100 Favorite Shows: #77 — Run. “Just a needy blonde and a guy in a…
By: Dave Wheelroute
Tags: Domhnall Gleeson, Merritt Wever, Television, Run, TV Shows

Image from Medium

“Just a needy blonde and a guy in a woman’s coat.”

In April 2020, HBO premiered Run, the story of two former lovers who share a secret code word that allows them to abandon their lives for a one week, cross country road trip together. Originally billed as a miniseries from the minds of Vicky Jones and Phoebe Waller-Bridge, the show quickly revealed that it had so much more story to tell, even though it would never get the chance. But with the lead roles filled by the highly capable talents of Merritt Wever and Domhnall Gleeson, Run became one of the most talked about new shows of 2020.

I wrote about Run recently over on my main Medium site, Saoirse Ronan Deserves an Oscar. I want to be careful not to tread too much of the same ground that the April 29 post covered, but since then, the show actually aired its last batch of episodes, which gives us plenty of new material to talk about! However, I would like to stand by my comparison of Run to Before Sunrise meets Collateral and Killing Eve meets Fleabag (Waller-Bridge’s other two major series). Those were apt through to the end.

Let’s talk about the end, though. I gotta admit, I loved Run and it was one of my favorite new shows of 2020, but the ending definitely left me cold. Now, maybe that was the intent. But I don’t think so. Like I said in the intro, Run was a miniseries by all accounts when it debuted. By the last scene, it was obvious that Jones was charting out a season two that will never exist. Unfortunately, most viewers were vehemently against this show and I often felt like Jon Snow facing down the Bolton army to defend it. If there was a season two, I would have been delighted. Though, I will admit that I’m not sure it’d be as fun without the momentum of a cross-country train.

Who am I to doubt Jones and Waller-Bridge, though? They’re so vastly talented in every conceivable way that I’d be along for the ride either way. I mean, they took Run, which could have easily been a singularly romantic concept, and turned it into an outright thriller. Who else could’ve pulled that off? They’ve more than earned the benefit of the doubt.

I will say, though, that if anyone reads this who hopped off the locomotive around episodes three or four, you should consider getting back aboard. Rewatching Run to take notes on it, I realized how suited to the binge format the show was. The episodes were fast-paced and had massive cliffhangers that led into the next installment. It felt like a baby of Netflix that was beholden to the restrictions of HBO’s weekly rollout. Don’t misinterpret me, I love a weekly release. But Run was even more fun the second time around.

Image from The National

I was able to pick up on just how much of Run is set up in earlier episodes. There was the woman’s coat, Billy’s confessional video with an unclear time stamp, Laurence’s (Rich Sommer) answering machine message. All of these were duly established ahead of time before they entered their respective climaxes and pay-offs. Even the motivations for Fiona (Archie Panjabi) to blackmail Ruby (Wever) and Billy (Gleeson) were founded and grounded in the kind of material that really could destroy someone’s life. In this, the actions of Ruby and Billy became less questionable and entirely understandable.

Of course, Ruby and Billy also prove time and again that they’re ill-equipped to make the right choices. From the first episode, “Run,” Ruby cannot even decide on a window or an aisle seat on her flight to New York before she snaps at the poor airport attendant. (“Just give me a goddamn ticket!”) This proved to be the easiest decision presented to her over the course of the show. Even then, at the very least, she knew she didn’t want a middle seat.

In lesser hands, that kind of behavior would have been a major turn-off. But with the deft abilities of Merrit Wever underscoring it, the actions became a treasure trove of manic delight and hilarity. Ruby was probably not a good person, but Wever was incredible in the role. She was easily my favorite part of the series and the reason why I looked forward to Run for all seven weeks it was on HBO.

As Billy tells her in the premiere, “You’re still your own best audience.” However, I’d like to throw my hat into the train as a contender for her best audience. Every line Wever delivered was spoken with such a delicious intensity that I was glued to her presence on the screen. Anyone who has had the gift of watching Wever tear up a scene is her best audience.

Overall, Run was always in motion. From the movement of the camera to the forward thrust of the train to the show’s very title, it was a show about speed (and how speed sometimes wasn’t enough). But it was also incredibly sex-driven. Wever has undeniable chemistry with Gleeson and it shines through in some of the show’s hotter scenes (a delight to watch with your parents, by the way). Everything she does has a lust to it, even if it’s a fairly inconsequential moment. I’m thinking of the season one finale, “Trick,” when she confesses to Billy, “I never watched [your lectures]. I was jealous.” Billy, ever the schmuck, replies, “I know.” But Wever doesn’t scoff or roll her eyes. Instead, she slaps their mattress, bites her lip, and slashes out through gritted, grinning teeth, “Asshole!”

It’s funny enough to consider how Ruby knows what a pretentious prick Billy is and still be utterly enamored with him. It’s even better when you realize the intensity in her eyes comes from how turned on she is by him. It’s so physical and it nails the upper register her voice often plays around in; it’s probably my favorite scene in the show.

Image from The Independent

Of course, it’s entirely unclear why she’s so attracted to Billy in the first place. (“I didn’t want ginger kids,” she tells him in “Tell” and I’m inclined to believe her, at least fifty percent of the way.) His perpetual slights and insults leave her frustrated and his gaslighting of her leaves her justifiably manic. He’s the kind of guy who lies like it sustains him and then turns around and throws it back in her face to say, “Why wouldn’t we call the cops if we’ve done nothing wrong?” when she panics.

Ultimately, for Ruby, I think it’s about the thrill of doing something new and being wanted. She doesn’t want Billy as much as he wants her and that’s why the fun stops when she thinks he was only engaged in their adventure as a gimmick. “I’m glad I’m with you,” he tells her in “Jump” and the only response she can muster is to leave and collapse in the train station’s bathroom. Billy really does value Ruby. Or, at the very least, he saw her as a suitable escape from Fiona. But for Ruby, it’s all about the escape. The thrill of cheating and running away just because she can. She’s no hero, but she also proves that she’s far from a slouch.

Obviously, I have to credit much of this to Vicky Jones. She only wrote two of the episodes (“Run” and “Tell”), but they were absolutely my favorites. Not only were they filled with some uproarious dialogue on the part of Jones, but she also managed to craft lines like, “I’m so scared that my unhappiness will hurt them.” This dialogue on screen presents an incredibly sobering moment that centers the audience right back in the stakes of the show. Ruby left her entire family and seems pretty keen to abandon them for a brief span. It’s only by sheer miscommunication that she doesn’t.

The concept of Run is still one I can’t believe hasn’t been done before. Two people running away together because of a pact made years prior sounds way more like a “tale as old as time” than a prince being turned into a boar and all of his friends being turned into furniture until a local nerd shows up to read Romeo and Juliet with him. And yet, the only thing I could think of that compared to Run story-wise was the Modern Love column, “Let’s Meet Again in Five Years.”

Jones goes a few extra steps from the initial “pact” concept, too. Her exposition is cleverly delivered through palm readings and selected cold open flashbacks. The most important information is doled out over the course of all seven episodes. Every word is clever and Jones is clearly a master of the concept. Even when she introduces the meandering, romantic subplot of Laurel (Waller-Bridge) and Babe (Tamara Podemski), it’s delightful. I admire those sort of weird side nuggets in a show. It’s an idiosyncratic and ambitious thing to do. She treats characters who were not part of the first show with the utmost respect and empathy. What are they like? What are their motivations? For Jones, they matter just as much as Ruby and Billy.

It reminded me of in Greta Gerwig’s Little Women when Mr. Dashwood gets a scene with his family. It’s brief, but it gives the smallest of insights into what stories are going on his life while Jo is writing and Beth is dying. Gerwig and Jones both know how to treat their characters with empathy.

This is furthered when Laurel gets on stage at The Thirsty Cactus and sings a quiet, off-key version of Whitney Houston’s “I Will Always Love You.” In most shows, Laurel would be mocked for it. On Run, however, it becomes a display of Laurel trying to get out from behind her shield of introversion. And as Billy and Ruby converge on the same bar, you realize that’s all any of them are doing. They’re trying to be daring and to make sure they live without any regrets. It might be better to “tell the fucking truth,” at least some of the time. But baby, they were born to run.