The Fallout series’ most authentic performances happen in the Wasteland

polygon.com:

The first episode of Fallout, the new streaming series on Amazon, felt a lot like the beginning of Fallout 3 for me — and not in the good way. Swapping out Liam Neeson for Kyle MacLachlan felt like a downgrade going in, but that’s probably because I’m just not a fan of his “subtle dread and kind smile” schtick. Just as in Bethesda’s 2008 sequel, life inside the Vault felt pretty bland, but things really started to open up for me in episode 2, when we finally arrived in the Wasteland.

Fallout starts to feel like Fallout once it hits the irradiated desert and introduces the poor souls who inhabit it. Time after time the series shows these people at their very worst — that is to say, their native state during the post-apocalypse — and those actors absolutely understood the assignment.

One of my favorite performances in the series comes mere moments into Lucy’s first walkabout in the countryside. That’s where she meets the Farmer, portrayed spectacularly by Michael Abbott Jr. (Killers of the Flower Moon). If you’ve enjoyed any of the modern Fallout video games, you’ve likely met a non-player character that looked a lot like this sad sack of shit before.

And these, to me, are the characters who make Fallout what it is. Maybe you gunned the Farmer down in a rush to get from point A to point B, hardly noticing their makeshift diaper flapping in the wind. Perhaps you let the NPC toddle over to start some inane bit of dialogue, thereby revealing a curious quest line not far over the next hill. Either way, these kinds of dipshits are the bread and butter of Fallout’s open world — characters locked to a seemingly random point on the map, walking endlessly in circles, just waiting for the player character to wander over so they can deliver some deeply troubled morsel of dialogue.

Abbott brings the Farmer to life in ways that are achingly human, despite the character’s roots as a disposable mook in a video game. He wears his desperation on what’s left of his sleeve, and his