Hank Moody buried his talents, and almost died for his sins
Because we know neither the day nor the hour, how we spend our time matters. The moral of the Hank Moody story was taught long ago, in Matthew 25.
Matthew 25:13: “Therefore keep watch, because you do not know the day or the hour.”
By the time we meet novelist Hank Moody, he has lost the plot.
The protagonist in the former Showtime comedy, Californication, has behind him success writing novels and screenplays.
But bad behavior has dried up his opportunities. It drove Karen, his love, and Becca, their daughter, into the home of another man.
He’s not writing anymore. He has nothing to say.
Even Moody’s one remaining superpower, the ability to attract beautiful woman no matter how busted his circumstance, turns against him in the pilot episode, when he beds Mia.
Mia is beautiful, tall, and charming. Problem is, she is 16, and that’s way illegal.
Moody’s discernment in choosing women to share a bed with is long gone, if it ever existed. There’s no vetting process, beyond assuring a willingness to fornicate. He never asks how old she is, and she doesn’t say, until after it’s too late.
Moody spends four seasons trying to outrun one night with Mia, who is the daughter of the man Karen left him for.
Hank and Karen come together, fall apart, and reunite.
But Moody can never rest easy. His secret casts a pall over everything. Can you ever really relax when you know, one day, the piano will drop from the string, right onto your head?
Long before A Bronx Tale told us that wasted talent is the saddest thing in the world, the Bible told us it comes with “weeping and gnashing of teeth.”
Matthew 25 tells the parable of the talents. A master gives out 8 talents to his three servants, “each according to his ability,” we’re told in 25:15. Talents come out to more than $1,000 each, though that estimate doesn’t account for 2022 inflation.
One servant was given five. The next, two. The last, one.
While the other two servants invest their talents, and double the money, the third, the one thought to be least capable, lived up to that reputation.
Rather than grow his stack, he buried his talents.
When the master returns and sees that the others grew their talents, they get more. The servant given five gets five more. The servant given two gets two more.
When the master returns and finds that one servant buried his talent, he is angry. He says he would’ve been better off banking the money, and sends the servant out of his presence. There Will Be Weeping.
Both of the industrious servants are told by the master, individually: “Well done, good and faithful servant! You have been faithful with a few things; I will put you in charge of many things.”
From few to many. That’s the growth that comes when we invest our talents.
Hank Moody’s career went from many to few, at least when we first meet him.
He goes from novels and screenplays and high-paid on-set screenwriting gigs to writing memoir and teaching writing, neither of which he shows a real skill for.
The one viable novel he writes in three seasons is stolen by Mia. As she keeps his secret about the sex, Moody is forced to keep hers — that she’s a fraud, whose gains are ill-gotten.
But as Mia tells Hank: “That’s the thing about secrets. They have a funny way of getting out.”
In season 3, episode 12, Moody’s universe explodes. The truth becomes so known, so out there, no longer under wraps, that he’s forced to tell Karen himself — before she hears it from the cops or on the news.
It takes until the end of season 4 for his court case to resolve, and when it does, it becomes clear Moody is lucky to have a daughter.
If judged by the life he led, the work he had done, or his impact on others, he might’ve gotten the three years in prison that were possible.
But then there was sweet Becca, a teenage girl who deserved better, and hadn’t gotten it.
As the judge says at Moody’s sentencing:
“Mr. Moody, you are a tragic disappointment. You behave like an animal. You live in flagrant disregard for the rules of society…
“You have been found guilty of statutory rape. But the real crime here is not one of moral turpitude. Your true crime is that you seem committed to squandering your gifts, and wasting what appears to be a rewarding life.
“You have a young daughter. I am forced to consider what time away does for a prisoner’s daughter.”
Moody is sentenced to three years of probation. With the court case behind him, Moody picks up his pen again. He writes a best-selling memoir called Californication and rips off script after script.
With a new lease on life, he stops burying his talents. His writing is no longer blocked.
He also gets laid considerably less. For the first time in his life, Moody has perspective on what’s really important.
After facing down three years in prison, Moody counted it all joy to get high-paid screenwriting jobs again.
From the trial of his life he was granted perspective. Our challenge is to get that perspective without a high-profile court case, without prison looming overhead.
If it was up to David Duchovny, the actor who brought Hank Moody to life, Moody would have died for his sins. Not in season 4 per se, but in the finale.
“I always wanted Hank Moody to die,” Duchovny told Rolling Stone in 2014, as Californication was nearing its end. “That would have been my way of ending it.”
There are many reasons this didn’t happen. First, the sudden death Duchovny envisioned was died by Lew Ashby to end season 2.
Second, can anyone name a series where the lovable main character dies long before his time, killed by the lifestyle we’ve enjoyed them partake in? This would’ve turned the morality tale around, onto the audience. Californication’s rewatch value would’ve gone to zero.
As Duchovny saw it, the moral of the story should have been that our actions catch up with us, eventually. Even if we’re a good writer or a charming presence.
How we spend our time matters, because we do not know the day or hour when we will be judged. If you stay ready, you won’t have to get ready.
When Rolling Stone asked Duchovny about a guide to “Becoming Hank Moody” that someone had written, and if the actor who played him had any advice to add, Duchovny was disgusted by it all.
Anytime a cool, good-looking guy seems to get laid at will, he will build a following of male admirers, hoping to learn how.
Duchovny hoped to disavow that, and show that the choices we make carry consequence. That living the way Hank Moody did was not a victimless crime — that it was hardest of all on himself.
“I’d say, Don’t!’” Duchovny told Rolling Stone. “I don’t think it would make for a very easy life. That’s why I wanted him to die. I wanted that to be the lesson.”
Showtime had other plans, including hopes for a reboot someday, which has yet to materialize nearly a decade later. In Hollywood the moral of the story is always: “The show must go on.”
Our hour of judgment is coming, at a time uncertain.
How well are you using your talents? If your time came today, can you honestly say you did the best you can with what you’ve been given? If not, what needs to change?
If we learn these lessons from the Hank Moodys of the world, we won’t have to learn them the hard way, for ourselves.