My Femme Nikita
"I was falsely accused of a hideous crime and sentenced in life in prison. One night I was taken from my cell to a place called Section One, the most covert anti-terrorist group on the planet. Their ends are just, but their means are ruthless. If I don't play by their rules... I die."
These haunting words, spoken by Nikita (Peta Wilson), open each
episode of La Femme Nikita, setting the stage for the USA
Network's exceptional spy-drama. Driven equally by a sense of
helplessness and outrage, Nikita is an unusual character for
television, a reluctant but effective killer, at once brutal and
graceful, lonely and hopeful. She's one of the many reasons that
I and many others have become fans of the series. La Femme
Nikita's additional enticements include a combination of
familiar and futuristic (if at times unrealistic) settings, an
outstanding cast, a potent soundtrack, and, a set of recurrent
and interrelated themes, revolving around questions of identity
and trust.
The series has its source in Luc Besson's La Femme Nikita, a
stylish, dark, and brooding French film about an insolent street
vagrant recruited by a ruthless underground agency to serve as
one of their several assassins: Anne Parillaud plays Nikita, the
young woman caught in an unspeakably violent world. A 1983 U.S.
remake, Point of No Return, seems pointless: star Bridget Fonda
is miscast, John Badham's direction is lackluster, and the ending
unsatisfactory. However, a constant element in all three
incarnations is Nikita's illicit romance with her primary Section
One instructor, who subsequently becomes torn between his duty
and his passion.
This love story seems central to the series' success. Premiering
in 1997, TV's LFN attracted a small but dedicated audience with
the first few episodes, and has since become an important part of
USA's schedule. This has nothing to do with the Nielsen ratings,
mind you, but concerns its increasingly international following,
fans who watch the show attentively, discuss and research it
obsessively on the web, and savor its solid writing and strong
cast. I have yet to notice a weak link in the core group of six,
all of whom have indie film or offbeat TV experience, in the U.S.
and Canada: Wilson (Loser and the upcoming Mercy) as Nikita;
Ray DuPuis (J'en Suis, Being At Home With Claude) as Michael,
her teacher and lover; Matthew Ferguson (Lilies, Love and
Human Remains) as Birkoff; Don Francks (Johnny Mnemonic) as
Walter; Eugene Robert Glazer (The Five Heartbeats) as
Operations; and Alberta Watson (The Sweet Hereafter, Spanking
the Monkey) as Madeline.
The plot revolves around Nikita, "recruited" by Section One when,
as she reminds us each week in her opening monologue, she was
facing life in prison. The agency faked her death and erased her
identity, then trained her as a missions operative and killer.
Although Nikita's every material need is met by Section One's
considerable resources, she remembers her former life as
relatively independent, as shown in repeated flashbacks to her
rough street life. By contrast, scenes of her present existence
emphasize her sense of being watched and monitored at all times.
Section One operates under tight codes of security and secrecy,
forcing its assassins to be loyal and obedient. LFN
characterizes Section One as greedy and ruthless, but, like any
corporation, worried about its image, at least as this is
manifested in its "workers." The Section One directors see any
display of emotion as a sign of weakness, and any reference to
the past as a threat to their deeply undercover missions.
One of these workers is Michael. Also Nikita's lover, mentor, and
operations commander, he is the only operative with high-level
security clearance, that is, access to invaluable information no
one else knows. Section One's leaders distrust Michael, because
he knows too much and because he has plainly fallen in love with
Nikita. They also distrust him because he one of their top
operatives and may one day replace them. And with Michael's
increasing access to information (such as the exact location of
Section One, which not even the audience knows this season), he
has become less tractable: he's often more interested in helping
Nikita than in completing his assignments. In response, Madeline
and Operations last season considered "canceling" Michael, to
prevent him from leaking Section One's secrets.
Michael and Nikita's relationship has remained a complex one from
the series' inception. Until last season, it was never quite
clear just how much they cared for each other. In the first
season, we were led to believe Michael was using Nikita as a pawn
in Section One's manipulations. During the next two seasons, he
seemed slightly less manipulative, and their relationship matured
in response to hostility from Section One. Even when ordered to
stop, neither Michael nor Nikita were able to do so. Madeline and
Operations' obsessive even melodramatic interest with the
romance, even amid all of the murder and political intrigue, led
to the fourth season premiere, two hours full of intrigue and
deception, culminating with the revelation of a key figure's
background.
Episode One, entitled "Getting Out Of Reverse," focuses on
neuro-engineering. Section One demands complete compliance from
its agents, molding them into emotionless assassins. Nikita,
however, remains too strong-willed and passionate to be the
agency's robot, especially where her feelings for Michael are
concerned. So, the directors enlist a scientist who has developed
new, more efficient methods of brainwashing, to assure Nikita's
acquiescence. "Getting Out of Reverse" then poses the following
question: after the treatment, will Nikita remain Nikita, or will
she succumb to Section One's plan to make her a flawless, amoral
mercenary, rather than the "good actress" she had been up until
this point? LFN's three major themes the instability of
identity, fear of deception, and the star-crossed romance come
together when, after her treatment, Nikita tells Michael, "I
don't love you anymore." Viewers are left wondering. Does she
mean it? Or is she performing for Section One, knowing that she's
being monitored at every moment?
The second episode of the two-part season premiere, entitled
"There Are No Missions," picks up on these themes. Fans who have
been watching from LFN's beginning will know what I mean when I
say that the episode reveals that the first neuro-engineering
test subject is the "true mother" of Section One. That is, the
show reveals that it has, itself, been deceiving the audience
over a question of identity. (Not to mention that the identities
of both this "true mother" and Nikita are in danger, for a side
effect of the neuro-engineering process is a total loss of
memory.) Both of these episodes showcase the series' ongoing
concentration on three main themes, again concentrating on
deception, identity, and romance (Nikita seems poised to "cancel"
Michael, though he holds out hope that her deep love for him will
overcome her new programming). And both have the full-on visual
and emotional impacts of any big screen drama or thriller, though
filtered of vulgar language and extreme violence. LFN uses an
almost Hitchcockian restraint, implying rather than showing
violent excesses, leaving at least a little bit of
characterization and action to the viewer's imagination.
I have often pondered what makes LFN work, what makes me watch
it so religiously, aside from the titillation of the forbidden
romance. I think it is this restraint, the fact that the show
doesn't spell everything out for its viewers, that it respects
our intelligence and ability to discern the meanings of Nikita's
or Operations' subtle glances, body language, and twisted smiles.
The show resists the typical TV drama's tendency to explain too
much in dialogue or assert easy moral lessons. Actually, most of
LFN's episodes close with questions rather than resolutions and
feature little dialogue, offering instead stylized visual
compositions and evocative soundtrack. Indeed, one of the series'
strongest elements is its music, including the eerie theme song
by Mark Snow and score by Sean Callery. (A tie-in soundtrack cd,
released in 1998, features artists like Mono, Curve, Enigma, and
Morphine.)
For many viewers, LFN offers a brief respite from daily
routine. In some cases it has become its own routine, even a
ritual. The series is surely escapist, quixotic, even, on
occasion, campy. But at the same time, its persistent attention
to quotidian concerns common uncertainties concerning identity
and faith continues to seduce and thrill viewers, perhaps even
making us look twice at our own relationships.