My words will be brief.
I will not write here about how Homeland hooked me from the first moment. No, I won’t.
I will not write here about how Carrie Mathison captivated me from the moment I met her. Of her phenomenal intuition, her defiance of the rules, her perpetual selfishness, her audacity, her bipolar, her irrepressible calling, her permanent discomfort, her voracious determination, her enormous emotional difficulties, her personal way of living (and not living) her life. No, I won’t.
I will not write here about how Nicholas Brody attracted me. Of his weak will, his fractured intimacy, his fate marked in tragedy from the very beginning, his impossibility, his moral values, his broken soul. No, I won´t.
I will not write here about how Saul Berenson interested me. Of his variable morality, his absolute dedication to his work, his relationship with Carrie, his use of Carrie. No, I won’t.
I will not write here about how Peter Quinn caught me. Of his sustained loyalty, his exposed conscience, his constant questioning of his work and his being, his hardness and his enormous vulnerability, his incessant and profound love for Carrie, his invisibility, his desires and impossibilities, his deep sense of duty, his irreparable solitude, of his desolate life. No, I won’t.
I will write here about how Homeland attracted me. The way the characters interacted with each other doing their exceptional work, being the best at it, and at the same time, struggling to bond emotionally. Their public fights and their private ones. That duality is what has deeply captivated me throughout all this time. I have enjoyed the frenetic pace of the action, but much more, the moments of pause, when the characters have settle down, and their most intimate dimension appeared, the most imperceptible, what lies beneath. That is what got me emotionally involved with them. That was my personal tie to the series.
I will write here about how I have lost track of Carrie during the past two seasons. I almost don’t recognize her anymore, I don’t know what she wants anymore, I don’t know what she is looking for anymore, sometimes I don’t even know who she is anymore, or what I want for her.
I will write here about the pain it caused me to see Quinn tortured in the last two seasons. The pain of witnessing the destruction of the character, subjected to incessant, ruthless, physical and emotional torments, shown with overwhelming dignity and poignant inner strength to survive, only thanks to the immense performance of Rupert Friend, who made Quinn and his final course, a broken and sensitive character, stoic, laconic, heartfelt and loved to the impossible.
I will write here about the extreme faith I always had in Quinn. As a viewer, that total faith in him was from where I stood to watch Homeland. Quinn gave me the faith through which to look at Carrie, the faith to understand her actions and her non-actions a little more, the faith to forgive her a little more, the faith to love her a little more. That faith in him was my passage to my faith in her, the protagonist. The faith that Homeland, while telling stories of broken characters in a world of extreme actions and dishonest and disloyal relationships, cared about them. The faith I needed to watch the series and get involved emotionally with the characters.
I will write here about what it means to me that Homeland has killed Quinn. Killing Quinn was killing the only real, selfless and honest ally Carrie had. It was killing the unique and hypnotic relationship that these two had, it was killing the possibility of redemption and forgiveness. It killing the possibility of Carrie’s growth, it was killing the belief that even though you were broken physically and emotionally, there is a possible way out. It was killing the possibility that Carrie could get to love and be loved. It was killing the attempt to tell, as challenging and difficult as it might have been, that Carrie and Quinn, though deeply damaged, might have found in one another a loving place to rest, where they could fight against the darkness that haunts them, where to be themselves, searching for their destiny, finding their way home or almost trying.
Señor Gansa, the death of Quinn and, also, the soulless way you decided to tell it, is the death of my faith and also of my love for Homeland. My love for Carrie and my faith for an overcoming journey for her in some way, my love for Quinn, and my faith for a physical and emotional recovery for him in some way, and finally my faith that you and your team of writers, cared for the characters. Cared for their development, respected them, believed in them and felt love for them, whatever their final destination, as much as I did.