Watching this for the first time five years after it was released, having read/heard nothing about this series before stumbling across the title by accident on IMDb.
I have some notes:
I am paused between the end of the story and the start of the "Behind the Episode" featurette. I am interested to see how my reflections align with/anticipate, or don't, Bobcat Goldthwait & Co.'s thinking and intentions, and I'm writing down my notes from the story first to keep my opinion honest.
"The Girl Who Cried Wolf" would have been a good title, if the intent was to reflect both the social commentary and the fairy-tale attributes of the archetypes in play, while giving away what type of monster the story employs. "Face in the Car Lot" identifies a location used in the story without giving anything away. A location that on the one hand accessorizes the villain's occupation, while on the other hand is a period-appropriate setting for the gendered motif of damsels getting distressed by monsters: the fairy-tale path through the forest, a la 1970s exploitation "grind house" flicks. (Fortunately that motif is subverted by a fruit bat.)
The villain is cartoonishly portrayed as a uniquely American archetype -- the snake-oil salesman of the 20th century, after miracle cure huckster and before reality TV star, the contemporary wolf-in-sheep's-clothing our ancestors warned about once upon a time. Not all people like this are car salespeople. Not all car salespeople are like this character. But it is still a fact that putting this character in this occupation as good as put a "Big Bad Wolf" sticker across his forehead and saved a lot of time on character development.
The journalist, a Pollyanna-ish Daphne & Velma lovechild, is also a straight-faced and capable badass unfazed by the predatory, competitive, or other intimidation tactics trotted out by the men in the story. The photographer, the softer side of Pam Grier's Coffy in the "best friend-sidekick" role, also resists and challenges the journalist's leads and judgment at every turn, and chooses to go where the journalist goes on her own volition, either to "see for myself" or to serve her own interests (i.e., the villain is a big story merely by being a candidate). The fact that the photographer quits at the end in solidarity with the journalist does not align with the rest of her arc. Whether this inconsistency is a symptom of dressing the 2010s in Seventies attire, or is intended as subversion of the subversion (i.e., she ends up playing the "best friend-sidekick," after all), remains unclear.
It is interesting that the two female leads are the protagonist foils to the villain and are otherwise generic representations of two eras couched together, while the villain seems to represent a specific person (as Charles Foster Kane was to William Randolph Hearst); and yet the two women are the more dimensional characters, while the villain is an exaggerated good ol' boy who literally turns into a monster -- nothing about him or out of his mouth represents a complex or fleshed-out individual.
Not only as a white male in the world but as a character in a narrative, the villain would hide in plain sight if not for his campaign manager clocking him and coaxing him out. In this light, the title "Face in the Car Lot" echoes this brick-in-the-wall anonymity that gives the villain advantage at the same time he leverages it against the journalist and the photographer: one will be ridiculed, one will be restricted, neither will be believed -- they don't matter, because they are no one.
I like that the first scene is our introduction to the journalist via a chewing out from her editor: in one move, we the viewers learn both that she is the hero and that her credibility is in doubt. The Peter Parker vibes are a fun bonus.
When she references the photographer, I admit that I was assuming a young white male in the role, based on the era represented and the law of averages -- I failed to take into account the era of production, and the theme of subversion undergirding the entire series.
I like the vampire, again a subversion of archetype: she lacks the glamour, panache, and goth vibes of a traditional vampire -- her home is covered in macrame; she is as awkward as a Brett Paesel character on an episode of Mr. Show; she is a vegetarian and a nerd.
During the dining room scene, I was hoping the journalist had a tape recorder on her for the villain's confession, but she had the guts to cut the middle man (ooh double entendre!) and simply show everyone what they wouldn't believe if she tried to tell them. But she had to use unladylike violence to do so and she paid a price for it, once the dust settled and the villain evaded comeuppance. One of the oldest sexist motifs in story-telling kept intact. I wanted the villain to get killed at the end, but then that would have satisfied the demands of a fairy-tale ending. Seems you can't defy both sets of narrative expectations at the same time, here.
Combining stereotypes in order to break them does not always work. As effectively as the episode does subvert certain archetypes and stereotypes and the expectations around them, it does so while keeping others intact as shorthand for character development, or in trade to make the deviations work, or possibly in oversight. It ends up feeling a little superficial and clunky: at once over-the-top and not going far enough, un-blended and too subtle. For example, it felt like the creators couldn't decide how unremarkable to make "supernatural" creatures in this world -- e.g., alien UFOs are still a hoax, but the most eyebrow-raising thing about the vampire was that the journalist "met her in a toilet."
I did like the camaraderie and anti-climax of the "let's go get food" moment after the vampire rescues the journalist and the the photographer. The characters shift gears and register no reaction whatsoever to the fact that they were nearly mauled a moment earlier -- like kids playing pretend and keeping their story moving forward (no complex feelings to deal with, here)... or like women conditioned by navigating that level of risk daily.
Throughout the story, but particularly when the villain goes on TV to explain himself and the public reacts, replace the concept of his literal monster-ness with the concept of "bully" or "abuser," and the allegoric commentary becomes straight-forward portrayal: the fact that he is only triggered when he gets "too angry"; that he uses his violence, and the looming threat of his (seeming) loss of control, to intimidate others; the script about second chances and his own "victim-hood" that he uses to con society into exonerating him.
I enjoyed the cinematography, color grading, and lighting choices. The red and blue are prevalent in this episode as in the previous episode (and the rest of the series, I'm guessing), and when the color theme intensifies it seems to serve as a subliminal prompt that something is about to happen, i.e., "put on your 3D glasses now."
My one visual pet peeve:
Given the choice between bad CGI or bad stop-motion animation -- or good-for-today CGI and bad stop-motion animation -- I will always opt for bad stop-motion animation. When certain special effects are needed in an otherwise live-action scene or sequence, bad or good-enough CGI does not age well, and the more it tries and fails at realness, the cheesier it looks. Stop-motion, even rough or basic (a.k.a. "bad"), will still look like an artistic choice in five, ten, twenty years, rather than a budgetary failure. (I can understand if CGI was the only feasible option under time constraints, but that explanation doesn't make it look good, it just makes the executives in charge of setting the production schedule look like a-holes.)
***
The "Behind the Episode" at the end didn't give me the analytical insight I hoped for, beyond confirming the political allegory/satirical intentions. Oh well.
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