Archie stings like a butterfly, floats like a big beautiful idiot through a punch-drunk Riverdale
The hazard of squeezing a baker’s dozen of plot developments into a single hour, as Riverdale did when last we met in the appropriately-named “Biazrrodale,” is that an episode merely containing a near-fatal cult ritual and a corrupt boxing match feels slight by comparison.
It would be factually inaccurate to suggest that nothing happens in “Requiem for a Welterweight,” the accusation most frequently lobbed against movies or TV that move more slowly and quietly. There’s nothing slow or quiet about this show, and plenty happens — it’s just that most of what happens this week is talk. We get talk about what characters will do before they do it and talk about what they’ve done after they’ve done it. We get talk about talking. We get more talk about how characters feel than demonstrations of those feelings. The dynamics of power continue shifting in this episode’s most meaningful advancement, albeit all through alternately flattering and menacing talking. It’s enough chatter to give a person cottonmouth.
In theory, this wouldn’t be an issue for a show as generously blessed with the gift of gab as this one. Dialogue is probably Roberto Aguirre-Sacasa and his writing staff’s chiefest strength (after the harnessing and controlled redirection of adolescent hormones), and this episode serves up plenty of the scrumptious one-liners the viewers have come to expect. But there’s a big difference between Cheryl Blossom purring “Check out my new nail color, it’s called Vigilante Violet” and the walls of strictly functional text that the actors must deliver. Too much of this week’s gum-flapping serves to move characters into place, following utilitarian imperatives rather than the usual ornateness for its own precious sake.
I’m thinking primarily of Veronica’s mission to paint herself into an increasingly tiny corner, which demands she play both sides of her parentage against the middle. After making a Faustian bargain with Gladys Jones (who, it bears mentioning, is still Gina Gershon), she’s got to manipulate Hiram and Hermione with a convoluted scheme that nonetheless leaves her at a disadvantage. It appears that whenever Veronica feels threatened, her fight-or-flight response is to form an alliance with whoever happens to be in her sightline. She spends so much time behind people’s backs, she might as well be a lumbar pillow.
The constantly changing gang landscape of Riverdale looks like the big idea arcing over this season’s remaining episodes, as Gladys assumes the role of primary baddie in the Gargoyle King’s absence by unifying the Serpents and Gargoyles under her leather-gloved fist. Even so, the real meat of this week has been thoroughly tenderized. I am, of course, referring to Archie’s new career in boxing. Under the keen tutelage of former sheriff Tom Keller, he’s been learning how to work the corners and anticipate a jab. Say goodbye to Archie the Terrible Singer-Songwriter and say hello to Archie the Human Punching Bag!
He’s doing the Pulp Fiction thing — that is to say, he’s doing the Old Hollywood thing more scrupulously parodied in Barton Fink and the recently departed Stanley Donen’s Movie Movie — of examining his own morals after taking a bribe. Slippery weasel Elio moonlights as a boxing promoter, and he wants Archie to throw his first big match. It’ll further glorify the reigning champ, get some valuable exposure for a newbie, and plunk $5,000 in Archie’s own pocket. Seems like a win for everybody, because it is; Archie would be taking part in a more technically precise variant of pro wrestling. But a combination of classically Archian dumbness, a vague sense of honor, and advice from Josie persuade him to instead cheat himself out of five grand and get his face mashed into a jelly, all for a match he ends up losing anyway. You can take the boy out of Ed Sheeran parody, but you can’t take the stupid out of the boy.