Let's Talk Black Sails

OH BOY, MY FRIEND. you have just opened a can of worms. buckle up.

#the fucking clock is the tag on my blog documenting my clock spiral lmao so you're welcome to look through there, but the rundown is:

in the season 2 flashbacks, there are several close-ups of the grandfather clock, and the ticking can be heard in the background of every scene in the hamilton house. watching it for the first time, you might think, nice! we're going backwards in time, so they're demonstrating that with the ticking! neat!

but then we get to the end of the season, when flint and miranda go to peter ashe. the ticking is back, several scenes before The Scene TM. your attention isn't called to it whatsoever, you might not even register it. if you did, you might think: they're stepping back into their old world and their old selves, visiting an old friend, trying to broker a deal from the past, so the ticking is demonstrating that this time. neat!

and it is demonstrating that, of course.

but then there's The Scene TM. the dinner scene at the end of 2x09. there's no reason to notice or think about the ticking until miranda does, but it's there throughout the entire scene. (you do actually see a close-up of the clock before she notices it, but you have no reason to recognise it, unless you're like, a clock expert, and even then, we're all fucking stressed because it's the pre-finale and you know some shit has to go wrong soon, so who's paying attention to a 2-second shot of a grandfather clock?) — but then she calls it out, and exposes peter's lies, and of course, dies.

and it's just.

it's so fucking genius that the ticking is SO interwoven into the hamilton & ashe household scenes that it fades comfortably into the background, seeming to serve its purpose as an ode to the passage of time, while ALSO secretly, the entire time, being set up to become THE catalyst of the rest of the show.

it's THE thing that exposes to flint and miranda that their attempt at making peace with civilization is for naught, because civilization is inherently cruel and unforgivable, and will always betray them.

it's THE thing that leads to miranda's death, and so it's THE thing that starts flint's war. if peter hadn't accepted the clock from alfred, if the clock had been in another room, if at some point in the last 10 years it had broken or been stolen or sold.... miranda wouldn't have been prompted to interrupt the deal, and flint would've agreed to out himself and beg civilization for understanding, because he'd let himself hope for and believe in a peaceful resolution for nassau.

AND THEN

as if representing time and being the catalyst for the second half of the show wasn't enough, it ALSO has been foreboding that time is running short in BOTH INSTANCES, THE ENTIRE TIME.

it forebodes — again, i need to stress, in both instances, because this show squeezes parallels even into the fucking background noises — that their plan will not go well, that civilization will punish and silence them before it ever chooses peace and acceptance, that people they love and trust (hennesey, peter) will betray them, that thomas and miranda will die (considering we believe thomas to be dead at this point), and that flint's hope and "light" will die with them.

AND!!! AND!!!!! as if that is not FUCKING enough, miranda even HINTS at the clock before they even GET to charlestown! talking about abigail, she says, "it’s like she’s some sort of clock that’s finally struck its chime and woken me from this dream we’ve been living."

because the writers are GENIUS BASTARDS and they are LAUGHING AT US as they drop these hints right in our faces, knowing we won't fucking pick them up until later

god

and there are OTHER references to clocks meaning death in the show (blackbeard also makes this connection, for instance), but this is everything about specifically that clock (at least i fucking hope it is, because if we salvage any more symbolism from this fucking clock it will finally kill ME)

Hello puppy dog man, he didn’t even ASK YET, but you’re JUMPING at the chance to go run more errands. 

——–

The longer Flint held eye contact with Silver the more the other man’s hand shook. When he’d raised the gun, his arm had been straight, his posture firm. Now, as Flint watched, Silver seemed to be shivering as if caught in a winter storm, even as the wet heat of the place pressed heavily against them both. The wild, desperate thing in Silver’s eyes said that he’d make good on his promise of standing here for as long as it took for Flint to come around to his way of thinking, but the tears streaking through the dirt on his face spoke of just how much it was costing him. Silver’s nostrils flared as he tried to get some semblance of control over himself.

Flint took him in and suddenly felt deeply, bone-achingly tired. Tired to such a degree that neither abject drunkenness, nor the constant fighting, nor gnawing hunger, nor wretched grief had ever managed to inspire in him before. 

He’d scoffed at Silver, that night in the forest. By the light of their lantern, he had dared Silver to be his end, some part of him almost eager to see how Silver might make it happen. But the larger part of him simply hadn’t believed it. Terribly foolish, he thought, in retrospect. 

The cage, the doldrums, the warship, the sea itself - since the moment Silver had entered his life he’d been under this man’s power, in one way or another. You will account for me, echoed in Flint’s ears, both mocking and alluring, even now. And then, another, more recent memory:

I told you I’d see you through this. I meant it.

Flint released a breath so long it felt as though he’d expelled the very soul from his body. He let his hands unclench and his shoulders slump. Finally he looked up at Silver who stood watching him, mouth agape. His arm had gone limp from shock, the barrel of his gun pointing somewhere around Flint’s knees. The dying thing inside of Flint whispered: Now - do it now, when his guard is down, before snuffing out completely. 

“Do it,” he told Silver, instead.

Silver stared at him.

“Whatever you’re planning, go head and do it,” Flint insisted. 

Another beat and Silver was fumbling in his coat with his free hand, coming up a moment later with a pair of heavy manacles. He tossed them to the ground at Flint’s feet.

“Put them on,” Silver rasped out, but his finger on the trigger was steady once more. 

Flint did as he was told and then went where Silver’s gestured, beginning their trek back towards where the other men stood waiting. 

Until death, all is life, the words floated into Flint’s consciousness from somewhere far away. 

He could hear Silver behind him, struggling a little with the terrain, doing a less than successful job of covering up the hitch in his step every time his crutch caught on the vines littering the jungle floor. Flint was peripherally aware when they reached the rest of the party, registered vaguely Silver’s explanation to the men, their subsequent wariness, the fact that Silver had kept his eyes resolutely away from Flint’s own. 

Flint’s body moved automatically as they returned to the ship, his exhaustion a fluttering blackness at the corner of his vision. He listed a bit to the side, and felt a hand come up to steady him before it shrank back just as quickly. Not a single thought managed to penetrate the utter blankness of his mind. There was no question about tomorrow, no thoughts concerning his legacy, no gambit that needed mulling over, no worry about whether this day might be his last.

After all, who could say? This was Silver’s story; Captain James Flint might live forever.  

——–

“Until death, all is life […] I still have life in me, and the desire to make good what I have promised.”