CRIT!

One final comparison point between those two shows: MURDER. Or, more specifically, how they treat death. When watching Law & Order or Body of Proof, it’s somehow simple to separate yourself from a scene of ghastly demise. You’re safe on your futon, the horror trapped safely within the confines of your screen, with only the possibility that it will visit you later in your dreams. But both Twin Peaks and Breaking Bad make these scenes inescapable and somehow shed new light on something we’ve seen a hundred times before. Twin Peaks makes death beautiful; Breaking Bad, specific and painfully real. And its protagonists respond accordingly.

For the jury — that is, for myself — I present two of the most grippingly memorable scenes of death on television, both of which find of our heroes facing down mortality with entirely different sentiments: Cooper, with reflection, and Walt, with desperate virility.

In Twin Peaks, season one ends with what is by far one of my favorite scenes of the series. Agent Cooper, having rocked the small town with his investigation — and having accrued no shortage of enemies — is suddenly shot by an unknown assailant. As he’s lying on the floor, an ancient hotel waiter in a crisp bow tie brings him a glass of warm milk and innocently asks, “How ya doin’ down there?” On the floor, bleeding out, Cooper proceeds to pontificate on the nature of death itself:

“ … being shot is not as bad as I thought it might be. It’s not so bad as long as you can keep the fear from your mind. At a time like this, curiously, you begin to think of the things you regret. The things you might miss … all in all, a very interesting experience.”

Breaking Bad’s fourth season holds a similarly engrossing (but far gorier) reckoning with fate. Walter and Jesse are being held captive in their meth lab, awaiting their fate at the hands of Gus, the deceptively mild-mannered drug kingpin. They’ve just murdered one of Gus’s most important employees, and they’re unsure as to how their petrifying, bespectacled boss will react. Finally, Gus arrives, and — as we chew on our hair and rip out our fingernails — slowly removes his jacket and shoes, changing into a protective suit. As Walter pleads his case, desperately rambling and justifying his actions, Gus methodically locates a box cutter. Walter, fearing for his life, tries to save face by asserting himself:

“ … This is on you, Gus. Not on me. Not on Jesse. Gale’s death is on you. What did you expect? Just simply roll over and allow you to murder us? Whatever it is you’re planning there, whatever point you’re trying to make here, let me suggest that you keep one thing in mind: Without us, without Jesse and myself, you have no one to make your product.”

Wordless, expressionless, Gus instead takes one of his own henchmen by the hair and slits his throat with the box-cutter — holding his head firm, so that his blood spurts over a stunned Walter and Jesse. They’re forced to watch him die as he gasps for air.

AHHHHHH!

Both scenes represent each show at their absolute best. They’re filled with stunning visuals, whether it’s the slow seep of blood from Cooper’s body, or the violent spurt of crimson hitting Walt’s face. And both moments take a TV trope — the hero, suddenly aware of his own mortality — that we, as skilled escapists, have seen over and over. Yet both scenes manage to hold our gaze, showing us something new about human nature through the lens of two vastly different men. With Twin Peaks, it’s demonstrated through poetry, randomness, and contemplation; with Breaking Bad, through tension, stillness, and anxiety.

Though the playwright in me has so much love and respect for Twin Peaks’ theatricality, I choose Breaking Bad for its relevance and its immediacy. We live in a world that, both morally and financially, has become increasingly unstable. More and more, it’s every man for himself, and Walter White embodies this. It’s so easy to hide behind our blankets or popcorn, watching action unfold onscreen and think to ourselves, I’d never do that. But Walt teaches us that yep, you probably would. Behind every human choice is a sympathetic motivation, no matter how deplorable. Breaking Bad dares to go further than any other show has dared — further than Twin Peaks — into the difficult truth behind our motives.

— Bekah Brunstetter for Vulture