🔥🖤🚬Ghosts Don't Stay Buried for Long 👤💰🔫

Rainbow Sun Francks and Elias Edraki in Jett (2019)

Christopher Backus and Elias Edraki in Jett (2019)

Giancarlo Esposito, Rainbow Sun Francks, and Elias Edraki in Jett (2019)

Rainbow Sun Francks, Christopher Backus, and Elias Edraki in Jett (2019)

Carla Gugino

Elena Anaya

Michael Aronov

Sebastian Gutierrez

Jett tracks down Frank Sweeney, a brutal gangster she and Blair worked for ten years earlier.

Frank Sweeney

🔥🖤🚬Ghosts Don&apos;t Stay Buried for Long 👤💰🔫

There&apos;s something deeply satisfying about watching a show that refuses to rush, that lets tension accumulate like humidity before a summer storm. This one gets under your skin because it understands that the past isn&apos;t some neat backstory you reference in exposition dumps. It&apos;s alive, breathing down your neck, reshaping every present-day decision. Frank Sweeney isn&apos;t just a name on Jett&apos;s list. He&apos;s the scar tissue she&apos;s been avoiding, and the moment she steps back into his orbit, you feel the weight of all those unspoken years pressing against her composure.

Carla Gugino continues to absolutely own this role in ways that make you forget she&apos;s acting. There&apos;s this scene (and I keep coming back to it) where Jett sits across from someone who used to mean something, and her face does almost nothing. Almost. But you catch this flicker, this microscopic shift in her eyes, and suddenly you understand an entire relationship without a single line of dialogue explaining it. That&apos;s the kind of craft that separates good TV from the stuff that lingers in your chest for days. She plays Jett as someone perpetually calculating, but not cold. Calculating because she has to be, because one wrong move in her world means you don&apos;t get a second chance.

The dynamic between Jett and Blair is fascinating because it&apos;s built on this foundation of shared trauma that neither of them wants to fully acknowledge. You get these little glimpses (a glance held too long, a sentence that trails off into loaded silence) that suggest they&apos;ve survived things together that would break most people. And now they&apos;re forced to excavate that history, to walk back into the same nightmare that presumably taught them how dangerous nostalgia can be. The writing trusts you to piece together their relationship from fragments, which I love. No flashback montage scored to some maudlin ballad. Just two people who know each other&apos;s damage intimately, circling each other with caution and something almost like affection.

What this episode does brilliantly is balance the procedural mechanics of the heist world with genuine emotional stakes. Yeah, there&apos;s the surface level cat-and-mouse of tracking down Frank Sweeney, but underneath that is this question of whether Jett can confront her past without it consuming her present. The show has this gorgeous, almost hypnotic visual style (lots of neon bleeding into darkness, compositions that feel borrowed from &apos;70s crime cinema) that makes even mundane conversations feel dangerous. I kept thinking about Michael Mann, the way he shoots Los Angeles like it&apos;s both glamorous and rotting from the inside. That same vibe saturates every frame here.

Frank Sweeney himself, when he finally materializes, isn&apos;t some cartoonish mob boss. He&apos;s worse. He&apos;s believable. You&apos;ve met this guy at a bar, or known someone who worked for him, or sensed his presence in a room before you actually saw him. The kind of predator who&apos;s learned to wear respectability like a suit. And watching Jett navigate that energy, knowing what she knows, creates this crackling tension that the episode milks for all it&apos;s worth.

Would I rewatch this? Absolutely. There are layers here I didn&apos;t fully absorb the first time, small grace notes in the performances and the editing that reward closer attention. It&apos;s the kind of episode that benefits from knowing where things are headed, from catching the subtle setup that pays off three scenes later. Plus, honestly, Gugino&apos;s performance alone is worth revisiting. She&apos;s doing something really special with this character, building someone who&apos;s both hunter and hunted, predator and prey, and somehow making that duality feel completely natural.

There's something deeply satisfying about watching a show that refuses to rush, that lets tension accumulate like humidity before a summer storm. This one gets under your skin because it understands that the past isn't some neat backstory you reference in exposition dumps. It's alive, breathing down your neck, reshaping every present-day decision. Frank Sweeney isn't just a name on Jett's list. He's the scar tissue she's been avoiding, and the moment she steps back into his orbit, you feel the weight of all those unspoken years pressing against her composure.

Carla Gugino continues to absolutely own this role in ways that make you forget she's acting. There's this scene (and I keep coming back to it) where Jett sits across from someone who used to mean something, and her face does almost nothing. Almost. But you catch this flicker, this microscopic shift in her eyes, and suddenly you understand an entire relationship without a single line of dialogue explaining it. That's the kind of craft that separates good TV from the stuff that lingers in your chest for days. She plays Jett as someone perpetually calculating, but not cold. Calculating because she has to be, because one wrong move in her world means you don't get a second chance.

The dynamic between Jett and Blair is fascinating because it's built on this foundation of shared trauma that neither of them wants to fully acknowledge. You get these little glimpses (a glance held too long, a sentence that trails off into loaded silence) that suggest they've survived things together that would break most people. And now they're forced to excavate that history, to walk back into the same nightmare that presumably taught them how dangerous nostalgia can be. The writing trusts you to piece together their relationship from fragments, which I love. No flashback montage scored to some maudlin ballad. Just two people who know each other's damage intimately, circling each other with caution and something almost like affection.

What this episode does brilliantly is balance the procedural mechanics of the heist world with genuine emotional stakes. Yeah, there's the surface level cat-and-mouse of tracking down Frank Sweeney, but underneath that is this question of whether Jett can confront her past without it consuming her present. The show has this gorgeous, almost hypnotic visual style (lots of neon bleeding into darkness, compositions that feel borrowed from '70s crime cinema) that makes even mundane conversations feel dangerous. I kept thinking about Michael Mann, the way he shoots Los Angeles like it's both glamorous and rotting from the inside. That same vibe saturates every frame here.

Frank Sweeney himself, when he finally materializes, isn't some cartoonish mob boss. He's worse. He's believable. You've met this guy at a bar, or known someone who worked for him, or sensed his presence in a room before you actually saw him. The kind of predator who's learned to wear respectability like a suit. And watching Jett navigate that energy, knowing what she knows, creates this crackling tension that the episode milks for all it's worth.

Would I rewatch this? Absolutely. There are layers here I didn't fully absorb the first time, small grace notes in the performances and the editing that reward closer attention. It's the kind of episode that benefits from knowing where things are headed, from catching the subtle setup that pays off three scenes later. Plus, honestly, Gugino's performance alone is worth revisiting. She's doing something really special with this character, building someone who's both hunter and hunted, predator and prey, and somehow making that duality feel completely natural.

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