The Musketeers: Where The Garrison Is Full Of Man Pain And The Bad-Asses Are The Women Episode 1

Disclaimer: There will be plenty of spoilers so if you haven’t seen the show yet either stop reading or proceed with caution. 

                The Musketeers – or as my friend and I like to affectionately call them, the Dumbsketeers – is a show stitched up entirely by copious amounts of head nods (seriously, how do you know what you’re saying to one another?), secret plans (that apparently only the four men and Treville know about.  Fuck the rest of the Musketeers, they don’t need to know), and brooding man pain (really Athos?  Really?).   But as entertainingly dumb these four leather bound chaps are my episode reviews will seep in beyond skin deep to deconstruct masculinity and gender as well as illuminate the badass women that we need more of.  Each Episode review will break down my thoughts on the subject or plot by character.  And like most first episodes of a new show that establish who these characters are, so too will I in this first review establish the characters through their ethos, pathos, and logos.  Generally, my Musketdears (the name I am giving us in this fandom because it needs to be a thing), it will be my own personal thoughts that you will either agree or disagree with, but in either case, bear with and enjoy my perspective on the rugged cowboys of Paris – The Dumbsketeers.

Athos:

                Completely driven by his man pain, Athos likes to wake up in the mornings to practice his man pain yoga.  Man pain punch a pail of water, man pain stretch into a lunge, even man pain dress your-self; quite dashingly sassy of him.  Sassy – that’s a good word, saaaaa-sssss-y.  It’s the best word to describe Athos beyond his man pain.  My favorite thing about him and essentially Tom Burke is the faces he makes throughout the series. He and Cardinal Richelieu (Peter Capaldi) should have a face off because their sassified glares are intensely wild, and what I live for. But I digress – back to Athos; the first scene we meet Athos is so full of choreographed man pain that there is not enough ways to say man pain without sounding terribly redundant.  Mmm, man pain.

But as there is a method to one’s madness so too is a reason of porous man pain sweating out of Athos.  There is guilt he feels for a woman that we presume he has “killed” – a woman he says he loves.   It doesn’t take a scientist to guess which woman he is speaking of (Milady de Winter), but more on her later.  For now, Athos is constructed as a man struggling to face his past.  Are we to feel sympathy for him in this first episode?  Hmm, I found myself just too curious as to why he was prompted to “kill” this woman he loved to find sympathy.  Personally, his self-deprecating broodiness, which teeters between upholding the law and breaking it – a cliché – is strict to the code of male honor, though not so much when fighting a red guard because Athos ain’t got no time for that, am I right or am I right? 

Aramis:

Painted as the “lover” of the group – a romantic optimist with a smug hint of violent disposition – Aramis is more of the self involved opportunist that loves to love without the commitment.  If you have seen the entire series as I have then you know exactly what I’m talking about.  But I will give you an example that has irked me from the start.  Aramis, in the words of Athos, “is that stupid” in having an affair with Cardinal Richelieu’s mistress, Adele.  The problem is not the affair itself, but the blasé way her character is developed – or hardly developed. 

The romance is empty and flat, and Adele is nothing more than a shallow plot.  In fact, by the end, she is killed off WITH Aramis’ gun, which is basically an empty plot device because her death is – spoiler – never resolved (though, I’ll hold out hope for the second season).  By the second episode Adele is nothing more than a cursory mention between Aramis and Porthos under the guise that she left Aramis for the Cardinal. 

Her whereabouts are never confirmed by Aramis, which is strange given he is in “love” with her.  Even worse is that at the time of her death, Adele professes her own love for Aramis, but it is meaningless for she is never vindicated.  And as much as I love Santiago Cabrera – because who doesn’t love a little Tiago in their lives? – His short storyline with Adele leaves Aramis constructed as a depthless lothario completely unconcerned for the women he loves (believe me, more on that in a later episode). 

Porthos:

                Porthos is a mystery to us in the first episode; we take him as the swindler type in his first scene, but he is much more than that.  Perhaps the most emotionally centered of the group, Porthos is sensitive and intuitive with his feelings.  His appearance can be intimidating – making him a great force in the musketeers – but despite being reserved and physically strong he is really just a big teddy bear.  Given that it is 1600 France and he is black we can discern that his ranking in the musketeers did not come without a harsh past.  What is great about Porthos’ character is his loyalty to the musketeers, but more on Porthos in my episode five review. 

Constance and D’Artagnan

                Because there is a crucial scene involving both Constance and D’Artagnan I have chosen to combine their introductions.  Constance is forward and confident in calling out all the characters.  We first meet her when D’Artagnan forces a kiss to avert capture to which she resolutely says “touch me again and I’ll gut you like a fish.”  She is immediately established as a woman unafraid to speak her mind.

Young and naïve, D’Artagnan is fearlessly bound to avenge his father’s death by killing the man he presumes to have murdered him, Athos.  Because of his simplicity he is blinded by 1630 Parisian social convention; his masculinity is driven by a form of violence – seemingly forgivable – in this case a duel.  Recognizing this look in his eyes Constance follows him to the musketeer’s garrison.  What follows affirms D’Artagnan’s flaw as well as give Constance her most astonishing moment. 

Entering the musketeer’s garrison ala Inigo Montoya from Princess Bride – anyone else thought that, or was that just me? – D’Artagnan prepares to fight to the death without further inquiry.  The scene, where two become four in the duel, is put to a halt when Constance shows up.  What’s interesting here is when D’Artagnan angrily tells Constance “I don’t need a woman to protect me.”  It not only speaks volumes about D’Artagnan’s mindset, but of the era from which they are all in. The expectation of brutish violence is a normal behavior for men, and one that goes unfazed by everyone – everyone except Constance.  She quickly hushes him and eloquently says, “if only men would think before they fight.” 

The above line suggests a flaw in patriarchy; powerful men, men who write the history books, have always made the argument that men are more logical and capable of reasoning.  In contrast it has been argued that women are too emotional to handle full participation of any given society, but here we see the enlightened state of mind resides not in the bodies of men, but a woman.  This is not to say men cannot be enlightened in the same way, or that women are all refined in the same manner, but as a social construction in a patriarchal world such assumptions of male dominance and female inferiority have plagued the world from being a progressive state.  While the men are busy attempting to prove their manhood, she remains a voice of reason within the show. This is why Constance is such an important character.

D’Artagnan is slightly problematic in two ways; one, he immediately places a massive distinction between Constance and Milady – while maintaining chivalry by offering to kill the man that tried killing Milady, he assumes Constance to be a prostitute without any evidence other than her appearance, and her best dress.  This seemingly miniscule aspect of D’Artagnan indicates his gullible nature and eagerness to trust the face value of situations.  Now, I do realize his perception of the two shifts later on, but for the time being and within the universe of the first episode, this is how D’Artangnan is constructed.  Two, by having him murder his father’s killer by the end of the episode we do not see him properly grieve for his father.  I believe this grieving process for him would have expanded his character beyond the young swashbuckling hottie.  As a plot it would have been more enjoyable to differentiate him from the violence in which seems to be the only coping mechanism.  But, perhaps that is simply my peevish taste.

Milady de Winter:

                Milady is a woman in a man’s world trying to establish her independent means via male privilege – a common theme that plagues all the women on this show.  Milady is forward and unapologetic, and her association with the Cardinal is out of necessity in surviving a harsh, patriarchal society.  A woman sullied by her circumstances, her rage is inspiring; a cold, hard assassin that has no shame in what she does.  Painted as the villain from the start her compelling past makes her fearless and strong, but sympathetic.  The way she orders a bath in the inn, the way she maintains eye contact with D’Artagnan, Milady proves she has the ability to take control.  And while she does use her sexuality to achieve her goals it is justifiable. 

In what I want to call the most poignant scene of the entire episode – nay – the entire series of the show, Milady enters a confessional to pose the most basic existential question.  “Why has god abandoned me?  Why hasn’t he answered my prayers?”  In 1600 France faith is everything, and to have endured trauma that questions it gives Milady a depth beyond villainous betrayal.  When the priest – a man considered holy and pious – reacts in horror at Milady’s confession it reveals fear in the institution of religion and another flaw in the patriarchal society.  He has heard hundreds of men confess to sins far worse, but he calls Milady an abomination. A woman’s body and independent use of it gives her the same freedom and agency that men carry in them, but it frightens the men much as it allures them.

Punching through the screen and grabbing hold of the crucifix, Milady exposes her pellucid, self-evident truth: She knows who she is and is not afraid of it.  And she delivers the most chilling line of the series, “you don’t understand, I’m not looking for absolution.  I want revenge.” This is a woman who has suffered in ways we cannot yet imagine, and this depth of dimension in her character is what makes her such a strong force.  In many ways she is the complete opposite of Constance, but both are struggling to survive in their respective circumstances. 

King Louis, the Cardinal and the Queen:

                An interesting dynamic develops between the three throughout the series; the interpretation of King Louis is less pompous and more sympathetic.  Cardinal Richelieu is menacing and Queen Anne optimistic and wisely vociferous.  King Louis is reduced to a child in front of the cardinal when he confesses the “mess” created by captain Treville and the musketeers – lost letters the king had written to his brother-in-law detailing strategies of France – which was really orchestrated by the cardinal. The “loss” of the letters symbolizes the weakness of France.  It is the notion of male strength that the empire is built on, and should the discussion of France’s foreign policy be discovered by the wrong people it could prove more than just “embarrassing.”

King Louis – in his attempt to follow his wife’s advice to be “his own man” – is like a scolded child in front of a parent.  He declares, “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”  Without realizing his own manipulation, the king hands his power and essentially his thrown to Cardinal Richelieu.  In this scene, both Ryan Cage and Peter Capaldi make excellent use of their chemistry to make it painfully clear who the real king of France is.   This scenario gives us a different kind of masculine view point.  While the king is hapless, and the Cardinal entirely devious, both commit second and third hand violence.  Meaning, most of the violence enacted by either the king or the cardinal is done by the hands of someone else.  The king has his musketeers while the cardinal employs Milady.  It appears to galvanize a matter of hierarchal difference in a very bourgeois sense.    The more power and money a man has the easier it is to be far removed from brutality of the real world.  It is also easier to play god – so to speak – with the lives of royal subjects. 

Queen Anne is quite compelling and deserves her own space, but her character is not as developed in the first episode, and so her strengths are not as apparent until later, but there are a few off hand comments made by King Louis that suggest her confidence.  As King Louis and Cardinal Richelieu discuss the fate of the letters it is mentioned that Anne is a woman of many opinions, and thus expresses them frequently with the king.  But like I said, her character is further developed in later episodes. 

            The Musketeers has its pros and cons like all shows do.  It’s fun to watch and dissect gender roles within the context of Alexander Dumas’ popular novel. By the end, its essence – in the show – solidifies a brotherhood/bromance. This is quite a common motif in film and television, and it can be tiring to watch over and over again.  But one does not need to give up favorite fandoms in protest.  Simply, like Constance calling out the four gauchos of Paris, exploring the hyper-masculine themes within the show is a perfect way to enjoy, yet remain aware of the social construct created in any given series.  This is my way of making sense of it all.

-All for one and one for all.