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“I Am,” the seventh episode of Lovecraft Country, is all about the power of names. Whether it’s the names that we give ourselves, are given to us, or are assigned to that ineffable tempest of feelings that well up deep inside of each of us from time to time, yearning for recognition through release; the simple act of naming a thing is to have a hand in its creation. It’s no coincidence that the most powerful and sought-after artifact in Lovecraft Country is named, literally, the Book of Names. For Hippolyta, the moral of this episode is simple: to know thyself, and thus to be set free through the certainty of that knowledge, one must name thyself.
Taking place just a few days after we last saw her driving to Ardham in search of answers as to the circumstances behind her husband’s death, Hippolyta is back in Chicago, still tinkering with the gold orrery she found in Leti’s house. Her curiosity, however, has taken on newfound urgency in light of the realizations she made while in Massachusetts: that Atticus, Leti, and Montrose lied to her about George’s passing, and that whatever foul play was responsible for his demise, it’s somehow connected to the mysterious nature of this orrery. We’ve seen the immense prowess of Aunjanue Ellis’ performance as Hippolyta throughout the series, but “I Am” is Lovecraft Country’s first episode entirely devoted to her character’s arc, and the occasion comes not a moment too soon. To the surprise of no-one, she absolutely knocks it out of the park, giving us not only the latest in a long line of terrific performances, but offering the viewer a firmer grasp of Hippolyta’s emotional interiority as a black woman in Jim Crow-era America.
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One thing that we see on full display about Hippolyta this episode, though vaguely gestured at through her previous appearances in the series, is her immense aptitude for mathematics and astronomy. Hippolyta has always seemed like a woman whose aspirations have been stifled by either her obligations as a wife and mother, or by the restrictive gender norms and unrelenting racial biases of her time period. Like Ruby and so many other black women, Hippolyta has been interrupted in her life, to the point of questioning whether her life is truly even hers to live anymore. After unlocking the mechanisms of the orrery, and with them a key and the coordinates to an unknown location, Hippolyta sets out on a journey not only in search of answers, but of self-discovery.
Everybody’s got a secret in Lovecraft Country. Everyone is concealing something from someone else, either deliberately out of fear of reprisal, or unbeknownst even to themselves in the vagueness of their own understanding. Secrets are the ties that bind the Freeman family, and the people caught in their immediate orbit, together, and if left unchecked for too long may very well be the secrets that threaten to tear each of them apart. “I Am” is an episode that not only sees the convergence of most, if not all, of Lovecraft Country’s primary cast in the same vicinity in what feels like forever, but the culmination of several plot threads the series has laid down throughout this season.
The prime example in this week’s episode is the explosive confrontation between Montrose and his son after Atticus and Leti discover his father with his lover Sammy. In a moment of shock and pain, Atticus calls his father a homophobic slur before staring him down in a short but intense argument. “Did mamma know?” Atticus asks Montrose, stepping forward as if to confront him. Montrose, his eyes brimming with tears, tells Atticus that yes, his mother did know. As his son storms off, a visible relief can be seen washing over Montrose’s uneasy expression, as if now relieved that at the very least he doesn’t have to hide who he is anymore from the one person in his life that matters. Jonathan Majors and Michael K. Williams’ chemistry has been nothing short of remarkable throughout their time together on-screen, and this scene in particular stands as one of the absolute best shared between the two. It’s gut-wrenching and exhausting to watch in a way that feels true to life – the uneasy dynamic of a child and a parent watching one other grow in ways that neither could have ever expected.
Atticus’ outburst is less an expression of avowed homophobia as it is one of anger towards his father for denying him the love and support he needed for fear that it would make Atticus “soft,” only for Atticus to discover his father’s fear of his son’s susceptibility to “softness” stems from a conflict within the man himself. It’s a salient example of toxic masculinity: the type of internalized hatred and generational trauma passed down from one generation to the next in the hopes of strengthening them for the future, only to inadvertently stunt their ability not only to fully love others but themselves. It complicates not only our understanding of Atticus’ character, but alludes to an unsavory and otherwise unspoken history of virulent homophobia that persists throughout many black communities to this day. It’s an emotionally raw, painful, and honest depiction of a paternal relationship gone awry that easily ranks among the best scenes of the series to date.
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Another convergence is the reconciliation between Leti and her sister Ruby. The two have neither spoken or seen each other since their argument in the season’s third episode, “Holy Ghost,” and much has transpired in their time apart. Ruby, having discovered the truth behind Christina’s deception, seems nonetheless compliant to her whims, if only in exchange for the serum which grants her the power of whiteness.
However sympathetic her motivations might seem, Christina’s machinations have proven that she is willing to do whatever must be done in order to achieve her aims, even at the cost of others’ safety. Ruby has too, for her own benefit, and so it is for this reason alone she seems to have aligned herself with Christina’s interests. Leti, for her part, has seen and done equally bizarre and extraordinary things since she last saw her sister. Having now experienced dreams of Atticus’ great ancestor Hanna, Leti now suspects that she is pregnant with his child; a fact that, if discovered by either Christina or the Order of the Ancient Dawn, would only endanger her life and the life of the baby inside her.
When Leti and Ruby first speak to each other after so long, the tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. It’s a small, yet in no way minor scene between the two characters, one which signals a positive turn in their relationship that will more than likely be undone when the fullness of the truth is finally revealed between them.
Hippolyta’s storyline however, compared to either Atticus or Leti’s, is far more bizarre by several degrees. After being sucked into a vacillating wormhole in space-time alongside Atticus, she’s transported to a far-off planet from our solar system and subsequently abducted by a strange, imposing extraterrestrial with an enormous afro. “You are not in prison,” her captor tells her as she is forcibly restrained. “but you want to be.” It’s at this point that Hippolyta is commanded to “name” herself, and when asked where she most wants to be, she sarcastically replies dancing in Paris with Josephine Baker. And with that, she’s promptly whisked away at her own command. The scene itself marks one of the most hilarious and freewheeling to appear in the series, with Hippolyta quickly settling into her raucous new lifestyle as a dancer in a montage set to LaBelle’s “Lady Marmalade.” It’s Hippolyta like we’ve never seen her: jubilant, carefree, confident, and spiritually and emotionally alive. Lovecraft Country’s non-diegetic music choices have wavered between being either tonally consistent and thematically meaningful or so irreverent and irrelevant as to come across as brazenly superficial. Luckily, this sequence fits comfortably in the former as an uplifting refrain paired appropriately with Hippolyta’s personal growth through her newfound sisterhood.
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Carra Patterson’s portrayal of Baker is terrific and all-too-short, with a charismatic presence and energy that almost manages to steal the scene right from under Ellis’ feet. As Hippolyta and Josephine relax after another successful performance, Hippolyta confides in her not only the utter freedom she’s felt having been a part of Josephine’s troupe, but her resentment for the life she left behind not more than moments before being dropped into this timeline.
Hippolyta strains to express the fullness of her outrage: at white society for making her feel small and helpless, and at herself for allowing herself to believe that she was in the first place. And something else too… but the words get caught in her throat, as if she’s afraid to give voice to what she truly feels. It’s then that Hippolyta is again whisked away across space through another invocation of her name, this time to an unnamed African village composed of warrior women where she is forced to train in mortal combat before facing off against an army of American Confederate soldiers.
The whole sequence of Hippolyta leaping across time and space feels like an anthology-lite take on Buck Rogers meets Quantum Leap with a Black female protagonist, which goes without saying is an amazing concept that’s executed superbly with awesome fight choreography and great energy throughout. As the carnage of the ensuing battle envelops all around her, Hippolyta invokes her name one last time in order to be where she wants to be the most: at her husband’s side again.
It’s here where we’re finally treated to the long-awaited return of George Freeman. Or at least, a George Freeman. But the happy reunion is short-lived. After grieving her husband’s death, living life without him, enduring the trials of everything she’s seen and felt, Hippolyta finally has the chance to tell George something that’s been weighing on her heart since before the events of the series even began: that she’s had to shrink herself in order to conform to the world – and her marriage. It’s a great scene and profound emotional climax for the episode, with Hippolyta confronting her husband both out of respect for the love they shared together but the realization of her own worth. It’s a moment of affirmation of who she is, not only outside of what White America expects and demands that she be, but apart from even her existence as a wife and as a mother. After all her journeys, Hippolyta finally has what she has always wanted— for her husband to see and support her for everything that she is, not just who she is to him. “I see you now, Hippolyta Freeman,” George tells her before taking her hand to embark on another adventure. “And I want you to be as big as you can be.”
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The episode’s concluding scene is one of the most whimsical and visually rapturous the series has offered so far. Hippolyta, dressed as her daughter’s space-faring superhero Orinthia Blue, and George, her trusted companion, travelling to distant worlds and cataloguing their findings as intrepid explorers, all narrated by a poignant excerpt from Jazz multi-instrumentalist Sun Ra’s 1974 film Space Is The Place. Like Hippolyta, Sun Ra was someone who felt estranged by the circumstances of his lived existence as a black person in a deeply segregated America, and created his own mythical name and persona in a bid to reclaim a sense of power and autonomy over his identity and place in the world. “You don’t exist in this society,” Sun Ra’s voice can be heard as Hippolyta floats weightless through the celestial ether. “If you did your people wouldn’t be seeking equal rights. You’re not real. If you were real you’d have some status amongst the nations of the world. So we’re both myths. I do not come to you as a reality. I come to you as the myth because that’s what black people are—myths.” After having become so much through this cosmic odyssey, Hippolyta chooses nevertheless to return to Earth, if not for herself then for the sake of her daughter. The only difference now is, the choice is entirely Hippolyta’s now. Having named herself, Hippolyta is finally free.
The episode, however, throws us one last curveball by showing us not Hippolyta emerging from the rift caused by Hiram Epstein’s machine, but rather Atticus. Gasping for air, he shouts his aunt’s name as police sirens can be heard growing closer in the distance. Desperately attempting to reactivate the machine to no avail, Atticus ruminates over the small object he was clutching in his hand as he emerged from the portal: a paperback book titled “Lovecraft Country,” written by none other than his late Uncle George. It’s a delightfully meta cliffhanger capping off an already exceptional episode, and one that hints at a whole swath of possibilities in the immediate future. Is Atticus truly fated to die as Ji-ah predicted, or is this a ‘choose-your-own-adventure’ story? What did Atticus see and experience during his encounters through the rift? We’ll have to wait until next week to find out.
