Disclaimer – Spoiler Alert
“There are beautiful, wondrous worlds inside these old simulators, full of intelligent beings with stories to tell. And I’m gonna interview them, and put my interviews online, and make a bunch of money.” The words of protagonist Clancy Gilroy speak volumes about the overriding theme of the show, not quite the statement itself but the dichotomous nature of it. The amenable essence of the mission contrasts the purpose. The purple-skinned runaway resides in a dimension referred to as ‘the Chromatic Ribbon’, a place as alien to him as he is to its residents. With his tranquil and equally illegal bio-computer, Clancy felt poised to take over the space waves with a metaphysical colloquy with beings from a myriad of planets.
While the program does lend itself to the notion of being ideal ‘420-friendly’ viewing, in part due to director Pendleton Ward’s vibrant expression as is synonymous with his name after ‘Adventure Time’ along with the abstract nature of Duncan Trussel’s ‘Family Hour’ podcast which has been directly adapted and transfigured into the show, Clancy’s journey unmistakably finds a way to the heart and mind through a sangfroid stance on cerebral conversations.
The pilot episode establishes not only the kaleidoscopic feel of Clancy’s realm, but also the profundity of the conversations. While idly scrolling through a catalogue of simulated universes with varying levels of sustainability, Glasses Man, played by Drew Pinsky, is the pick of the bunch as Clancy traverses to Earth 4-169, a planet under a Zombie Apocalypse with Glasses Man, or more appropriately, the President, on the frontlines. They engage in a nuanced conversation about drug usage and the notion of “good” drugs or “bad” drugs. This unfolds while an entirely incongruous sequence of events occur with Clancy and Mr. President fending off the infected in an endeavour for continuance. The contradiction between the bizarro world visuals and the non-partisan chat stands as a recurring theme, a balance the show finds more success to strike as it progresses.
Drew Pinsky is just one of the numerous esteemed speakers who find their voices put forth by surreal beings. Men and women of boundless knowledge and experience with the likes of Anne Lamott, David Nichter and Jason Louv to name a few showcase their perhaps, unconventional credo with palatable overtones. In ‘Hunters Without a Home’, the subject of ceremonial ‘magick’ and the Western adaptation of Eastern practises is discussed as a fish-man commandeers a ship of cats.
The man behind the voice is Damien Echols who, in 1994 was sentenced to death for the murder of three children in West Memphis, Arkansas at the age of 19 along with Jason Baldwin and Jessie Misskelley Jr. Echols’ affinity to witchcraft and Satanism was key to his sentencing, a matter which gained mainstream attraction after documentaries such as ‘Paradise Lost’ and ‘West of Memphis’ highlighted the irony of the witch hunt that led to the three men being sentenced which ultimately ended up saving Echols after nearly 18 years in death row. While it would have been understandable for Echols to denounce the very thing that led him to be ostracized, he instead took to it as his saviour, honing his craft while in prison, the education of which now stands as his purpose in life.
The depth of the story and the conversation shatters the show’s association with archetypal adult animation and speaks volumes about the modern allure to podcasts and the room for catharsis and development for either side.
Development is the hallmark of the Midnight Gospel, transcending the contents of the space-casts and infiltrating into the narrative of our anti-hero interviewer. Clancy, a quintessential millennial, scours a world as make-believe as his aspirations for a sense of purpose. Soliciting the funds for a used bio-computer from his sister under potentially false pretense, his initial verve for the interviews came with the vision of having a successful show, a feat that would garner him a sense of validation and success, as misplaced as it might be. Clancy’s immersed persona during the interviews stands in stark contrast to his blasé reorientation. However, with each space-cast came a more introspective interviewer, almost looking for more than just an episode for his show. Through the vessels of knowledge, Clancy searched for answers in a splendid medley of cultural and religious beliefs.
All of it came to a head in ‘The Mouse of Silver’ where a seemingly on-autopilot Clancy is about to set off to another wild goose chase to either attain enlightenment or a hit space-cast. Before he enters another realm, he is graced with the presence of his mother, played by Deneen Fendig, Duncan Trussel’s late mother.
From the start, the tone is set. It’s Duncan. A few slip-ups here and there were kept in previous episodes for comedic effect. It was unmilled as it gets. The usual hyperkinetic visuals replaced by a soothing landscape, matching the calm demeanour of the conversation.
The earnestness of the chat cannot be overstated as the two discuss all from parenthood to loss and the spiritual aspect of it. However, the matter is superseded by reality. Fendig was diagnosed with stage IV bone cancer. Duncan’s affliction trickles with every word as he seemingly tries to make peace with the upheaval before it has occurred. Words fail to capture the sheer intensity and awe-inspiring splendour of the exchange, lending to the cathartic side of such a discussion. The overarching plot point of the show is heralded as the solution – acceptance of oneself and being present.
‘Reality’ comes fast at Clancy as his abode is invaded by the police led by the father of lone subscriber Daniel Hoops. Destruction follows as Clancy’s work and possessions are laid to waste. The collection of shoes he gathered from each one of his adventures perhaps, to symbolise walking in someone else’s shoes, set in flames. Clancy was rescued from an oncoming bullet by his pooch Charlotte, taking the two inside the simulator.
What followed is a pristine moment of clarity. Upon stepping onboard a bus full of beings Clancy came across, he takes a seat next to a man, ready to ask the question that symbolises not only, his eagerness to grow his project, but his thirst for answers, any solution that takes away from the dread of failing, a conflict between the acceptance of self and a feeling of objective failure, despite the entire premise of the show hinting at the former as the key. All-benevolent reality hits as Clancy asks, “Am I dead?” to which he gets the response, “Just be here now.” before credits roll while the bus embarks on a journey to seemingly nowhere and everywhere all at once.
Clancy experienced a spiritual journey, learning about all things from meditation to the almost human aspect of death, subconsciously trying to pry out of the responsibility-shrugging person he had become before ultimately being left with the same existential dread that comes with loneliness in a more-than-ever connected world. The Midnight Gospel offers a new perspective on mindfulness and acceptance in the most dichotomous way possible as it sets fire to our minds and soothes the soul en masse.
