durbin is a fascinating character, played well by Paul Starks, who captures Durbin's vulnerability and psychological torment with convincing realism. Here is a man whose home environment was never safe, stable, or loving, and whose father rejected him almost completely early on in his life. He grows up into a man so damaged by his past he can barely function in the "real world," most notably in how he is unable to form healthy or trusting human relationships. He feels incredible guilt and shame for his traumatized psyche, and as a result, it is as if his mind is not even his own, something he must use all his energy to fight against. This makes him a very poignant figure who elicits great pity and compassion.

It is fascinating to ponder the implications of one of the pivotal plot points: that exposure to just one image can haunt a person for life. It seems convincing to this reviewer that an image of a woman in mortal terror, hidden away in a parent's car and never explained, but known to the child to be something "forbidden," would be so disturbing that it could forever alter a person's development. That such an image would be found to belong to a child's father would heighten the impact, as parents are supposed to be figures of trust. A child seeing evidence of his father being such a violent and dangerous individual would forever make it difficult for him to trust anyone else--or himself, another point focused upon in the episode.

Another plot detail provides some interesting food for thought. It is revealed that McNare desisted from his homocidal activity for years. This is attributed to his involvement with a wife who ultimately died of cancer, her death prompting his return to killing. The detectives muse and theorize that she indulged his kink consensually in a way that prevented him from seeking it nonconsensually. This detail is an interesting foil to the relationship between Durbin and McNare. Whereas McNare's actions caused untold suffering for untold numbers of people, and damaged his son so severely it prevented him from ever functioning as a normal adult, the actions of one woman were enough to prevent a great number of instances of torture and murder, having stilled the worst impulses of a severely disturbed individual.

McNare's wife had no idea that in the love, acceptance, and kindness she showed a man who would have undoubtedly been hard to love, she was bringing grace into the world. It was not her duty or her intention to do so, but it was what she did nonetheless, simply through the goodness of her person. Of course, she may have been terrorized and abused, which would cast her actions in a different light, but the script seems to suggest that this was not the case, and that she somehow managed to have a happy relationship with a man who was a cruel and vicious killer underneath whatever she experienced with him. It seems that through her, McNare experienced a period of grace in which he overcame the worst of the monster inside of him. Either way, she died without knowing how many other women she had saved from a horrible fate, an unsung heroine.

When we act with cruel, evil, and selfish intent, we make the entire world a worse place for it; when we act with kind, good-hearted, and generous intent, we make the entire world a better place. The results of our actions reverberate endlessly throughout the world around us. McNare's cruelty made the world that much more full of suffering. Yet the kindness of McNare's late wife, and his son's brave battle with his own mind, in turn made the world a little safer. We are what we do, not what we think. Durbin feared that he was evil because of what he thought about, but it was his choice to valiantly resist the fate he knew could have been his own--to be a killer--that defined who he became. As such, his ultimate release from his secret fear and shame is especially cathartic and moving.

(Obligatory spoiler warning: Don't read this review if you don't already know, or want to know, what happens in this episode.)

The criminal in this episode is a bit preposterous. Yet his antics, which would be darkly funny in a different context, are painfully poignant in the service of a darker narrative turn. While extreme, Gerry Rankin's actions are nonetheless believeable, as they are inspired by common human motives. Everyone, save the sociopaths in our midst, desires approval and affection from others, and fears the loss of these things; everyone fears disappointing those who give them their love, respect, and admiration. The tragedy of Gerry Rankin's story is that the desire to do good for his family and to feel worthy of their love could have made him the kind of person he wished to be, had he had the courage to own up to his failures and try to redress them, rather than desperately trying to hide them and cover them up.

As another viewer has pointed out, Gerry's narrative illustrates how one simple lie can be the first drop in what ultimately becomes an overwhelming sea of deceit. If one is unwilling to own up to having told a lie, the inevitable result is more and more lies to cover up for the first. Gerry's fear of having his lies exposed is visceral; in his mind, his whole life depends upon his ability to sustain his deception. His terror is so powerful that the threat of exposure pushes him over the edge into murder. In his desperation and his bumbling short-sightedness, Gerry fails to anticipate that the act of committing murder was more likely to tear his life apart, expose his lies, and devastate his ability to keep it all together than anything else he could have done.

All Gerry can see is the potential of his lies being exposed, and all he can think of in his actions is the defense of his self-image. The importance of preserving the illusion becomes so powerful that he is willing to kill his own children to prevent the shame of their discovery of his lies and his failures. He doesn't stop to think that it is his children's and his wife's love and approval that he has been seeking in the first place, and that such a heinous act would push him beyond the pale of being loved or approved of by anyone ever again. He doesn't stop to think that in destroying his children, he is annhilating the very reason to fight to preserve the lie of his success in the first place. This is why Gerry is such a ridiculous and pathetic character. But the fear underneath his behavior is so universal and powerful that watching it taken to such an extreme extent is horrifying rather than humorous.

Goren's insights, achieved through sympathetic identification with both the criminals he pursues and with their victims, are the pivotal moments of the show. His moment of revelation in this episode is depicted especially powerfully. Looking at a craft project Gerry's children did to show their admiration for their father, one can practically see Goren entering into Gerry's inner world, like a shaman in a trance enters into the unseen realm. Suddenly, a horrifying thought comes to him, and just as suddenly, Goren becomes convinced that this terrible possibility is on the verge of becoming reality as the seconds tick away. The urgency with which everyone steps into action is conveyed to great effect by the actors, especially Erbe, D'Onofrio, and guest actress Brooke Smith. This is very easily one of the most suspenseful and viscerally thrilling episodes of the series for this reason and for others.

One of the other reasons is the scene that follows, which in this viewer's opinion is one of the highlights of the entire series. Goren, while certainly depicted as flawed and fallible, is also obviously an idealized character. He is a heroic figure: selfless, brave, insightful, and brilliant. But it is his willingness to suffer for his work and to push himself beyond the border of fear that may be his most heroic quality. Not everyone can have a genius mind or nerves of steel, no matter how much they would like them. But everyone can face the situations in their lives with the willingness to turn toward fear and difficulty rather than run away or hide from them. This is the essential contrast between Goren and Gerry. Goren walks steadfastly into the heart of fear, exposing himself to annhilation over and over agin in his work, while Gerry does everything he can to hide, to run away, and to protect himself.

When Goren enters into the hotel room in which Gerry is holding a gun on his sleeping children, it is a symbolic moment. Goren has crossed a threshold, willingly and with knowledge. The power conferred by that choice gives him the power to dispel the dark trance into which Gerry has fallen. This power is the power of taking the weaker position, in the sense of letting oneself become vulnerable and undefended. It is impossible to defeat one who is not afraid of death and who holds the higher moral ground, whose actions are based in willing self-surrender for the sake of others and not in any desire for personal gain. It is hard not to thrill as a viewer when Goren puts himself between Gerry's gun and Gerry's children. Goren is confident that he can talk Gerry down, but not certain, and his choice to risk his own life to save two children is the ultimate act of heroism.

Were such acts of heroism impossibly remote to the average person, this episode would not be as powerful. Yet this is not the case. One does not need to do work in which it is required to step in front of a gun to access the bravery depicted by Goren in this episode. All one needs is the same willingness to place oneself in front of the barrel of one's own fears. This is no easy task--or else it would not be heroic--but it is an ability that is available to everyone. Intentionally or not, this episode functions as an effective allegory for two different approaches to dealing with fear. In addition to tight plotting and fine acting, the power of this episode lies in the equal access every person has to either Gerry's cowardice or Goren's bravery. The choices we make shape who we become, and this episode shows one way of walking into the heart of darkness, and the fear one inevitably encounters there, with dignity and grace.