Review: Our Flag Means Death, "Act of Grace" & "Wherever You Go, There You Are" | Season 1, Episodes 9 & 10
Love is found and lost in a remarkable close to a powerful first season
When I first started watching Our Flag Means Death, I jumped over to Wikipedia and read over the Wikipedia article on Stede Bonnet to get a cursory idea of the real man the show was inspired by. Revisiting it after season one concluded, I was pleasantly surprised to see how many beats David Jenkins and company worked into the show from history, rather than just taking the core idea of a “gentleman pirate” and running with it. He was indeed a captain who financed his own ship and crew’s wages, and was considered largely ineffective as a pirate. He made his way to the Republic of Pirates and was wounded in an encounter with a Spanish warship around the same time. And while wounded he struck up an acquaintance with Blackbeard, and the two captains went on to commit several acts of piracy together.
While all of these details made their way into the first season in some form, it’s a fair bet that none of it played out this way in real life—largely because there’s no way real life was as much fun as this. In an era where Max/HBO is going through all manner of sea changes and PR disasters, Our Flag Means Death has been a legitimate success story for the network in terms of viewership and critical reception. It’s a show that, like the pirates at its center, reflects a desire not to be tied to any one thing, an action-comedy-tragedy-romance that rarely lingers for long in any one genre. It’s unapologetically gay, unapologetically diverse, and unapologetically casual about both of those.
In all those modes, the first season ends as it began. Both episodes are similarly grounded in real-life events—“Act of Grace” covers Stede decision to accept King George’s Act of Grace, while “Wherever You Go, There You Are” covers Blackbeard taking Stede’s ship and marooning his crew—and once again uses those events as a springboard to something hilarious, romantic, and tragic in equal measure.
The titular “Act of Grace” is a pardon offered by the British crown to convert pirates into privateers against the Spanish, and here it’s grounded more in survival instinces than in pragmatism. Admiral Chauncey Badminton’s fleet has taken the entire crew of the Revenge captive, and while most of the crew is busy ducking responsibility under interrogation, Chauncey can smell weakness on Stede as easily as his twin brother could. As much as Stede’s played off the guilt from what happened to Nigel, that ghost wasn’t fully abandoned on the beach back in “A Damned Man,” and combined with Ed off-handedly confession to the killing it’s enough to break him into tears and a signature. I’ve always enjoyed Rhys Darby, but this season has been a real revelation of his talents, suited to the show’s tonal shifts and making Stede feel human despite the innate silliness of the character. Case in point: his stoicism to Ed when he says he needs to pay for his crimes, and subsequently breaking down once he’s in front of the firing squad, some great editing for comedic purposes.
Chauncey tries to deny him the Act of Grace by coldly dismissing the idea that he’s a real pirate, only for salvation to come in the least likely of places. One of the best things about OFMD is that it doesn’t forget anything that’s happened on prior episodes, and something I thought was abandoned after the pilot as an example of Stede’s piratical incompetence—the plant he claimed as his first bit of treasure—now comes back as Exhibit A that he is a true pirate. Lucius excitedly reading from the journal he was so sullenly scribbling in, and other crew members rising to his defense as a “savage, insane, vengeful pirate horde,” is as triumphant as Stede could have ever hoped. Against all odds, Stede’s way of doing things has engineered a certain amount of loyalty—maybe not respect or admiration, but an affection nonetheless. There’s a perfect moment of triumph from Darby as Stede finds the explanation for his success (“I’d attribute quite a lot of it to a people-positive management style!”) and a reaction from Rory Kinnear that is a level of indignant sputtering you only get from the most British of actors.
Stay of execution or not, this still shackles Ed and Stede away from their freedom, as they’re exiled to the Royal Privateering Academy for Wayward Seamen. (Yep, just a ton of seamen all over the place.) Stede’s still wracked with uncertainty about his position—even more so once he learns that he’s been declared legally dead since absconding on his pirate adventure—but Ed’s entirely sanguine about the whole affair. Even more startling is how sanguine he is about removing his beard, treating it more as removal of false advertising: “I was Greybeard if anything. Salt-and-pepperbeard. Now I’m just No-beard.” If this season has been a surprising showcase for Darby, it’s been equally surprising for Taika Waititi, who’s always been fun in front of the camera but typically leans more over-the-top. His portrayal of Ed has been a far more interesting take on the most notorious of pirates than anyone could have predicted, and a more nuanced performance than I thought him capable of.
Certainly, no one could have predicted that casting Darby and Waititi as pirates would lead to one of the most beautifully romantic interactions on TV in recent years. Sitting on the beach lost in thought, the two men admit that for all the chaos and unfortunate circumstances they’ve been through, being together has made them both happy. And to the delight of shippers across the Internet, they kiss. It’s both a wonderful payoff to six episodes of gradually getting us to this point, and Exhibit A of why OFMD succeeds as a queer text. It never forcibly calls any attention to the queerness of its text, treating it as matter of fact that anyone can be attracted to anyone beyond binary norms.
But a happy ending isn’t in the cards, as a drunken Chauncey drags Stede from bed the night before they were planning to go to China, and he throws all of Stede’s doubts and insecurities back in his face. Jenkins said at the time OFMD was announced that the real Stede Bonnet’s story fascinated him with just what would drive a man to give up a comfortable existence, and we’ve seen plenty of excuses playing out in his memories of a verbally abusive father, loveless marriage, and continuous feeling of being nothing but “God’s perfect little rich boy.” Chauncey tripping and falling onto his own bullets—dying a similar way to his brother—saves Stede’s life but doesn’t do much for his already fragile state, and he flees the site without saying anything to Ed.
It’s a truly affecting move, both because it stands in contrast to the closeness they just shared, and because we see the logics that justify it in ways Ed can’t. Stede’s terrified that he might be a danger to the newly reformed Ed, and while Ed’s shared his insecurities with Stede there hasn’t been a reciprocation. So both men are sent back to what passes for home, Ed to Revenge just in time to stop a mutiny from taking place (Izzy’s autocratic captaincy inspiring unanimous revolt in record time), and Stede to Barbados to walk in on his dumbfounded wife.
“Wherever You Go, There You Are” is an episode dealing with the aftermath of Stede’s decision, and it’s clear that whatever was forming between the two was so real that its abrupt end has sent both men into full breakup territory. Stede’s practicing unconscious denial and attempting to reinsert himself into his home life, only to realize things are a lot different than they were, and the family dinners are even more awkward than they were before he left—which is saying a lot. And back on the Revenge, Ed’s in full-on depression mode as he’s turned the captain’s cabin into a fortress of solitude, building a blanket fort (“The door’s the blue cushion”) and composing a series of mournful ballads as Izzy desperately tries to hold order together on the decks.
What makes Stede’s return to life so jarring for him is the fact that he’s not the only one who’s found a different path. Taking the voiceover role that Stede’s had in previous episodes, Mary points out that her life has been made vastly more full by becoming a widow. Her previous talents at painting have now turned into a career, she’s enjoying the company of her instructor Doug (Tim Heidecker of Tim & Eric fame), and she’s got an expanded circle of friends—all of which comes crashing down when Stede comes back in the door. Claudia O’Dougherty, solid in the previous flashbacks, truly gets to shine in Mary’s reactions to Stede’s unexpected return—you can see everything in her brain exploding when he walks through the front door—and the resentments that she thought she’d been able to discard and have since festered in the back of her mind. Her dressing down of Stede’s naïveté in particular is a sight to behold:
“You’re home. Fine. We’re married. All right! We made a contract in front of God and I am bound to honor that. But in your absence, I have managed to create a life that I quite like, and I won’t destroy that life because you’ve decided to un-abandon your family on a whim.”
Encouraged by her friend and fellow widow Evelyn (a gloriously vamping Kristen Johnson), Mary decides that renewing her widowhood is the most logical solution, only to hesitate too long and lead to an awkward conversation. (Stede: “You were going to stab me! In the earhole! With a skewer!” Mary: “A pillow seemed too tricky and a gun would wake the kids.” Which, fair.) But it quickly becomes a lot less awkward than you’d expect, because Stede’s coming to similar conclusions about his place in the world. As pleasantly surprised as he is to be lauded for his stories of being a Gentleman Pirate—by his peers if not his family—telling those stories loses their luster once he thinks on what he’s abandoned and the death he’s seen. And in drunkenly reacting to Doug’s presence with a threat of violence, it’s clear the more direct world of piracy has taken away his willingness to play the games of society.
That mutual acknowledgment of how far apart they’ve grown in their time apart leads to a conversation that’s in its own way as meaningful as the one Stede and Ed shared on the beach. Acknowledging that what they had wasn’t close to love, Stede asks Mary to tell him about what it’s like, and as she does he connects all the pieces of what she’s saying to his own lived experience. Darby and O’Doughtery are terrific in this scene, as it plays so against type for a reveal like this: there’s no judgments and no moment of “I always suspected,” just a light surprise that gives way to genuine happiness that they’ve found what they couldn’t in each other.
After all that heaviness, “Wherever You Go, There You Are” makes a welcome move to levity as Stede and Mary decide he needs to return to his previous deceased status. (Stede says it best: “Everyone’s had a go at killing me but me. I’d like a shot.”) The method to do that is a ridiculously convoluted scheme involving a tamed jaguar, a suspended piano, a large amount of pig’s blood, and just the right timing with a passing carriage and a cadaver. It’s so broadly silly to witness, and even sillier as the vapid nobles of Barbados take it in stride. (“He may have survived that!” one says with pure Chris Elliott in Groundhog Day energy, right before the piano drops.) A few quiet goodbyes to his family, one mostly sincere speech to the crowd from Mary, and Stede Bonnet is free to return to piracy on his own terms.
Back on the Revenge, Ed isn’t trying to fall back into his old role, and even seems to be trying to adapt to Stede’s way of doing things: wearing a silk dressing gown, trying to express feelings, and encourage a talent show amongst the crew. It’s the trigger for another Izzy “pep talk,” only this one gets to some ugly places. Of the core ensemble, Izzy has been the odd man out as the most antagonistic of the pirates, but kept from being a true buzzkill by the fact that his antagonism is grounded in a place of twisted loyalty. Izzy is a true follower, someone who needs to pledge himself to something stronger, and the legend of Blackbeard was the strongest thing on the high seas. To watch Ed give up on it, and Stede encourage that, has been in his eyes the purest form of betrayal.
The harshness of those words does cut through to Ed—unfortunately for the crew, not in the way anyone would have hoped. Throughout these reviews, I’ve been referring to the character as Ed instead of Blackbeard as that’s how he first introduced himself to Stede, and that version of the character is the one we’ve seen all season: someone welcoming the chance to talk to someone who didn’t know him as the legend, and welcoming the chance to shed more of the mantle as time went on. But now, as Leonard Cohen’s “Avalanche” plays, Ed takes that mantle on once more, and it’s achingly clear why. Blackbeard was always a persona more than human, a devil to inspire fear into opponents. And if you’re more than human, it’s a lot harder to be touched by heartbreak.
But he is in fact heartbroken, and he was a murdering bastard—and to quote Kill Bill, there are consequences to breaking the heart of a murdering bastard. He rejects Lucius’s suggestion to write up new songs for the talent show—also likely remembering the disrespectful “pep talk” Lucius gave him back on St. Augustine—and hurls Revenge’s scribe off the decks. It’s the start of a purge, as he chops off Izzy’s toe and makes him eat it for his disrespect, discards all of Stede’s books and furniture into the sea, maroons the majority of the crew on a deserted shoal (keeping Jim for their fighting abilities and Frenchie for his sewing), and sails the Revenge for parts unknown. Yet, given the lighthouse painting that still hangs in his quarters—a nicely thematic detail given how much Mary’s painting plays in the Stede portion of the episode—it’s painfully clear not all feelings are so easily thrown overboard.
The final beats of the episode are perfectly suited to the mood. Oluwande and Black Pete are left heartbroken at being parted with their love interests, a newly fanged Buttons locks eyes with Roach and decide to cut a hunk of Swedish meat, and Wee John doesn’t look far from setting things on fire. There’s a lot going on, and it’s clear they need to talk it through, as a crew—certain to be the advice of the broadly waving Stede sighted by a dumbfounded Oluwande.
As for the future of Our Flag Means Death, looking back to real life, we’ve likely fully diverged from it at this point: Bonnet never saw Blackbeard again after his crew was beached, and less than a year later he’d be hanged for further acts of piracy. It’s impossible to think that—having nurtured such a wonderful relationship—we’re going to go seasons or even episodes without our two wayward buccaneers coming back together. That puts us in uncharted waters as the party’s been split, with little indication as to just what form a reunion will take or if it can even get close to reconciliation. But I see no reason to worry: if this first season of Our Flag Means Death has shown us anything, it’s that this show is expert at charting its own course.
Stray observations
And with that, we’ve come to the end of season one of Our Flag Means Death! Thanks to everyone for following along on this catchup voyage. We’ll be setting sail again in a few days for season two.
Opening titles to “Act of Grace”: The flag being trampled in the British invasion. Opening titles to “Wherever You Go, There You Are”: One of Mary’s paintings.
MVC of “Act of Grace”: Lucius for his survival instincts taking over in being interrogated by the British, his triumphant reading from the journal, and his acknowledgment to the mutineers Black Pete shouldn’t be anywhere near command. Also, he said he loves Pete! Awwwwwww.
MVC of “Wherever You Go, There You Are”: Izzy gets this one for talking Ed back into Blackbeard territory and having to eat his own toe as a result. Maybe a pity award, but the guy deserves something after everything he’s been through.
I cannot say enough good things about Mark Mothersbaugh’s work doing the music for this season, from upbeat harpsichord to mournful cello. His work in these last two episodes was especially good, particularly for Stede and Ed’s romantic moments and both men’s respective breakdowns.
Biggest hope for season two is that Lucius isn’t as dead as Blackbeard says he is, both for how delightful Nathan Foad is and how much it would break my heart to see Black Pete’s broken. My cardinal rule is if you don’t see a body, don’t count on someone being dead, so I’m hopeful it won’t take long for him to cross paths with one of the show’s disparate factions.
Jim’s abrupt return to the Revenge without any resolution to the Siete Gallos story, as well as the way Oluwande being nominated as captain came out of nowhere beyond his early advice to Stede, gives me the strong suspicion that at some point during the writing process the episode production order for OFMD was cut down and Jenkins and company had to compress some plot points. That being said, it was lovely to see the two of them finally consummate their relationship.
I do love that everyone who needs to get somewhere—Izzy to the Republic of Pirates, Ed and Jim to Revenge, Stede to the deserted island where the crew’s marooned—can just climb in a rowboat and get there as easily as if they’re fast traveling in a video game.
“I’m a strong reader/writer, so both, double threat.”
“So, you want to go to war for the King?” “We’d rather eat our own faces, but yes.”
“I gotta go mug a guy for a dinghy.”
“For the record, I never formally accepted the role of first mate, and I fully endorse this mutiny."
“My genius won’t be translated into human language. More like pure tone.”
“There’s a sock on the door!” “I don’t know what that means!”
“Do you have any extra corpses? Perhaps someone in his size?”
“Now that’s a fuckery.”
Closing track for “Act of Grace”: “Perfect Day” by Lou Reed.
Closing track for “Wherever You Go, There You Are”: “Miles From Nowhere” by Cat Stevens.
Been enjoying these recaps so dang much during my own re-watch leading up to the second season! Having a year and change of perspective since S1 aired, it's so nice to look back at what really worked with this show—such a fun cast and setting, and as you've said it's a joy to watch a genre show with queerness so unapologetically woven into the fabric of the thing.
Jumping in to say thank you for these recaps! They finally inspired me to watch this wonderful show and I can't wait to jump into Season 2. The way this show handles queerness is so refreshing and welcome. I also appreciate the economy of the show's storytelling. It is a tricky balance to breeze through story beats and still make sure the audience follows the various character arcs and this show nails it.