Boardwalk Empire needed to pull out all of the stops in order to salvage a perfectly meh first season. It almost succeeded—even those of us who have been largely unimpressed thus far must concede that the finale was one fine (and gorgeously lit) hour of television.

The most cinematic episode since the Scorsese-directed premiere, “A Return to Normalcy” shifts between hushed, intimate exchanges meant to tie up loose ends (rather too tightly), and grandiose, “the gang’s all here” showcases—a grateful nod to the genre that made funding for this program possible. The D’Alessio Brothers murder montage is lifted straight from the Scorsese Greatest Hits playbook: Terence Winter substitutes a tribal drumbeat for Derek and the Dominoes; and frenetic, dusk-lit serial executions for a consecution of corpses. The barber shop throat slice—fresh red blood on snow white shaving cream—is a turn all Boardwalk Empire’s own, and for that it deserves its own page.

We open on All Hallow’s Eve, when many a survival hinges on the upcoming elections. The newspaper headlines promising a Democratic win for mayor are making everyone nervous; and Margaret’s temporary living situation is threatened by the near-certainty that Warren Harding will be elected President. Her new roommate—Harding’s mistress Nan Britton—is clinging to the delusion that Harding will call for her and their bastard son to join him in Washington; but Margaret is well aware that Nan’s setup will expire for other reasons. Mrs. Schroeder’s dramatic departure—all the way down the block—is about as convincing as the runaway child who sets up camp in his own backyard. For the moment, she’s keeping busy baking Barmbrack for the holiday—a traditional Irish fortune-telling cake: “If you get the money you’ll be rich; if you get the ring of course you’ll be married; if you get the rag—well, you’ll be destitute.”

My kind of attempted murderess is the kind who’s sorry only that she didn’t succeed. When the Commodore’s long suffering maid is asked why she tried to poison her boss to death, she confesses: “Because if I used a shotgun, I’d a had to clean the mess up myself.” Nucky grants her a hasty pardon and a fistful of cash to get her the hell out of town; a demonstration of the peculiar amnesty afforded to nobodies in a micro-society whose maintenance is dependent on uninterrupted corruption. Very little is lost on the invisible. While Nucky is wise to the damage the accused could do if brought to justice; he is perplexed by her warning to watch his back.

And he’s just as bemused by Torrio’s brokering of a “talk” between Nucky and his arch death rival, World Series-fixer Arnold Rothstein. But for the love of the game, the enemy camps meet for a pleasantly cooperative discussion. Rothstein knows his back is up against a wall, and offers Nucky a blank check and a true blue truce in exchange for making his legal troubles disappear. The price is a million dollars (which, corrected for inflation, is about a gazillion trillion) and the location of the surviving D’Alessio brothers. It’s a deal. (The real Arnold Rothstein was called to testify before a Grand Jury about the “Black Sox Scandal” but he was never indicted. He died of a gunshot wound in 1928).

All season long, we’ve all been dying to know the story behind Nucky’s dead son. All Margaret had to do was ask: After discovering the grave of his son and wife during a Halloween cemetery stroll, she marches over to Nucky’s place where he tells her the whole horribly tragic story, adding that now Margaret knows “more about me than any other person on earth.” Does this mean that we can only know Nucky through her? David Chase allowed Tony Soprano to win the hearts of a loyal audience by showing us all his parts: The late riser in the ill-fitting bathrobe; the overeating couch potato; the post-traumatic stress patient. Jennifer Melfi as moral compass and reliable confidant allowed us to get inside Tony’s head while never forgetting that his version of events should not be trusted. Margaret Schroeder has too much invested in Nucky to trust her point of view of him; but Boardwalk Empire has alternated between her and Jimmy Darmody as the dominant POV characters. Next season, Jimmy will be vying for his power and Margaret—having chosen him as “the sin she can live with”—vying for his love. So far, the veil around Nucky has lent him a flat dimensionality rather than the intended air of mystery. In order for us to care anymore about who he really is, one of them is going to have to get underneath it.

The long awaited revelation, of course, helps Margaret and Nucky (and us) feel as though they’ve overcome an important obstacle on the way to true intimacy. Margaret can use this advancement to justify running back into his spindly arms—which she doesn’t do until the end of the episode, when she finds the rag (foretelling poverty) in her cake, and Nucky is back on top of the world. It’s easy to love a criminal when he’s winning.

Boardwalk Empire
Season 1, episode 11: “Paris Green”

In Boardwalk Empire’s penultimate season one episode, we learn—minus any fanfare—that the Commodore is Jimmy’s father. That Jillian was 13 when the affair took place (and that Nucky was essentially her pimp) flavored this disclosure with a tasty bit of scandal, but at this point, it’s difficult to care. The discovery that someone has been poisoning the Commodore is pretty juicy, but the setup—a victim we barely know; suspects (like Jillian) we have only just learned had access to the Commodore—reads more like the opening scene of murder-mystery dinner theatre than the climax of a long dramatic season. (For the record, I think (hope?) the maid did it—she tried to take away that bowl of biscuits that Jimmy blames for making him sick). Believing along with everyone else that he is inches from death, the Commodore tells his son that “the wrong man is running Atlantic City.” Now that he is resurrected, how will the Commodore act on his belief?

Nucky’s associate Harry Price announces that he has been wiped out by the original Ponzi scheme (perpetrated by Charles Ponzi, and similar in scale to the Madoff scandal), and his mistress Annabel wastes no time in severing their relationship, but not before Price reclaims the nearly $4,000 in cash she has been lifting from his wallet and hiding under the floorboards. Annabel turns to Nucky in desperation, begging in vain for him to prosecute Price and then offering her services in exchange for a handout. Margaret walks in during this exchange, evidently having been let in to Nucky’s office without protest by Eddie Kessler, who always knows what’s going on behind those doors. Margaret announces to Nucky through gritted teeth that The League of Women Voters has endorsed Bader’s mayoral nomination. When Nucky responds positively to the news, Margaret says “Then I’m glad to have been of service to you,” and leaves in a huff.

Agent Van Alden is dubious of Agent Sebso’s version of his “self-defense” killing of their key witness against Jimmy Darmody and Nucky, and makes no effort to hide his suspicion. Sebso is rattled enough to ask for help from Nucky, who advises him to “be a hero” and raid a distillery. But Sebso and Van Alden find instead a Baptist ritual taking place at Mays Landing, with no distillery in sight. In a confusing and barely rational sequence of events, Agent Sebso later announces that he will be transferring to Chicago, and blames Van Alden’s obvious distrust of him as the reason behind it. Somehow they return together to Mays Landing, where Van Alden performs a bizarre baptism-cum-exorcism on the Jewish Junior Agent, ultimately drowning him (and unwittingly doing Nucky a favor).

Nucky and Margaret finally air their dirty laundry back at Margaret’s townhouse. Nucky breaks the icy tension by offering that what Margaret thought she saw earlier “couldn’t have been more innocent.” She is far from placated, and complains that their arrangement makes her sick. Nucky lashes back at her with the bottle of Lysol she’s been using to prevent conception, and a rather childish argument ensues (Margaret says ‘fuck’!). Nucky doesn’t deny Margaret’s accusation that he was behind her husband’s death, and admits just as much to Eli as he later recounts their argument. Richard Harrow makes one of two disappointingly brief appearances to report to Nucky that Margaret and her children have gone, and Nucky doesn’t appear in the least surprised.

Angela makes the conflicted choice to leave for Paris with Mary, despite Tommy’s reluctance and requests for his father to join them. But when they arrive to the photography studio, Robert and Mary have disappeared. Angela and Tommy were gone long enough for Jimmy to find the letter Angela left for him. He doesn’t seem terribly surprised that their trip was aborted, hinting at the possibility that Jimmy was somehow behind the couple’s abrupt departure.

The episode ends with a (momentarily) quiet revelation that every character on the show is deeply, horrifically unhappy. But we’re not permitted to experience this realization on our own—the closing credits force a lyrical subtitle (“Wild Romantic Blues”) atop a pathos that would have been better received without it.

Boardwalk Empire came to us at a time when all but the most stubborn film buffs were willing and ready to believe that the small screen could compete with the big as a cultural commodity. The handful of series that boosted the artistic authority of television were those that showcased enough episodes that could stand alone as films (The Sopranos, Mad Men) or epic serials with that demanded the investment of a loyal, enraptured audience (The Wire, Deadwood). Boardwalk Empire is neither: It’s an assorted grab bag of proven aesthetic techniques, and delivers its dramatic weight in a succession of one-two punches rather than the slow burn of the shows it aims to emulate. A series that demonstrates so readily a lack of confidence in its ability to convince its viewers insults its audience and injures itself. Right now, Boardwalk Empire feels like the ghost of The Sopranos limping along on a hollow, prosthetic leg.

Boardwalk Empire
Season 1, Episode 10, “Emerald City”

Lions and tigers and bears, oh my! A peek in to Richard Harrow’s subconscious reveals a longing for a lost love and the missing half of his face. He opens his one eye to find Margaret’s terrified daughter screaming bloody murder after discovering him sleeping without his mask. Margaret is uncomfortable with the new living situation, but when she suggests to Nucky that he might consider an alternative, he brushes her off, insisting that Harrow is there for everyone’s protection. Later, Harrow takes a cue from The Wizard of Oz and cleverly tells the children he is the Tin Woodsman. Everyone is convinced, and Harrow settles comfortably in the role of Manny. For now…

Chalky (who we haven’t seen nearly enough of) is called upon to lure members of the D’Alessio gang under one roof by telling Lanksy that he’s ready to make a deal. Nucky advises him to act as though he’s disenfranchised (which might not be too much of a stretch), and to offer the gang an unlimited supply of booze. When Chalky asks what he’s “fixin’ to do about Mr. Rothstein,” Nucky says “I’m going to make him the richest corpse in New York.” But first, they take out two of the D’Alessio brothers—the first by execution and the second by strangling. Only Lansky escapes with his life, and Nucky urges him to tell Mr. Rothstein exactly what he saw.

Little Tommy unwittingly reveals Angela’s affair to his father, and Jimmy assumes that Angela’s “kissing friend” is Robert the photographer, not his wife. Jimmy bursts into the studio, steps into Robert’s upside-down frame (nicely done) and beats him to a pulp before an audience of aghast but inert onlookers. It’s still very difficult to get a read on Angela, who plays innocent just as effectively (although differently) than the wily Margaret Schroeder—and who seems to be just as impressionable from moment to moment. Her intimate scenes with Jimmy are wholly convincing, but by the end of the episode she seems nearly settled on escaping to Paris with her lady lover.

Oh—the 19th amendment has been ratified, and women now have the right to vote. The entire season has been leading up to this event, but the news is received rather feebly. Nucky’s initial expression looks a lot like concern, with perhaps a shade of disappointment. But ever the politician, he evinces a celebratory air —even persuading Margaret to have a sip of champagne, the better to lubricate his pitch that she stump for Republican Mayoral candidate Edward Bader. While Margaret initially seems skeptical—demanding to know Bader’s qualifications outside of being one of Nucky’s pawns—she delivers an effective speech at a meeting of The League of Women Voters, despite being visibly conflicted. Still, her endorsement is spun only from facts about Bader she knows to be true: That he is a builder, and that he supports the female vote.

Agent Van Alden is steadily going off the rails, and foolishly reveals his creepy obsession with saving Margaret’s mortal soul. Devastated by her rebuff, he takes to the bottle and ends up in bed with none other than the puffy-faced and desperate Lucy Danziger. But later it looks as though his fire-and-brimstone lecture may have gotten to Margaret, as she contemplates her own image in a full-length mirror, perhaps remembering Harrow’s earlier speech about forgetting what he looks like until he faces his reflection. The faintly visible bulge from underneath her nightgown recalls her makeshift birth control measures from earlier in the season. She and Nucky have been sleeping together for five months now, using household cleaner as contraception. Then again, she has already had three pregnancies, and as Lucy previously pointed out, gravity hasn’t been kind. Will the fates be more merciful?

• Zoe Kazan, possibly somewhere in Brooklyn.

Bored to Death
Season 2, Episode 5

The team behind Bored to Death is certainly having fun—but, in the same way I wish it of the central characters, I wish the show would take itself a little more seriously. Maybe I’m missing the point, especially if the point is simply to send up popular NYC stereotypes—poking fun at them while demonstrating that most clichés, especially the ones well worn, possess some element of truth. This week, we have overreacting stroller derby Brooklyn moms, down-and-out Indian limo drivers, six degrees of Kevin Bacon, and the ringing death knell of print journalism.

Jonathan is hired by a beautiful Indian woman, Lakshmi Bargava, who suspects her husband of cheating: He’s been coming home late at night reeking of bacon. It turns out he’s been laid off from his job and unable to find new work, so he passes the time at a diner working on his poetry. As usual, Jonathan is more interested in identifying with the people he encounters in his detective work (another writer for a second week in a row) than he is in properly doing his job. Presuming that Lakshmi will be relieved that her husband is not having an affair, he encourages Vikram to tell his wife the truth. Not at all surprisingly, Lakshmi is far from placated and tells Vikram to take a hike.

Kevin Bacon wants to option and star in an adaptation of the “Super Ray” comic—assuming a fat suit is provided. After the recently jilted Jennifer Gladwell (Kristen Wiig) interrupts Ray and Kevin’s meeting with accusations of invented STDs (“oral Chlamydia of the mouth”) and assault, Ray accidentally clocks Bacon and tells him that he’s not Super Ray material. Kristen Wiig struggles with dialogue that is beneath her comedic ability, but at least she gets to have a drink with Kevin Bacon—just as long as they can get out of Brooklyn, because “it’s just not as cool” as he thought it would be.

The show has done a great job of demonstrating George’s bafflement when realizing that he’s not exempt from life’s more pedestrian challenges—bed bugs, drug tests, and, this week, the cancellation of his beloved column—just as he has finished penning what he believes to be his best yet. After delivering a bleak monologue to Jonathan’s class, the two of them hop in George’s orange Mercedes and interrupt Vikram’s attempt to hold up the diner. When George—who believes he is addicted to pot and probably shouldn’t be getting behind the wheel—offers Vikram a job as his driver, he readily accepts and they narrowly escape a police pursuit.

Although I don’t quite understand Zoe Kazan’s indie leading lady appeal, here she is again as hot-for-teacher student Nina, who could get Jonathan into hot water (from which he will surely emerge unscathed).

Boardwalk Empire
Season 1, Episode 6: “Family Limitations”

Margaret Schroeder is officially a kept woman: Nucky has made her an offer she can’t refuse. Although she does pantomime a perfunctory soul search for a hot minute—asking Mrs. McGarry for advice on how to respond to the indecent proposal—she’s seen dollar signs in Nucky’s eyes since the start. While Margaret and Nucky were genuinely drawn to each other from their first meeting, this new arrangement is a business transaction above all else. In exchange for providing for her family, Nucky can keep an eye on her—and as long as Margaret is dependent on him, any watchdog shenanigans (like ratting out the green beer bootleggers in last week’s episode) will have serious consequences. Nucky’s got her in his pocket along with just about everyone else in Atlantic City, and her early taste of life as a concubine is a bitter one: Nucky stands her up just before she learns that she’s essentially living in a dormitory full of Atlantic City’s well-appointed mistresses. (In case anyone was wondering what she was doing with the Lysol: That was douching as birth control).

With Margaret safely tucked away, Nucky directs his attention to punishing whomever is responsible for ripping off one of his collectors at the start of the episode. Nucky wrongly suspects Lucky Luciano, who laughs off Nucky’s ineffectual power play. Lucky’s been ignoring his assignment to take out Jimmy Darmody, preferring instead the intimate company of Jillian Darmody, who he claims is the first woman to put “lead in his pencil” in years. Arnold Rothstein, impatient with the delay, disabuses Lucky of the notion that she is Darmody’s wife, but the look on Lucky’s face is one more of bemusement than rage.

In Chicago, Jimmy and Al Capone uneasily navigate their deepening alliance, with Capone playing the insecure, unhinged yardbird to Jimmy’s slick and steady tactician. Capone earns Jimmy’s sympathy (or is it pity?) when Jimmy learns that Al’s son is deaf, and the two rattle each other about their respective tours of duty (Jimmy’s all too real, Al’s grossly exaggerated). Jimmy gets all the credit for the elaborately staged execution of Charlie Sheridan and his Irish gang, which avenges Pearl’s tragic face-slashing and positions Johnny Torrio’s crew as the unrivaled lords of Greektown.

In case there was any question that Agent Van Alden is a creepy, sexually repressed ticking time bomb, the episode’s final self-flagellation scene sealed it. For more reasons than one, we really didn’t need to see that.

Boardwalk Empire
Season 1, Episode 5
With St. Patrick’s Day around the corner, Nucky and his cohorts are preparing for the annual Celtic dinner. Green beer is on the menu, and Margaret Schroeder witnesses the barrels being unloaded behind her house. When she and a fellow Temperance League member visit Nucky’s office to report the incident, he outs her for having been at his birthday party and makes it clear that any action he takes against the bootleggers is no personal favor to her. Of course, he takes no action at all: The next morning Margaret finds the men going about their business as usual, and when Nucky refuses to see her, she heads straight to Agent Van Alden. “I’ve been lectured to a great deal today by men who speak boldly and do nothing,” she tells him, before fingering Ward Boss Neary and implicating Nucky.

In Chicago, Jimmy Darmody is working out some of his mommy issues with Pearl, his favorite disfigured prostitute. Between feeding her generous doses of opium and fantasy, he advocates on her behalf to Johnny Torrio, who wants her gone by the end of the week. And go she does: With a self-inflicted bullet to the head.

An increasingly icy Jillian Darmody has comfortably set up camp in Jimmy’s apartment, where she serves his toddler whisky and offends Angela by offering to raise their son so that the latter can live out “her youthful adventures.” It turns out Angela is managing fine: Jimmy’s suspicions about her affair with the boardwalk photographer appear to be right on.

After Agent Van Alden & Co. raid the Celtic dinner and arrest Neary, Nucky comes face to face with Margaret, who is singing a prohibition song among a chorus of protesting Temperance Leaguers. Later that night, Nucky shows up at her door: “I have no time for games, Margaret; no interest in them.” And then they get it on. But has Margaret leveled the playing field? We know that Nucky’s aim, first and foremost, is to keep himself in a position of czar-like power; and that his power comes from keeping enough people (and the right people) happy. We also know that he is genuinely taken by Margaret, who has given him a taste of just how much damage she can do him if he rebuffs her. What happens when political objectives mingle with emotional desires? Does one subsume the other? Nucky and Margaret’s nocturnal embrace temporarily satisfies both of their carnal urges as well as their necessary political alliance. But in the light of day, Nucky has much more to lose.

Bored to Death
Season 2, Episode 4
It’s becoming more and more difficult to draw a story out from underneath the heap of literary references and distorted paeans to New York that is Bored to Death. Mercifully, Ted Danson’s George—the only lead on the show who’s playing it straight—has a developing arc that affords him a generous amount of screen time. This week, his stage-two prostate cancer also gets him out of rehab after he bombs his company drug test, and it gives us one of the episode’s best line deliveries, from Big Love’s Mary Kay Place: “I’m going to speak very slowly, because you’re probably stoned right now.”

Having made the mistake of reading a vaguely unflattering Jonathan Ames interview, I’m ever more suspicious that Bored to Death is an exercise in thwarted narcissism. At the center of the show is an existential struggle that has a particularly high prevalence among urban-dwelling creative types: Would you rather be happy or interesting? Which is really a question of where you find your identity—within yourself or in the eyes of others. This week, Jonathan is occupied with sizing himself up—against his cartoonish nemesis Louis Green, and his new client, a wheelchair-bound one-time novelist who teaches creative writing at the fictional Midwood College, where Green works as an adjunct. Schwartzman’s portrayal, too often reminiscent of Max Fisher on a high school stage, only adds to the farcical tone of his scenes, which may or may not be intentional. Once again, Jonathan escapes acute danger, and he successfully reclaims the professor’s valuable copy of On the Road.

Things are looking up for Ray, whose comic alter-ego Super Ray is a huge success. Surely his peripeteia (and bedding of Jonathan’s former client) will cause some tension within the trio, which could add some much needed dimension to the show—assuming the upcoming episodes showcase more writing than typewriting.

Boardwalk Empire, episode 4, season 1
The fourth episode of Boardwalk Empire finds just about everyone embroiled in a turf war. Nucky Johnson fights for the state’s highway appropriation funds to be portioned to Atlantic City; Al Capone and Jimmy Darmody bully their way into Chicago’s bootlegging hotspots; a bloodthirsty Ku Klux Klan pledges to eradicate the black man—but Omar’s Chalky’s conclusive interrogation tactics prove that last week’s lynching wasn’t Klan related.

“You don’t invade a country all at once. Take it over one piece at a time. Act nice. Negotiate for a portion… Before you know it, you’re controlling his entire territory.” While a buffoonish Capone ignores Jimmy’s free advice, Margaret Schroeder appears to be versed in the delicate art of the friendly takeover. She inches her way further into Nucky’s heart (who, me?); stopping along the way for a pleasant current events chat with New Jersey Senator Walter Edge: “As you’ve learned, if you withhold from a woman something she deeply desires, then she’ll surely find a way to withhold something you desire.”

Jillian Darmody takes a more direct approach, giving Lucky Luciano a dressing down when he comes looking for Jimmy. Jillian may not know that Lucky has been hired by Arnold Rothstein to take out her son, but she does know that he’s up to no good, and is more than happy to let him believe that she is Jimmy’s wife. Surely this is the “dangerous man” Jillian’s fortune teller warned her about in last week’s episode. What’s uncertain is whether Jillian’s seduction of Lucky is meant to distract him from the matter at hand, or to feed her own desires—probably a bit of both. We know that Jillian’s maternal instincts have mingled before with her craving for male attention; and this episode more than hints that these competing impulses might come to a head. I really hope it doesn’t mean that Gretchen Mol won’t last the season, as she is now threatening to steal not only scenes but the whole show.

Bored to Death, episode 2, season 2
“The Gowanus has Gonorrhea” and George (Ted Danson) has prostate cancer. But it’s stage 2, so we think he’ll be ok—once “all or part of the prostate” is removed by his urologist-cum-love interest. Jonathan Ames’ kidnapping for ransom is a more pressing matter—after being dumped by his polyamorous girlfriend for Warren, the third party in last week’s “group cuddle,” Jonathan is snatched by the owners of the hard drive he stole from their dungeon in the season premiere—and they want $20,000 so they can build a new dungeon in Boston. George and Ray (Zach Galifianakis), fueled by copious amounts of pot, ineptly plan a raid while Jonathan and his would-be assassins exchange musings on affairs of the heart and the wisdom of Oscar Wilde.

So far, the second season of Bored to Death has been stronger than the first. Jonathan Ames is minus a book contract, Ray is down a girlfriend, and George’s free-flowing Orangina supply has been cut off by the magazine publisher’s cost-cutting efforts. The dearth of riches has made way for a much funnier script. But “The Gowanus has Gonorrhea” is excessively preoccupied with cutesy-clever sideline dialogue and none at all with a coherent narrative. Naturally, George and Ray fumble the attempt to rescue Jonathan, so they jump in the kidnapper’s Zipcar and head to New Jersey (the real Jonathan Ames’ birthplace) where Jonathan has promised his father will deliver the ransom. When the bag of cash the elder Ames supplies is $18,000 short, the good guys are spared a violent end on account of geography: “It’s New Jersey, it’s too bright. You can’t kill people here!” Touché.