Good Cop Chadwick being interviewed on TV: "We're keeping him safe, and he can't get out" are the two main things. Johnny Tyler smiles, hard, and lies back, turning off the TV in his awful little flat. Night night, he says. Sleep tight.
Simon Hottie Cop drops his keys and picks them up. It's a tiny motif, but you can't overlook it. I'm sure I've already missed other occurrences. Drops keys, picks them up, goes to meet Frank in his little room in the compound. "It's a raid!" he says cheekily, and Frank offers him some pot. "Keep it, you need it. Got you some more." The world belongs to the Devil, and Frank belongs to the world. I don't like his looks and I do like the looks of Johnny Tyler; I can congratulate myself on loving Johnny Tyler because it proves what a lovely big man I am, but I've never liked Frank. He's creepy and there's no point to him; there's never a point to Carpenter Joe. The passion of the viewer is to love everyone, in time, out of pity or simple harmonics. It only hurts more: "I was going to get you a t-shirt," muses Simon, still cheeky. "Selling them outside. 'Frank Shooting Blanks.' T-shirts! Kids wearing 'em! Kids! It's like...public humiliation. Don't know how you can take it!" Who could? He's the last generation of manhood, you can't question his semen, for Pete's sake. He belongs to the world, didn't father his child, can't father any child, lost his wife to madness and suicide. For Pete's sake you can't question him as a man on top of it. The serpent was subtle, and all. "I've had worse," Frank says, off on his litany. "Hadda wife go mad ten years into marriage. Stuck with Steve while she went off on her wanderings." Simon smiles: "How was she mad?" But you already know. "Got religion." Simon laughs hysterically, Frank offers a smile but it fades. He tokes the joint. "You raised Steve as your own," Simon pushes, still so friendly and so beautiful, "...and he's not yours. You were just a babysitter. If my child did that to me...she's only six, my daughter. Beautiful little thing. Fran, you should see her -- the way she looks at you sometimes. Beautiful." Simon's eyes go shiny. Frank begins to go insane, quietly.
Back to, I think, that phone-in show where Johnny Tyler first brought up "the War." I'm guessing it's some well-known British thing, like Regis and Kel would ever consent to a movie like this. There's a newsflash, live from Manchester: "If there's no Third Testament, then it's Judgment Day!" Jude and Steve and Peter are shocked that they've been taped. "Tomorrow night. Armageddon. Death." The soundbites of the Devil. Riots begin. Jude confirms that it's on every channel. Chadwick runs around keeping everybody on topic. "To repeat: Steve Baxter has declared a Judgment Day." Cut to the riots everywhere. London, Manchester. Glasgow. Everywhere is a no-go zone. Global attacks on British embassies, everywhere. Martial law everywhere. The world gone mad. Riots on the freeways themselves. A state of global emergency. All of this Johnny Tyler watches in the darkness, with the fires outside his apartment reflecting off his smile. He's standing near a window, with the TV turned toward him, so he can watch it happen even as it's happening. They're not so different, Johnny and Steven. They both know pride, and they both know ratings.
Jude in voiceover: "This is your fault. Get out there and stop them." But Steve says, even as we watch the Devil delighting in this chaos, that he can't. "First you don't believe me, and now you want me to be God right here in front of you." The smile on Johnny's face, like he can hear them even now. "One more thing," Steve says, addressing everyone really, getting angrier than we've seen: "And then you want something else, then you want something else! I can't do it all!" She tells him not to play God if he can't keep up. He gets up in her face, makes a puppet of his hand, the clacking of her mouth: "I'm trying to make the best of this, and you're going like that, like that like that like that." Spittle in the anger now. "What are you going to do?" Jude screams back. "Shut me up, then. Go on, show me! Like that like that like that! Go on, shut me up! Do it!" And there's a way in which she's still begging for proof. If he can go all cornfield on her, take away her mouth and leave her silent, that means it's real, right? The absence of miracles defines faith, belief for no reason, but the atheist asks you to take the long way around: no faith, no option for faith. Just proof, and belief. It's an old debate but a good one. "And what if I do?" He gets his fingers in her face, pre-snap, still gibbering, and she screams at him: "Go on, then!" She's got a fair amount of drool happening as well. It's brilliant. They're both so good. They shake, staring each other down; somewhere, Johnny is beautiful, watching the fires.