Better Call Saul Season 4 Ep. 4 Recap: 'Talk'

Photo: Nicole Wilder/AMC

"You wanted me to talk. I talked." You can't say Mike isn't succinct. While he doesn't turn verbose, Mike does emerge from "Talk" as the character who speaks the most, no small narrative feat in a show that includes chatterboxes like Jimmy McGill.

Mike utters those words twice *(Note: after perusing other recaps, I realize now Mike actually only says this once, the cold opening a flash forward to the aftermath of his outing of Henry. I'll leave my original take in though, because I'm human and just get shit wrong sometimes;).  and each time the reaction is stunned silence. The first time occurs at the opening of episode, after he recounts a memory of laying cement with his late son Matty when he was a kid. The support group he and daughter-in-law Stacey attend simply stares at him, seeming to marvel at his superhuman ability to bottle up any semblance of feeling.

The same stunned silence happens again toward the episode's end, after he exposes supposed grieving widower Henry as a fraud. Forever the cop, Mike had been picking apart his half truths, as well as his tell of fiddling with his shirt cuff, for some time. But what pours gasoline onto his slow burn is Stacey's confession she's thinking less and less about Matt, which she reveals just as Henry starts to pour out another tale of woe. After challenging him to produce an obituary, Henry storms out, and Mike coolly reprimands everyone for falling for his sad sack schtick. "All wrapped up in your sad stories, feeding off each other's misery," he spits. "You wanted me to talk. I talked."

Though they got there through different circumstances, Mike and Jimmy are traveling down the same road. Both men have experienced personal tragedies for which they on some level feel partly responsible. But rather than face the trauma, both would rather wall their emotions off and channel them elsewhere. For Jimmy, that means treating Chuck's life and death as mere footnotes in order to  pursue petty schemes like last week's Hummel heist. For Mike, it means focusing on his job as a security consultant like all is legal and well. Things do appears to be going smoothly on that front, until Mike gets a call his boss wants to see him. Meeting in the dead of night, goons and trademark scowl in tow, Gus quizzes him about his connection to Nacho, but Mike, never one to scare easily, calls his bluff. "You brought me here because you have an ask. So why don't you stop running a game on me. Just tell me about the job." He's right, and for someone who prides himself on being an impeccable judge of character, Gus should've known honesty's the best policy when dealing with Mike.

While Mike and Jimmy have yet to reach the point of no return, Nacho is in no man's land. Sticking to his story of being shot up by a rival gang, he leads The Cousins to a spot belonging to the Espinosas, explaining they'll gather reinforcements and hit them when night falls. But Leonel and Marco are like fuck what you talkin' 'bout and go in with knives and guns blazing. Nacho, still banged up and limping, barely manages to take one guy out before he doubles over in pain from his wounds. The Cousins handily finish off the rest and it's all in a day's work. Later Nacho, still looking half dead, meets with Gus, telling him the Espinosas are wiped out, but the Cousins are still alive. He's caught on to the larger plan--the higher ups wouldn't dare give the Espinosas' territory to the Salamancas, so it'll automatically go to Gus-but is only met with the curt advice to "get some rest." The saddest scene comes when Nacho's father finds him sitting in the dark in his house. Like any concernced parent, he reaches for the phone to call 911. However, Nacho, sounding completely defeated, informs him it'll only make things worse.

Jimmy's arc revolved around his inner struggle to stay on the straight and narrow. Understandably concerned about his reaction to Chuck's letter, Kim recommends he see a shrink, a suggestion he side steps by bringing up a job he landed as a shift supervisor at CC Mobile. He neglects to tell her he initially blew off the offer, and calls his new employers right back as soon as she's out of earshot. Though in Jimmy's defense, CC Mobile isn't exactly a high stakes gig. The store he's placed at has zero foot traffic, so he spends much of the day pacing and bouncing a ball off the window. Of course idle hands are Slippin' Jimmy's workshop, so he ditches work to meet up with Ira and check in on the earnings from the Hummel caper, promising they'll work together soon. And true to bombastic form, marks up the windows by writing "Is the man listening? Privacy sold here," in bright colors.

Kim meanwhile heads to court, not because she has any clients on the docket, but only to observe the cases. Judge Munsinger requests she go to his chambers, where he baits her with a potential case that turns out to the plot of a movie. "You won't find any save-the-broken-lawyer-cases here," he cracks. "Go back to Mesa Verde. Make lots of money," he adds, before warning he'll put her to work if he sees her in his courtroom again. When he goes back to the bench however, there she is, ready to hear the details of the case of a janior who tossed urine at his boss.

Is Kim broken? And if so, what is she broken up about? Her increasing inability to connect with Jimmy? The never-ending job at Mesa Verde, with their ambitious plans for expansion? That the job she once thought of as a noble profession has been reduced to billable hours and personal vendettas? What is certain is she can't control Jimmy's self-destructive impulses, anymore than she can stop Mesa Verde from building another branch. The former is a particularly devastating realization, one she'll have to reckon with sooner than later.