Spoilers! One of the pleasures of The Mentalist’s first season is watching the writers discover situations that suit Patrick Jane almost too well. In “Red Handed” they send him into a Nevada casino and the fit is so perfect that the episode practically writes itself. Long before the mystery begins to take shape, you get the sense that Jane has found an environment built on exactly the same principles he uses every day: observation, manipulation and the ability to convince people they’re making their own choices.
The case starts with an image designed to grab attention. A severed hand found near the California-Nevada border leads the CBI to Edwin McClain, co-owner of a luxury casino whose death quickly proves to be anything but straightforward. It’s a suitably grisly opening, although the episode’s real attraction lies not in the murder itself but in the world surrounding it.
Casinos have appeared in countless crime dramas over the years, usually as glamorous backdrops populated by gangsters, card sharks and suspicious businessmen. What The Mentalist understands is that the setting works because it mirrors the way Jane thinks. Every flashing light, every carefully controlled environment and every manufactured sense of possibility exists to influence behaviour. Jane walks into that world and immediately starts pulling it apart.
Simon Baker is clearly having fun here. There are episodes where Jane appears mildly detached from the people around him, solving cases because that’s simply what he does. “Red Handed” is different. Whether he’s irritating casino management, casually counting cards or drifting through the gaming floor with a knowing smile, he looks genuinely energised.
The confidence is infectious.
A lesser show might have turned the casino into a distraction from the investigation. Instead it becomes part of the investigation. Jane understands that gamblers, executives and suspects all operate under similar pressures. They tell themselves stories. They convince themselves they’re in control. The trick is making those stories collapse.
The mystery itself is less interested in shocking twists than in exposing layers of deception. McClain’s death sends the team through a maze of financial interests, personal grudges and uneasy partnerships. Everyone seems to be protecting something. Money hangs over nearly every conversation, shaping loyalties and creating tensions that have clearly existed long before the murder.
What keeps the episode moving is the way information emerges. Rather than relying on convenient forensic breakthroughs, the script leans into Jane’s greatest strength. He doesn’t solve crimes because he notices tiny fibres under a microscope. He solves them because he understands how people behave when they are frightened.
That distinction has always separated The Mentalist from many of its contemporaries.
At the height of television’s forensic-procedural boom, the series took a different route. Jane’s toolkit is human rather than scientific. He watches faces. He listens to tone. He notices hesitation. Most importantly, he knows exactly how to make people uncomfortable. Several scenes in “Red Handed” revolve around little more than conversations, yet they’re often more suspenseful than the action sequences found in far more expensive productions.
Robin Tunney also gets some enjoyable material as Lisbon attempts the impossible task of keeping Jane focused. Their partnership is one of the strongest elements of the series and episodes like this remind you why. Lisbon spends much of the hour looking as though she’s supervising an exceptionally intelligent teenager who refuses to behave himself in public. The frustration is real, but so is the trust.
She never quite knows what he’s doing, yet she usually knows he’s onto something.
The supporting team continue to provide reliable balance. Tim Kang’s Cho remains magnificently resistant to the casino’s charms. Whether he’s interviewing witnesses or walking through a room packed with slot machines, his expression rarely changes. The deadpan delivery continues to be one of the show’s secret weapons.
Rigsby, by contrast, reacts exactly as most people probably would when dropped into a luxury casino. There’s an underlying sense of enthusiasm that helps ground the character and keeps him distinct from Cho’s unshakeable calm. The contrast between the pair remains simple but effective.
Where the episode really succeeds is in recognising that casinos are built on self-deception. Every visitor believes they can beat the system. Every losing streak feels temporary. Every bad decision comes wrapped in optimism. The crime at the centre of the episode ultimately grows from the same mentality. People take risks because they believe consequences happen to somebody else.
Until they don’t.
Jane understands this long before anyone else does. For him the solution isn’t hidden in a ledger or buried inside a forensic report. It’s sitting in plain sight, concealed only by the stories people keep telling themselves. Watching him strip away those stories is where the episode finds its greatest satisfaction.
The climactic reveal follows a familiar pattern for the series, yet it works precisely because of that familiarity. Jane doesn’t overpower anyone. He doesn’t uncover a miraculous last-minute clue. He simply creates the right circumstances and waits for the truth to expose itself. The elegance of the method is part of the appeal.
Looking back, “Red Handed” feels like one of the first episodes that fully understands the strengths of its central character. The murder mystery is solid, the performances are strong and the casino setting provides plenty of visual flair, but what lingers afterwards is the sense of watching Patrick Jane operate on home turf.
In a world built on bluffing, reading people and pushing luck further than common sense should allow, he finally looks completely at ease. That’s what makes the episode memorable. The case may belong to the CBI, but the casino belongs to Jane from the moment he walks through the door.
And, as it turns out, he’s the best player in the building.
By Chris Storton
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