This week, it seems like they whipped up a frenzy of fake little mini-dramas just so they'd have some sort of framework upon which to hang a series of shot-by-shot rip-offs from Grease -- which is a movie I have not been screaming to see redone, by the way -- so you'll forgive me if this summary's a bit short. You'll also forgive me, I'm sure, if it's a bit lacking in detail, as I found myself zoning in and out over the course of the hour due to sheer boredom.
Anyway: The big news, I suppose, is that Urethra Franklin's out as Rizzo in this week's big musical production. Seems The Maharishi took it upon himself to phone Not-So-Unique's parents to congratulate them on their offspring's success, and much to everyone's surprise, neither Mama nor Papa wants Urethra drawing attention to herself like that. Yes, they had no problems with Not-So-Unique's performance at Nationals last year, but that took place in cosmopolitan Chicago where, as you'll recall, Mayor Emanuel gave her the key to the city for her absolutely amazing amounts of courage, or whatever. As Mama and Papa are pretty sure the town's reaction to their child is going to be quite a different in wee little benighted Lima, they refuse to give their permission for Urethra's participation in the play. Not to worry, though, 'cause Artie just calls up Santana Lopez, who gladly steps in at the last minute as Not-So-Unique's replacement. Just go with it.
But alas! The infernal backstage machinations don't end there. New Quinn, you see, has taken it upon herself to fuck with Boring New Rachel's mind by surreptitiously taking in the waistbands on all of Boring New Rachel's costumes. Because she's a moron, Boring New Rachel actually, honest-to-God falls for this trick, and she very nearly gets her bulimia on in a desperate attempt to slim down until New Finn talks her back from the edge during a scene I found to be awfully sweet, mainly because New Finn looked pretty hot with his hair all up in a '50s pompadour.
Needless to say, the show is a smashing success, but not everyone's happy about it. For some dumb reason, St. Gay Of Lima and Idiot Rachel decided to fly back into town to deal with their respective ex-boyfriends on opening night, and as a result, all four of them wind up miserable by the episode's end. It sounds exciting, I'm sure, but trust me: It's a great, big snooze.
In other news, Drunk Kate Hudson may or may not have slept with Dean Geyer in order to repay Idiot Rachel for yet another of the latter's foolish insults, and Mr. Schue formally hands stewardship of The Glee Club over to Bloaty The Gravy Clown.
Featuring exacting and therefore dull recreations of "Greased Lightning," as performed by New Finn, Really Old Finn, New Puck, Gaylord Weiner, Lady Lips Von Bieberhausen, Speed Racer, and No Longer New Guy With Gross Hair Whose Name I Can't Be Bothered To Look Up, the latter of whom is starting to look like that thing from Predator; "Look At Me, I'm Sandra Dee," as performed by New Quinn, Sugar Motta, Brit-Brit, Single-T Tina, and Urethra Franklin; "Beauty School Dropout," as performed by Dreamboat Blaine and the various ladies of New Directions; "Look At Me, I'm Sandra Dee (Reprise)," as performed (in English) by failed bulimic Boring New Rachel; "There Are Worse Things I Could Do," as performed by Drunk Kate Hudson, Not-So-Unique, and Santana Lopez; and "You're The One That I Want," as performed primarily by the Old and New versions of Finn and Rachel, with backup assists from just about everybody else in the cast.
Snap open on Matthew Morrison, looking deeply depressed over the fact that this show's decided to shitcan his character for the foreseeable future, the better to pander to the idiot teenagers that now make up a majority of its rapidly dwindling audience. Oh, sorry -- my bad. It's actually Mr. Schue, looking deeply depressed about the news he must now deliver to the assembled children of The New New Directions. He heaves a tremendous sigh and begins, "I have an announcement to make." "Adele is dead!" Brit-Brit immediately guesses, which is funny because Glee has this amusing habit of killing the musicians it features. "No," Mr. Schue patiently corrects before confessing he's decided to take a sabbatical to join that much-vaunted (and ultimately useless, I'm sure) blue-ribbon panel of his down in Washington, effective immediately. The children, of course, are shocked and appalled, especially after Mr. Schue admits he'll be gone through Sectionals. Single-T Tina is particularly vexed by this bit of news, and her mood doesn't improve at all when Mr. Schue reveals that Frankenteen will be assuming control of the group as advisor. "Finn cannot take over Glee Club!" Single-T Tina screams, leaping to her feet. "He doesn't know what he's doing at all!" And...point to Tina. A painfully obvious point, but a point nonetheless.
Frankenteen, who'd been precariously perched on a nearby stool, lurches to his ungainly feet to assure them, "I know I can do this, and I've got some really great ideas for Sectionals." "We'll all be DEAD by then!" Single-T Tina howls, igniting an explosion of truly satisfying Finn-bashing from the music room's cheap seats until Coach Sylvester materializes to summon both Frankenteen and Mr. Schue to The Lair Of The Maharishi, pronto.
"I-I-I don't even understand how you found out," Will flusters once we've leapt over to Figgins's office for the fun that's sure to follow. "I have the choir room bugged," Sue duhs, adding, "That plaque with the dead fat lady on it? Her eyes are cameras." Excellent. Will allows that particularly outrageous claim to pass unremarked upon, and after reminding Sue that none of this is really her business in the first place, he notes that he already cleared the whole Frankenteen thing with The Maharishi weeks ago. "I don't see what the problem is," he shrugs. "Of course you don't," Sue deliciously condescends, "because this is just another one of your ill-conceived, bizarrely sentimental schemes that displays absolutely no forethought and appears immediately ridiculous to everyone in America except you." I'm with her so far.