The Hank Moody Complex

There are two types of episodes of Californication. The kind where David Duchovny's Hank Moody is a lovable rascal, albeit a drunk, pussy-chasing one. And then there's the kind where the rascal isn't so lovable, or where at the very least we see some of the negativity that we know would have to be inherent in his lifestyle, if he was a real person. There are a lot of instances in this show where "reality" isn't really priority one, and you can see the Hollywood machinations and glossification in the greasy sheen of Hank's charm. But sometimes the show takes a turn inward, examining what is very obviously a fucked up psyche in the guise of a womanizing boozehound, and it's always these instances that show me glimpses of what could very well be some of the finest characterization on television, perhaps even beyond that. Or maybe I just identify a little too much.

As a writer, it's easy to see myself in Hank. Writers seem to philosophize about writing in all the same generalized ways, and hearing what I think are my own personal ideas come out of Duchovny's mouth somehow validates them. I like to drink when I write, I like to wallow in writer's block for pity's sake, and I think cigarettes are sometimes vital to the creative process. Therefore, I often kid that Hank Moody is a vision of my future; somehow failed yet successful, with enough challenges in my life to motivate me, but not so much that I spiral out of control. Of course, this vision most often adheres to that first kind of Californication episode. So when I see Hank spiral out of control, maybe it hits a little closer to home for me. I know that I'm not necessarily doomed to become Hank (though it's not really all that doom-filled, in a big picture sort of way. He doesn't have it that bad), but watching a character I respect out of camaraderie descend to levels I hope I never have to stoop to myself makes me feel... well, I guess it just makes me feel.

Californication has continually infuriated me for this exact reason. Just when I think the show has settled into a certain world-view--like say, there are no happy endings--Tom Kapinos and Co. decide to pull the rug out from under me and (spoiler alert) decide that Karen will abandon her marriage to Bill and run away with Hank. As a viewer, I think I might have literally screamed as the seemingly happy family sped away, closing season 1 on a freeze-frame of the three smiling faces. For whatever reason, I felt that the show had not earned such an ending, that what made Hank so endearing was the fact that he seemed so condemned to lose no matter what he did, and was optimistic in spite of that. I was so angry that I didn't want to give the writers a chance to redeem themselves in the second season, but the allure of the character of Hank Moody is too hard to resist. Even just as a fictional character he's too charming to completely write off. I've said to multiple people that I could watch Hank Moody argue with a telemarketer for half an hour and enjoy it. Kudos to Duchovny for bringing that to the table, but that's not the point I'm trying to make. As enraging as it was to see the first season end on such an upbeat note after so much self-pity and -deprecation, I had to realize that there can't be any happy or sad endings until the actual end. Hank and Karen have had plenty of ups and downs, and that just happened to be an up.

Which brings me to the down. As I watched the season 3 finale, I could feel a sense of dread, knowing that the notorious Mia was due to return from her book tour and that if anything's going to fuck everything up, it's going to be the biggest secret Hank has left to hide. It was fairly obvious that this season was not going to end on an up. So it was hard to watch as Hank was forced to reveal his deepest and darkest self to Karen--who has had to put up with so much (so much) shit because of Hank--as "Rocket Man" drowned out the dialogue. We can't hear the words Hank says, but we know it's not good, because we know the secret Karen doesn't. And it tears me up inside just as much as I imagine it tore up Hank to have to tell her, to watch her cry, to avoid her flung fists, to be dragged into the street, to accidentally assault a police officer, and to be torn away from the family he's so desperately tried to make work. The recurring dream sequence of the episode summed it up quite succinctly. As Hank floats in a pool above a trio of swimming, nude nymphs (ghosts of trysts past) with a bottle of booze, Karen and Becca watch from the deck baiting him with accusatory questions before disappearing into the darkness. Finally, as Hank is on the pavement getting cuffed in real life, his dream self downs the bottle of whiskey and tips off the floating raft, sinking out of view, completely out of control.

It's rare for a show to walk a line so erratically, yet so effectively. These second sorts of episodes are few and far between, but when they come around, they hit me hard. The usual vague optimism shown by Hank, and generally supported by the rest of the show/characters as well sometimes just can't help him/me/us float above the shit that inevitably has to hit the fan. And so he and I sink to the bottom, to wait for the next chapter to take us one step closer to the ending, whether it's happy or not.