Tell me “No More Blood” is the worst episode of Scandal you’ve ever seen. Understood. Say you’re done with the show. Fair enough. Or say it’s the most riveting Scandal has been in weeks and you’re suddenly back on board after weeks of waffling. I’d believe that too. I’ll even accept the version where you still really love Scandal but you’re certain you’d love it more if it were possible to take a pencil eraser and wipe three to four characters off the screen completely. I accept all of these as reasonable conclusions, because before “No More Blood” was over, I spent time in each of those places. But there’s such a brute force to this episode, it’s hard to resist entirely. Much of what Scandal is selling these days is flaming horseshit, but the writers and performers sell it so earnestly, enthusiastically, and charismatically, you’re like, “Listen, I can’t immediately think of a use for a pile of flaming horseshit, but I’d imagine on the day when I do think of that use, I’ll be glad I bought some. Give me three piles, please.”
One thing is for certain about Scandal season four: It will not lend itself well to binge-watching. When this kind of cyclonic thriller—like an Alias, or a 24—is working at less than its full capacity, it goes from being mildly irritating watched in real-time to a pummeling endurance test when the episodes are watched in rapid succession. The week between episodes is vitally important during the rough patches of a television season. It’s the “I’m gonna walk around for a while to clear my head” of television consumption. If I’d seen “Gladiators Don’t Run” immediately before “No More Blood,” I may not have even made it until the end. But there’s been enough time since Olivia was snatched in the winter premiere to just accept that this kidnapping plot, for whatever reason, is what Scandal is doing right now. It’s not ideal, but it’s happening.
The Scandal writers forced this foundation into place, but because it’s there, the cold open can work as the fun, bright moment it is. The fearsome hostage takers, who just so happen to resemble an edgy improv troupe from Cambridge, are thwarted from selling Olivia to Iran because Olivia exploits the language barrier between them. As was the case with several scenes in “Run,” the cold open was thrilling and sad. It shows Olivia doing the fixing for which she’s so reviled and revered, and being typically great at it. But it also shows how Olivia’s compulsion to fix things is equal parts divine calling and personality disorder. Yes, Olivia is in survival mode, trying to remain out of the hands of a buyer for as long as possible by any means necessary. But it’s also a coping mechanism that allows Olivia to achieve emotional detachment. The auction was Olivia’s idea, not because she had anything approaching a solid plan, but because in order to survive psychologically, she always has to feel like she’s moving pieces around the board. Liv spoils the deal, and flashes a mischievous smile as she’s carted back to the car.
And then, Olivia is gone. For nearly half of “No More Blood,” there’s not as much as a glimpse of her. The first half takes place exclusively in DC as the fallout from Olivia’s disappearance continues to ripple through the White House and OPA. In the most dramatic example of how tragically the Olivia kidnapping story is failing, the portion of the episode when it’s most watchable is when Olivia isn’t in it at all. The reason for that is because Olivia has essentially been turned into a MacGuffin. There’s a big bowl of random explanations for the Olivia economy if anybody wants one: the President of the United States is irrationally in love with her; she possesses sensitive national security information; Huck will be forever lost to the darkside if Liv isn’t returned; Quinn can only be stable if Huck is; Abby would have to go the trouble of making a new best frenemy. Scandal doesn’t hesitate to say with a straight face that Olivia is worth over a billion dollars on the free market because the writers are not making a statement about Olivia’s intrinsic value, they’re turning her into a highly coveted object to maximize her narrative value.