Anyway, the dancers are all artfully posed within a huge frame, and the music informs us that the art gallery is now closed, which is I guess when the paintings all come to life and start pirouetting in skimpy feathered wear. There are lifts and spins and kicks and jetes and handclaps. Then the dnacers run through the picture frame, and they all shimmy and shake wave their arms and then jump back into the picture frame and the constant cuts by the camera are starting to give me a headache.
Cat comes out to welcome us all and to thank Tasty Oreo for the choreography, and then introduces the judges, featuring just as much Mia Michaels as last night, and then Cat gets right to it by bringing the first two couples out on stage. Karla and Vitolio did the quickstep. Nigel thought it was entertaining, Mary screamed, and Mia said Karla needs to keep her face as bright as her dress. Randi and Evan did a Broadway routine. Mary liked it, Nigel liked Randi but was disappointed in Evan, and Mia thought Randi was a little heavy.
Cat opens her envelope of doom, and Randi and Evan are safe, meaning Karla and Vitolio are in the bottom two. Nigel says it's sad that the competition means someone has to go home. Yes, it is unfortunate that that's what competition means.
Three more couples are on stage: Janette and Brandon did the cha-cha-cha, which Nigel called "possibly the best damn cha-cha" he has ever seen on this show, and had Mary screeching. They're safe, big surprise, and walk off the stage to hugs from Randi and Evan. Kayla and Kupono did a contemporary piece that the judges all loved. Meanwhile, Melissa and Ade did the classic Romeo and Juliet ballet routine that had the judges praising them, especially Melissa. To be fair, Melissa saw the debut performance of that ballet, so she had an advantage. The judges also spent as much time congratulating themselves for bestowing such a gift upon people who watch Fox. And it turns out Melissa and Ade are safe, while Kayla and Kupono are in the bottom three.
Mia's shocked, because she thought Kayla and Kupono were the best dancers last night. I'm shocked, because Mia appears to be wearing a smock like you wear when you get your hair cut so you don't get clippings all over your clothes.
After the commercial break, the final two couples are on stage. Caitlin and Jason have some supporters in the audience, holding up "Aliens for Caitlin," dressed in tinfoil hats. Cat asks Caitlin who those "reprobates" are, and we find out it's Caitlin's family.
The other couple on stage are Jeanine and Phillip, who did the chained hip-hop routine that the judges thought were really cool, and apparently Jeanine and Phillip are cohabitating now. Niiiiice. Meanwhile, Catilin and Jason danced that routine that made utterly no sense. An alien wants to mate with a human, so she destroys the human race except for one man, whom she then tries to impregnate? I'm guessing it was because everyone was so confused that they didn't know how to vote against the aliens, and it's Phillip and Jeanine who are in the bottom three.
Cat asks if Nigel's surprised, and Nigel shrugs and points out that everyone has different tastes, which is good, otherwise we'd all like the same food, etc. Sure, but then wouldn't that also mean that nothing would suck? Mary notes the irony of Phillip and Jeanine avoiding the bottom three while doing all styles of dance but their own, and then when Phillip gets hip-hop they're in the bottom three.
Poor Cat. She looks so tired! Must be because of the rigours of shooting two seasons at once. Bad idea! Who do you think you are, Back to the Future installments 2 and 3? Complexions Contemporary Ballet presents Patricia Hachey and Desmond Richardson dancing a routine. A man and a woman, the man dancing first. Muscular, strong like bull. I'm not a huge contemporary fan, but it's not difficult to see the leap in quality from one of the competitors on this show to someone who puts food on his table with his ability to do this. Same with the woman; when she gest going, the two of them might as well halves of the same person. Best move: The woman lifting her leg over her head, and the man spinning her around on her toe.
Another commercial break, and now we're into the solos. Karla's up first, dancing like a bird to -- what else -- the Dionne Farris cover of "Blackbird." Annoying! Boo! Then Vitolio somehow manages a more annoying musical choice: Rascall Flatts. I mean, seriously. His contemporary thirty seconds are all right, but especially after the professional routine we just saw, it seems like the same stuff we see all the time.
Kayla comes on to Sarah McLachlan, "Stupid," and appears to be waving her arms to clear all the music away from her ears. She's not going home. The judges love her too much. Kipone's next dancing to this world music version of "Somewhere Over The Rainbow." He seems tired too. His pirouettes don't seem complete somehow.
After the commercial break, Jeanine puts a little effort into her routine, dancing to "Moonlight Sonata." She's very strong. She does a tick-tock motion, and spins a lot. And then here comes Phillip, who thank GOD is something different. He contorts his arms so that it looks like they're being broken and rebroken. He does the thing where it looks like he twists his legs around like a rubber band and then lets it go. He dances to Santigold, which I thought was misspelled for the second night in a row, but turns out Santogold became Santigold a few months ago.
And then, in the words of Andy Stitzer, "Ah, Kelly Clarkson!" She comes out to sing a song, that one where someone is not supposed to drink because he has too much talent, or some such. Then she is leading the audience in some synchronized clapping, so that's enough of that.
After a commercial break, the women are lined up, and Nigel says they're unanimous. He tells Jeanine to step forward, and says it can be hard to stand out when you're paired with someone as unique as Phillip, but she had the strongest solo of the evening, so she should go sit down and relax. Kayla? She's one of the judges' and choreographers' favourites, but her solo tonight was static, and not really from the heart. Karla -- Nigel calls her a very good dancer, but she hasn't quite captured the star quality that they felt she had at the beginning, so they're saying good night to her.
After the montage, Karla says she's going to remember all the friends she's made. But they'll all be too busy touring to keep in touch!
And now it's time for the men. Nigel says they were unanimous again in this case. Phillip's first, and Nigel calls him unique, but tonight he seemed a little desperate, and they feel he has an awful lot of work to do to master the different styles, but that's what he's going to get a chance to do. He's staying. Vitolio's next. Nigel says they feel like he presents himself brilliantly, but he doesn't really deliver anything apart from a great presence. Nigel then calls Kupono's solo "weak," saying it's a good thing it's not called So You Think You Can Choreograph. They're going to be expecting more passion from him next week; he's staying. Someone way too close to a microphone yells, while Kupono throws his head back, relieved. After the montage, Vitolio gets a little choked up as he tells Cat about all the e-mail he received from people saying he inspired them. I guess someone else will have to talk them down from the ledge next week.
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There's an American flag! And a bouncy Aaron Copeland-esque score! The sky is so blue! And, there's a sports stadium that is being demolished, backed by Thomas Jane telling us that everything is falling apart. He tells us that it all started here in Detroit, the "headwaters of a river of failure." Wow. That is harsh and fancy. I've always been fascinated by Detroit (never been there) and I'm not sure why. Probably because it's so "American" and everyone I meet from Detroit is pretty cool. Did you know that you can buy a house in Detroit on eBay for like 75 cents? I'm not even kidding. Here's an image of a car being crushed. Oh, economy. Our narrator says the he's glad his parents aren't around to see everything turn to shit. They were "normal" Americans with "normal" jobs. His parents weren't pummeled by property taxes and homeowner associations and beauty queen ex-wives. Hmm, I think our narrator is revealing something about himself.
Now, we get our first glimpse of Thomas Jane. He's dressed in coach's garb (khakis and polo with school logo on it) and is walking hesitantly into a locker room. He VO's that his parents wouldn't give him any excuses for the way his life has turned out, if they were alive. They would tell him to get the job done, no excuses. You have to do the best with whatever God-given gifts you possess. I can wiggle my ears. Now, he's standing in front of a high school basketball team. He VO's that he tries to teach "his kids" (players as well as real kids?) the same thing. He shows them a picture of some weird insect -- a dung beetle. He explains that a dung beetle carries around his ball of shit all of the time. He eats it, sleeps with it, and talks to it at night. This is making me sick. He asks the players if they know what point he's getting at. "More man on man coverage?" "No Jerry." Well, Jerry's guess is just as good as anyone's. If someone could explain the goal of esoteric rhetorical questions, I'd really like to know. I mean, first of all, he's talking about a beetle. Who's really going to connect that with high school basketball? Maybe Dennis Miller. Second, he doesn't want them to answer correctly because it would ruin the impact of the speech. Not to mention, there's no correct answer anyway, because this is all going to be some crazy metaphor. So just GET ON WITH IT. Seriously, one of my least favorite things in the world. But, it does reveal that our protagonist may be a pretty clever thinker. Anyhoo, Thomas Jane tells us that, unlike the dung beetle, the team shouldn't be lugging their shit around with them, especially not on the court for their game this evening. He points out that shit happens -- one of the players' girlfriend just broke up with him, another dropped a weight on his foot, yet another will not be able to play on the team if he gets another bad day. In fact, just like last year, it looks like the team is going to get their teeth kicked in every week! This guy is really not hitting all of the notes required in a pep talk. He's grimacing a little and an assistant coach asks him if he's OK. He says that he is. He finishes by telling the team to leave their shit in the locker room and pretend that they're on the winning streak that they are going to start this evening.
As the team heads to the court, he pats them all on the back. Then when they're all gone, he grabs his side and falls to his knee. The assistant asks "Ray" if he's all right. He says that it feels like another kidney stone. The assistant wonders if he'd like for him to call the nurse. No, he'll be fine, he says. Then, he grabs his side again as he suffers from an apparent second wave of pain. On second thought, Ray says, he thinks he'll drive himself to the hospital. He tells the assistant coach to "run the system" while he's gone. The assistant replies that he doesn't know the system as well as Ray, so Ray breaks it down and tells him to "put up some screens and give the ball to Donovan." Then, he takes off, leaving the assistant coach perplexed.
Ray exits the back of the building and, once he's out of sight, stops clutching his side. We see him driving in his red SUV as he gets on I-75 for downtown Detroit. He VO's that he lied and he's not proud of that, but desperate times call for desperate measures. We see Ray changing into a sports jacket behind a graffiti-marked building amidst a bunch of overgrown weeds. Broken glass? Rats? Watch yourself, Ray, you're about to gift yourself with some tetanus real quick. He asks us if we know how much a schoolteacher makes these days, then concedes that a teacher in Michigan makes more than the national average. Really? He adds that the national average is "more than a waiter, less than a plumber. It's about half of what it takes to live a normal life." Um, that's a little snotty. Plumbers actually make pretty good money. Have you ever used one? Arm and a leg. I think Mr. Ray here must look down on plumbers. He says that a lot of teachers have side gigs. Some day trade, some use eBay. He tells us that his side gig is the oldest profession in the world. So, being a whore is more attractive than plumbing. He is in a hotel and straightening himself up in front of a mirror. He tells us that this is his first day on the job. Maybe he was really in pain before, from the fierce waxing he got for preparation? As he walks down the hallway of the hotel, he tells us that he has had a rough couple of years. Looks like we're flashing back to those rough years.
He says that it all started when his wife, Jessica, divorced him after 20 years of marriage and two kids. We see him unloading a moving truck with the help of his teenage kids. He had to kick the renters out of his deceased parents' house (where he grew up) and move in there. The bright spot, he tells us, was that his twins wanted to live with him. Then, he had a kidney stone, which turned into a prostate scare. We see him getting a rectal exam from a female doctor. Prelude of things to come. Then, the basketball team he coaches has had an unprecedented losing streak, which means that angry people toilet paper his house all of the time. Also, a prick lawyer moved into the McMansion next door to his older more modest home. He had already been given grief from the homeowner's association regarding the upkeep of his property, but the lawyer is apparently much worse. His name is Howard Koontz and we see him introduce himself to Ray with a smile. Even his property is higher than Ray's and he's literally talking down to him as they have a conversation. He tells Ray that he's having an open house that weekend, which Ray takes as an invitation. What he's really saying though is he'd like for Ray to clean out his gutters and tidy up his lawn. In all fairness, his place looks pretty dumpy. Ray VO's that the fucker got Ray cited three times by the homeowner's association in the first month that he lived there. Clean the damn gutters, Ray.
The worst thing, Ray tells us, was yet to come. We see his house, late at night. Everyone's asleep. There's a lamp on in the living room. We see his mantle filled with sports trophies from his youth. There's an electrical outlet with multiple power strips -- extension cords everywhere. The leg of a chair is pressing on an electrical cord and we see it start smoking. The fire grows quickly. There's a picture of the Dreckers holding a newborn Ray. There's no battery in the smoke alarm. Suddenly, Ray's son, Damon, bangs on the door of a sleeping Ray. He tells him that the house is on fire. We see the fire destroy all of the memories of Ray's glory days. Ray seems like a bit of a fuck up. How has he not killed his kids or himself already? It's a small house. What the hell were they powering in there, a subway?
Outside the house, in their pj's, Ray asks Damon where his sister is. Darby shows up in an SUV with hip-hop blaring from inside. She's the passenger. She gets out and approaches the burning house in horror. Ray is more concerned about where she was and who she was with. She says she was with Hammer as she hugs her father. He screams for Hammer to stop, but Ray can't touch that. He's outta there. Ray screams at Darby that he called her and their rule is that she always answers the phone. She cries that the battery died (much like the one in the smoke alarm -- wait there wasn't even a DEAD battery there) and Damon tells him to stop yelling. He says he's sorry and asks for a huddle (aka hug). He looks at Damon and asks him if he's wearing lipstick. Damon just walks away and Ray's all, "What the hell's going on around here?"
The next morning, Ray is standing outside of the house as what remains of it is boarded up. A guy tells Ray that he should get a hotel room -- his insurance will pay for it. He kind of pauses and Darby tries to confirm that he does indeed have insurance. He says that he does have insurance, but he's not staying in a hotel. Charred houses are targets for thieves and vandals, so they're going to stay in a tent by the lake in back. The twins look at him in horror and step away. Darby calls her mom on the cell phone with the dead battery. Ray VO's that this was the moment when he lost the kids. We see a boat drive by and wave at Ray while he's drinking a 40. There's a blinking green light on the other side of the lake. He asks, "What happened to my life?" Well, you didn't have a fire plan, that's one. Seriously, dude, you'd be a lot worse if you had some dead kids on top of everything else. He says that he used to be a big deal. Now it's night and he's still sitting there. He tells us that he seems to spend most of his time now trying not to drown. The microwave that he has set up outside beeps.
In daylight, we see Ray look at the damage inside his house. Some of it looks salvageable, but the living room is completely destroyed, including a huge hole in the roof. Ray looks through the hole, to the heavens. Later, when he's stapling a tarp over the hole on the roof, Howard drops by. He reminds Ray that he has offered to purchase Ray's property, but Ray tells him to fuck off and get off of his lawn.
He needed help, he tells us. So, he drops by a catered affair that his ex-wife is having at the lovely home she lives in with her new husband, Dr. Ron Haxon. He's a dermatologist and he's played by the awesome Eddie Jemison, of Waitress brilliance. Frankly, it's getting harder and harder (no pun intended) to be on Ray's side. Ray VO's that Ron is the "overcompensating little fucker who stole his wife." For what is he overcompensating? That his dick isn't massive? So, the thesis of this show might be that those with big wanks aren't motivated to do anything else with their lives? Then, he spots Lotte Brandt, his former mother-in-law. She's played by Marylouise Burke, who I recently saw onstage in The Savannah Disputation. Also amazing. He says that she looks naked without her breastplate and horned helmet. She's an opera star? She approaches him aggressively and asks him with a German accent if it makes him happy to almost kill her grandchildren. He says that, no, it wasn't a good feeling. Heh. Anne Heche shows up and shoos her mother away. She asks Ray what he's doing there and he reminds her that she always tells him to drop by, so that's what he's doing. She says that the kids are inside playing Wii and love it there. Jab. Ray says that she wasn't always like this.
Flashback to 2 years earlier where Jessica is screaming that Ron is a fucking doctor and saves lives. He reminds her that he's a dermatologist and that they went to school with Ron. He's a turd. Jessica says that he loves her, but Ray says he loves her too. That's not enough. She puts a planter of tulips in the back of her minivan and Ray tells her to put them back, but she says they're her fucking bulbs. He asks her if she's leaving because Ron's rich and she asks him if she thinks she's that shallow. Pause. Well, maybe she is that shallow, but she's deep enough to admit her shallowness. She's only shallow because she chooses to be shallow. I can buy that. She says, perhaps to herself, that she was a beauty queen and made the most cliché choice by marrying Ray. She gets into the minivan where Lotte is in the passenger's seat. She says that, in high school, Ray was beautiful, athletic, smart, popular, and hung. Now, he's only hung. You talk like that in front of your mother? She drives away with tulip leaves hanging out of the back of the van.
We're back in the flashback as opposed to the flashbackback. Ray struggles to ask Jessica for a loan. After she delivers drinks to some of her guests, she asks Ray if he has spoken to his insurance claims adjuster. Well, there was a mix-up. As in, he let his insurance lapse. Ronnie approaches and offers his sympathy regarding Ray's house. Ray plays it cool. Then, Ronnie suggests that Ray have a mole removed from his neck, free of charge. Still doesn't seem like a bad guy. After Ronnie is gone, Ray continues his plea. He adds that Koontz is trying to get him to sell his place. Jess thinks that's a great idea. He says that he's not selling his childhood home. His back is against the wall and he wouldn't ask for help if it were just him, but he's got the kids to think about. She corrects him -- she's got the kids. For good. He says they'll come back to him because he's fun and relaxed and she's uptight. Way to ask for a loan, Ray. She reminds him that he almost got them killed. So, he tells her to forget it. Dumb Ray. He gets back into his SUV, crestfallen. He looks like he's about to pray, but he doesn't. He sees a flier in his newspaper that advertises a seminar for getting rich.
Next we see Ray at a community center. He goes to a room and asks a man if he's in the right place for the "Unleash Your Inner Entrepreneur" class. He is, if he wants to be, the guy replies. The same man is teaching the class. He tells them that they hold inside the secrets to becoming rich. Jane Adams enters the class late. Ray VO's to himself, "Shit, what's her name again?" Tanya Skagle, the poet. We see a flashbackback to his history class at school. There's a student reading poetry at the front of the class while Ray leans back and listens. He says that, a couple of years ago, the school district had a program to bring poets into the classroom. Local poets would come to the classroom -- any subject, any time. So, when he couldn't get his lesson plan together, he would call a poet. Tanya was one of those poets. After the student is finished, she tells him that, though in an English class they would discuss rhythm, for a history class, he really captured the essence of a common man fighting for a dream.
Ray VO's that he should have known better than to accept Tanya's invitation for tea. The next we see, Ray is boning Tanya as she moans loudly. "Oh my God, you're so big!" she screams. Ray seems put off. He says that the patchouli smell alone should have warned him. He was really bothered by all of the noise she made. So, he never called her again.
Back in the class, the instructor tells them that their secret to success may be a talent or an idea for a product. He likes to call it a "tool." Their homework is to identify their own tool. Then, they will discuss ways to market their tools. After class, Tanya catches up with Ray. He says that he hasn't seen her in a while and she says that the grant ran out. "No more poets in schools," she laments. There's no way to explain how perfectly Adams says that line. It's so lame hippie. He asks her if she'd like to grab some coffee. "Maybe some tea," she replies. Next, they're fucking. She's loud again. And, she tells him how big he is. It's almost like she's being killed. Her face is so ridiculous. I love her.
Afterwards, Ray is lying on her bed while she's reading poetry beside him. He sees a tattoo on her forearm that reads "Proust." After she's finished, he says that he's got to leave. He stands and puts his underwear on and it's shot like when you first see a little bit of the shark for the first time in Jaws. You don't really see anything, but the suspense is there. Tanya sits on the side of her bed and looks at him for a moment as he finishes putting his clothes on. She asks him if that's his thing and he acts like he doesn't know what she's talking about. "Come on, Ray." She thinks his thing is being cold and distant after sex. He says that he's not cold. She puts her face in her hands and asks herself why she sleeps with people like Ray. He knows nothing about her life and has no interest in learning. She says that he has the emotional maturity of a 12-year-old. He replies that he has a lot going on in his life and doesn't have the time for games. Plus, if she really wanted to get to know him, she wouldn't have slept with him so quickly. Twice. Nice. "So, what, now I'm a slut?" He says that she isn't, but she shouldn't bring a guy home because she's horny, then act wounded when he doesn't want to stick around. "You liked what you had the first time, you wanted it again, fine." Adams is like a half beat slower in response than you would imagine someone to be and, again, it's kind of perfect. "I liked what I had the first time?" He says that's right, unless he's deaf. She asks what he means and he says she comes a lot, though that doesn't make her a leper or anything. She's kind of rubbing her nose, then stammers and says, "You think I come too much?" Seriously, if there's anything that's funnier than that, I don't know. She's so freaking pitiful right now. She's stunned and screams that he's not a genius in bed, if that's what he's trying to say. "OK, so you have a big dick. Whoopee!" He replies, "It's not the first time I've heard the news, Tanya." Gross. She calls him an egotistical asshole and says that she needs to change her sheets. While he's sitting down and putting on his shoes. She says that, if he thinks she likes him merely because of his big penis, she feels sorry for him. Oh my God! She's seriously discomfort perfection right now. Then, she starts taking her pillowcase off and mutters, "Big penis. What do you want, a parade?" He says that he will see her in class and she screams, "What an asshole." As he's walking to his car, she comes onto her balcony and tells him that a great idea for him becoming a millionaire would be for him to market his dick. But, she's just trying to be insulting.
He immediately starts thinking. In his tent, with a bottle of booze, he starts looking on the internet for information about straight male escorts in the Detroit area. Damon suddenly visits him and he closes his laptop quickly. Damon asks him for 50 bucks so that he can go to a Godhead concert. Ray clearly seems strapped for cash, so he asks him if Godhead is one of the "Gothic warlord" groups that he likes. Damon says it's "Goth," not "Gothic." "Gothic" means it's of medieval times. Then, Ray mentions that it's apparently OK for Damon to camp out for Godhead (he and his friends are going to wait overnight for tix) but not for him. Damon replies that he knew Ray would say no and begins to walk away. Ray asks him about the nail polish that he has on. Damon says that it's sort of a look and Ray seems to be perilously close to asking Damon if the nail polish and lipstick mean he's gay. As Damon is walking away (because that was the perfect time to walk away), Ray says that times are tough, plus he gets an allowance. Also, your dad is living in a tent. Don't ask for money.
The next time Ray is in his get rich class, some old guy is talking about his idea -- he's going to market his great advice. So this guy doesn't have a marketable talent is what he's saying. Tanya is next. She says that she's a poet and she values words more than others -- others who might be casually cruel with their words (she looks at Ray when she says this). Her idea though is to put poems inside of bread; sort of like a fortune cookie. Lyric Bread. Ray shakes his head like it's the dumbest thing he's ever heard. The instructor calls it "Food for the body, food for the soul." He asks the class how they feel about Tanya's idea and Ray says that she might want to consider laminating the poems, though no one would want the taste of plastic in their mouth. The class applauds though and Tanya sits down while shooting a Ray a dirty look.
Next, it's Ray's turn. He says that he's not in the mood to pitch, but the instructor pushes him. He says that he has a big dick. He's not smart or talented and doesn't know how to market his big dick. He lists the many shitty things that have happened to him -- his big dick is all he's got. But, that was a fantasy on top of a flashback. He actually said that he liked classic cars.
But, that was the spark. Later, he bought a pre-paid cell phone and a box of condoms. He puts an ad in the back pages of The Detroit Examiner. And, he pays extra to put a picture of his man parts on the online edition. He's holding the camera horizontally for the first attempt, but retakes it with the camera in a vertical position. Yowzer.
The next day, he's teaching basketball practice when he gets a phone call. On the special phone. He runs into the locker room to take the call. His hooker name is apparently "Donnie." The caller asks him to meet her on Friday and, at first, he says that he can't because he has a game. Then, he changes his response and says that he's "game." He has an appointment. He tells her that he only accepts cash.
And, now, we're back where we started. Ray is walking to the door at the hotel. He mentions that he got a full baseball scholarship to college, then was recruited by the Atlanta Braves before he got sidelined with ruptured ligaments. And, he's the second winningest basketball coach at West Lakefield High. Now, he's a whore. He knocks on the door and says, "Hey sugar, Donnie's here." We see the darkening of the eyehole in the door. Then, a note is slipped under the door. "Sorry -- changed my mind." Ouch. His dick's just a little bit smaller. He yells at the door, "Hey lady, you think this is fun for me?" Then, he kicks the door and walks away. He comes back and apologizes and says that he rearranged his Friday for this. He says forget it and is about to walk away, when another note comes under the door. "For your trouble." It's accompanied by a $50 bill.
Later, Ray is staring off of the pier at his property, to the other side of the lake. Where a green light is flashing. Gatsby much? Suddenly, Tanya calls for him. He asks her how she knows where he lives. Duh, the phone book. She tried to call him, but she can see why his number is disconnected, burnt down house and all. She tells him that he was right about the poetry bread -- there is a problem with the ink on the paper. However, she has brought him a sample. Without the poem? Because, who wants to eat a faulty prototype? She brought him the Gluten-Free Neruda Cranberry Walnut Bread. That's funny. Both Elizabeth Hasselbeck and Ethan Hawke could enjoy it. She also has a gel pen that he apparently forgot at her house. He says that it's not his pen and she replies, "Right, that's my gel pen." Ray says that he's not in the mood and she says that she's not there to jump his bones. She has been worried about him. The class they're taking is expensive and he has missed several sessions. He tells her that he lied about what his winning tool was. He's not good with vintage cars.
Inside the tent, Tanya is looking at Ray's ad. "Big Donnie will give you every inch of his love." She asks why he's showing this to her. He tells her this is his ad. She gave him the idea. "To be a man whore? Ray, that's disgusting!" Ray reminds her that she's 40 ("I'm 38!") and has no job or kids -- she shouldn't be so insulting. She asks him how the ad has worked for him and he tells her about what happened that day. Tanya starts laughing when he tells her that the woman changed her mind after looking at him. She says that "Big Donnie" is the wrong persona. He needs to sell himself better. Also, he needs to include a picture of himself. Ray says that he put a picture of himself on the website, but she meant a picture of his face. He freaks out and says that he is a "highly-respected educator" and no one can know his identity. She excitedly tells him that, when he missed the class on creative marketing, he didn't learn all of the myriad ways one can sell oneself. She says that she'll help him, when she's not working on Lyric Bread. For a percentage of his profits. Like a...pimp? Yes. It looks like they have an agreement. Hmm. Interesting. So, Tanya's a pro-sex lady. Doesn't exactly mesh with her super-sappy center, but it's believable. Perhaps Ray got to her with the comments about her age and status. Maybe pimping was her real winning tool?
The next day, Ray drives by the venue where a bunch of Goth kids are waiting in line. He finds Damon in the line and calls out for him. Damon seems kind of embarrassed and asks Ray what he wants. Ray is all upbeat and notes that Damon got a good place in line. He pulls the 50 he got from his cancellation and gives it to Damon. He says that he doesn't need it because he got money from Ronnie, but Ray says that he should use Ronnie's money for something else. "This is for Godhead." He takes the money and rejoins his friends. Ray VO's that, though it may sound strange, he felt good for the first time in years. As the screen fades to black, we hear the soul classic "Am I A Good Man" by Them Two. That question might get harder to answer.
Jeff Long says check the batteries in your smoke alarms. He can be reached at long.jeff1@gmail.com.
]]>Tonight's time filler is that the dancers are talking about how their last month on the show has been. You all have seen this before if you've, you know, watched the show. Brandon and Janette are up first. The foxtrot was gorgeous, next week was a fast disco and then they did hip-hop and she had to wear heels and boots. Seriously, this is all you could come up with? One of these two hours is entirely just recapping the previous shows. Brandon's dance teacher had 95 people over to her apparently giant house to watch last week's show and he claims she said she didn't know he could dance like that. As my friend said so succinctly: "Liar." This week they're doing a fast, sexy cha-cha with Jean-Marc and France. We have the necessary crotch-kick in rehearsal and a lot of shots of Janette falling, but seriously, this is her style so what do you want to bet it's going to be okay?
Oh lord, they are dancing to the Pussycat Dolls. I may have a lot of their songs, but let the record show that I put all of them on my iTunes with a deep sense of shame. Janette is in a sparkly pink barely-there dress and they shimmy, shake and gyrate their way through a fast routine. Nigel tries to fake-out but he quickly calls it the best cha-cha he's ever seen on the show, and that it would fit on a world championship stage. The best thing is that when they show Jean-Marc nod in agreement, there's a random kid in the audience with a lip ring and a giant furry hat nodding sagely behind him. Nigel can't seem to describe how great it is other than repeating how the two of them can actually walk on water. Oh good grief, I'm going to have to mute Mary -- they're talking about a train coming. But Mary first talks in a normal voice to give actual feedback and to tell Janette that salsa, her style, is so different like this (okay, so I was totally wrong earlier) and that yet Janette could do a ton of technical things totally right. She gets shrieky as she tells Brandon how he's a dance God, and then stands up to scream that they are on the train. Nigel, Mia and Cat all plug their ears, and Mia looks like she's not entirely joking about it. Mia says she knows she probably scared the crap out of Brandon to dance in front of her, but she claims that the dancers she is toughest on are the ones in whom she's seen talent and totally tries to cover her ass that she was only a jerk because she thought he could really make it. I call bull -- she thought he was a jerk because he was cocky and overrated and she should now just eat a tiny bit of crow, but oh well. Brandon cries, Jean-Marc stands up and cheers, and Mia promises him hell in the future but tells him he's amazing. Oh, and so is Janette.
Kayla and Kupono are up next. First up was the crash test dummies for Kupono and then the samba for Kayla and her ticket on the hot tamale train. Man, you know what I was begging for? A replay of Mary screaming, because we don't see it enough. Next week was Kupono and Ashley's doomed hip-hop, and Kayla's neon chicken routine with Max. Both are sad that they lost their partners and they show the teary hugs. Then last week the new couple did a waltz that went well and Mary... screamed. This week, they've got Sonya for contemporary, and Kupono actually made a Sonya shirt in his excitement. Apparently this is a dark routine, "Vampire-esque." Well, that's an original idea in this day and age. But that said, I've so far loved Sonya's stuff, so I hope that holds.
And... they are dancing to "Eyes on Fire" by Blue Foundation, which was notably used in Twilight. That's subtle. They start with Kupono dragging Kayla across the stage by one leg, something I feel is a bit of a trademark for Sonya. Kayla writhes around and then jumps up into his arms and there's a lot of lifts and jerky slow, "I want you!" "I don't!" "Let's leap!" moves. Kayla is definitely a better dancer than he is, though I do still like him a lot. This quirky style is what he's made for, but she just does each movement bigger and more crisply than he does. It was very good, but unfortunately it feels a bit the same for me as some other stuff I've seen from Sonya. I get having a signature feel if you are a choreographer, but it needs to mix up a bit more than this. Nigel has his "I liked it but didn't love it" voice on. He says she must have been inspired by Interview With the Vampire and Twilight, and at that she stands up and fist-pumps, so we know what vampire she wishes watched her sleep at night like a stalker. He's going to talk about Kupono first because Kayla is always fantastic and he calls Kupono a new man. He shows a very cool and synchronized jump and then says they are reaching their true potential and are an excellent partnership. Mary shrieks about them and calls it tremendous, saying Sonya played to their strengths and didn't hold back, I guess like many times the choreographers must do depending on what dancers they get week-to-week. There are a lot of alive/dead jokes but she loved it -- to be fair, as I watch the replays there are spots I like more on a second go. They stay on the hot tamale train. Mia loves them as a couple, loves the costumes and makeup (Kayla is a dead bride and it is pretty awesome looking). Mia thinks it's the best thing Sonya has done on the show, and then does the weekly obligatory fawning over Kayla. Mia admits that they had been tough on Kupono but that he applied everything they said and he keeps getting better. Cat asks if they were worried when they became partners and Kupono immediately says no -- dude, of course you weren't -- she's clearly a favorite! Kayla looks happy as well, probably because she's awesome no matter who she is paired with.
Randi and Evan are up next. She thinks it's been a rollercoaster, and Evan's favorite part of the show is working with the choreographers. This has probably been also because they've done super well each week and everyone loves them -- it's just a guess. They did jazz, jive, and then contemporary with Mia. Basically, the two of them are pocket-sized and awesome. This week they're doing Broadway with a new choreographer, Joey Dowling. Joey tells us it's not traditional, but it's got power, and that they are going to be fighting through a toxic relationship. She looks like she's seven feet tall next to these two, which I think is a combo of them being miniature people and her height being made up 90% by her legs. They seem freaked out by the routine, but Joey thinks she was easy on them -- she seems like a tough customer.
They're dancing to "Rich Man's Frug" from Sweet Charity. He starts out at a table and chairs when she walks down the stairs in a little showgirl costume and seems totally uninterested. But yet maybe interested -- let's dance and have him chase her! She punches him! But she loves him! But she arm-wrestles him! It's actually not as fast as I'd thought from rehearsals, and while they dance it really well I can't help but wish I was seeing them in a different number. This one is leaving me cold. I don't think Joey did nearly as much as she could given the dancers she had to work with, especially Evan. But as the judges can't really insult the choreographers, I'm sure they won't. Nigel calls it a great homage to Bob Fosse, but I feel like I was missing something there. Dang, I wish I had a better dance vocabulary for figuring out what I didn't like. Totally opposite of what I feel, he thanks Joey for a fun routine. He thinks Randi did great but Evan was disappointing given how simplistic yet stylized the choreography was. I don't think that's quite fair -- I think Evan did what he could and could have done way better with different moves, but I don't think Nigel is really allowed to say that. Despite the criticism, they are still some of his favorite dancers. Mary says it's easy for the judges to go crazy when they see dancing this great. (I think Mary needs much less than that to go crazy.) But she's in a normal voice which gives away that she thinks it was done well but not great. She thinks it was entertaining, but it sounds kind of like an insult since she can't give a compliment without screeching. Mia then compliments Joey's six-foot tall frame and her pink cheeks and giggles give away her total crush. Mia says that these two should have taken it to the next level because of their (lack of) height, and they were given great choreography, but they didn't take it to the level Joey wanted. She actually then says "bravo to the choreographer" but just "good job" to them -- and I know I'm just the girl in pajamas watching the show but in my humble opinion, I disagree.
Now, nearly an hour in, we're on to only our fourth dance, with Jason and Caitlin. First they did Bollywood, which the judges loved, and which I think Jason did great, Caitlin did okay, they were 90% coordinated, and the judges thought it was the second coming. Next week was their atrocious hip-hop, and last week was their okay paso doble. They didn't like being in the bottom three two weeks in a row, and Jason thinks he only squeaked by -- do you think he was tipped off by the fact that when there were only two guys left, Nigel admitted it wasn't even a unanimous vote as to who goes home? This week, they get Brian Friedman, who is not wearing nearly enough giant jewels for me, but then he saves it by telling Caitlin that... she is an alien blew up earth and is finding the last man that she can procreate with. Oh, how I missed Brian's flavor of crazy last season! Caitlin has to be dominant and make Jason fear for his life, so this should be interesting. I've found Caitlin a lot blander than the judges have found her, so I'm curious to see how she does here. According to Brian, wait until we see how she impregnates him!
My friend actually exclaimed, "She looks like a dominatrix Statue of Liberty!" and she does, wrapped in pleather with a sideways tinfoil hat. They are dancing to "creator" by Santigold. He's in tattered clothes -- a bit reminiscent of last week's dancing for his life costume, and she is jumping around and trying to kill him or something. I don't even know how to describe this. She seems to do some things to sort of kill him and then put him under her power. She then starts maybe controlling him and he winds up writhing on the floor. I have literally no way to describe it. I like weird -- I loved the crash test dummies -- but this seemed less creative and more straight-up weird. Nigel makes jokes about Brian's weirdness, and then says that since it was weird they to commit to it, and they did. That's... good? He actually makes a crack about how she's got on too many clothes to impregnate him -- oh Nigel.... I hate the costumes too, but if you stopped making so many comments about how much skin each of the girls show then you might not be thought of as such a pervert. He actually says she looks like a dancing condom. In Britain, they must use different, spikier versions then we do here, I'm just saying. Mary thought it didn't play to their strengths and gave them credit for trying but she didn't like it. The crowd boos her, but I can't argue. Then Mia is up, and Cat reminds Mia that she is also known for going "there," if "there" equals "Crazytown." Mia guesses that Brian didn't do this thinking it was going to be the best piece of his career -- but the look on his face says that he's going to cut her for assuming so. She thinks he was aiming to have fun! It's refreshing to have something out there and fun! Wow Mia, instead of being skilled? I think this is as close to a full-on insult from one choreographer to another as we've ever gotten on this show. She then hates the foil and thinks it's cartoonish and continues to say that basically she didn't like it and thinks it's dumb but they went for it. I hope she has Brian watched afterward in case he should come after her with Caitlin's pointy headpiece because the murderous glint in his eye says she's definitely not safe in any dark hallways backstage.
Jeanine and Philip are next. They think that the top 20 has been unreal and enlightening. First they got hip-hop and they were amazing. Then they got the tango, which was not good, and then Broadway, which was "so fun." I still think the show needs to stop trying to recreate super iconic Broadway numbers on this show so that there are fewer comparisons that are nearly impossible to live up to. Philip was embarrassed when his pants split last week, so just in case we didn't notice they show a close up of his pants and his undies and white thighs underneath. He apparently knew that it had happened and was mortified, so I give him major points for going for it since I absolutely couldn't tell. I might have felt less mortified on his behalf if I realized he was just going for it despite the offending hole. This week they get a Taboleon routine. This week the routine involves actual shackles, and it's about how the dancers get paired up on the show and locked into a partnership. Between this and the vampires we're not stretching very hard for interpretations this week. They keep tripping on the chain during rehearsal, and even Napoleon says it might not have been the best idea. We'll see how this goes.
Oh my, Philip then starts the dance by pulling a card out of a hat with their dance on it. We don't have to work for anything this week, do we? They're dancing to "Love Lockdown" by Kanye West. Thankfully they pull the chain up and hold it for part of the dance, lessening my fear of them tripping. Philip is naturally awesome at this and like their last hip-hop routine, Jeanine seems to be keeping up well. There's one moment I fear she got a bit off with the chain and nearly got tangled, but she held it together. At the end of the routine, Philip pulls a key out of his pocket but she glares at him and then pulls him over to judging. I don't think it will go down in history as a super memorable Taboleon routine, but it was really good. Nigel loved it, and compliments Jeanine on once again keeping up with Philip admirably. Mary both their dancing and the choreography, pointing out that things can go terribly wrong with a prop but they made it work, and agrees that Jeanine did awesome in keeping up. Mary then keeps shrieking but by now I can't understand anything else she's saying. Mia then says what a fan she is of Taboleon, but like Mary did earlier she refers to the pair as Nappy Tabs. Look, I know this is their company, but dudes. All of us viewers have deemed them Taboleon, so Nappy Tabs just isn't going to happen for us at this point. Sorry we didn't notice your website earlier, Taboleon! Mia loves Taboleon and thought the concept was there, but she was caught up in the "chainography" and since they couldn't control it, it got sloppy and it took away from the movements. I can see her point -- that might be why it wasn't a great routine for me, but they still danced it really well.
Next up are Melissa and Ade. Melissa's favorite day was the first day of filming, where she pulled out the move I loathe, the "naughty ballerina" finger in the mouth with the coy grin. I thought we were past that! I honestly couldn't stand her after all that at the beginning but she has won me over with her awesome dancing and become one of my favorites, so we'll see if she keeps up her streak. Their first week was contemporary which was awesome, then jazz with Sonya which was awesome and neon, and then the rumba, which was awesome and sparkly. This week, they get Thordal Christensen as choreographer, and they are doing a Pas de Deux from Romeo and Juliet that Melissa should kill, But how will Ade hold up? She's always dreamed of dancing Juliet. Thordal says they should not just play Romeo and Juliet, they should BE the doomed couple. Dude, that's going to be sad for Melissa's husband when she tragically accidentally kills herself for her dance partner. This is the first time someone is en pointe for a SYTYCD performance, so that should be cool.
They are dressed, well, like Romeo and Juliet. It is really cool that she can dance en pointe for this -- I do love watching that. Her moves, also, are INSANE. She does this thing where he holds her up and she has one leg out and another moving like she is running. It looks crazy hard but spectacular. Ade is pulling off his few solo moves with aplomb, and he can lift her amazingly. She is obviously knocking this sout of the park. Cat tells that now tons of little girls are asking to take ballet classes, and I don't think she's wrong. Nigel is up first, and he congratulates himself for the show now introducing America to ballet. Nigel, I love your show to a level some might call "obsession" but... while it's awesome that we just got to see this routine, you are not the reason America just learned about ballet. Clearly, we all know about it because of Center Stage. He says that Melissa was amazing and that Ade could have had slightly better feet but he kept up with everything else. He then again congratulates the show for showing the range from an alien impregnating a dancer and to Romeo and Juliet. I never caught that impregnation, by the way, but I guess this is the kind of "banter" you get when there's 33 minutes left in the show and only one couple left to dance. Mary loved it, and she's using her quiet, shaky ballet voice to show she's serious -- she also says Melissa was incredible and Ade's strength was amazing. What, no ballet tamale train? Mia then gushes about classical ballet, and how it's the real core of dancing, and these two danced it amazingly. In a million different ways, she repeatedly calls them brilliant.
Before the final couple is introduced, Cat reminds us that a bunch of people couldn't make the show but inspired something special. There's a cool montage of a bunch of the choreographers working, and some great dancing from people who both did and didn't make the show. Nigel tells us about the Dizzy Feet Foundation, started by him, Adam Shankman, Carrie Ann Inaba, and ... Katie Holmes? Oh happy day, did I luck into the Katie Holmes episode?? Cat interviews Katie about why she's involved, and Katie thinks it's important for kids to experience dancing, singing, and to grow and have access to the best. Through a number of different interviews we learn that the foundation awards scholarships to underprivileged dancers, and that they will pick ten kids from six studios for scholarships. Mary adds something but oh my goodness, this interview was done pre-Botox and it's utterly distracting, how different she looks -- is Botox your only "secret," Mary? You can learn more about the foundation at Dizzyfeetfoundation.org. Nigel then admits that they've been trying to deny what's coming up but as we all knew from the glorious Internet, Katie Holmes will be appearing on the 100th episode on July 23rd doing a Tyce-choreographed tribute to Judy Garland. I am filled with glee and now crossing off my calendar for July 23! But also, I kid because I love -- Katie will donate her performance fee to the foundation and it seems like a really great cause. I've become a complete and utter softie!
The last couple are Karla and Vitolio, doing the quickstep. Jonathan is looking cuter than ever as he cheers from the audience. Karla is the 35th person tonight to say that this experience has been a rollercoaster. We're taken through Vitolio and Asuka's sucky Broadway, great waltz, and doomed jazz and then through Karla and Jonathan's cha cha, amazing contemporary, and horrific hip-hop. Karla seems to really not be thrilled about her new partner, but she puts on a happier face in rehearsal with Jean-Marc and France. Vitolio is a statue and they will be dancing with top hats and canes, so again the dreaded props. Jean-Marc has a bunch of funny analogies to help them with their form, but so far things aren't going great. The only thing that is coordinated is that Karla's dress and Vitolio's shirt are colored just right to match France's hair.
They are dancing to "Puttin' on the Ritz" by Rufus Wainwright, and Karla comes out in a black and white polka-dot dress to charm her mannequin. Vitolio comes to life and tugs on her dress, which drops down to awesomely turn into a sparkly orange, pink and purple dress. They pull off this style way better than I thought -- they are coordinated, their jumps are good, and they move without looking terrified. I tend to always watch the quickstep in fear because it can go bad so quickly, but to untrained me they really do a great job to my happy surprise. Nigel loves the choreography, and when they show Jean-Marc, Furry Hat Guy behind him nods again in agreement. Nigel makes a comment about keeping a woman quiet with a snap, which I would have found totally tasteless if it weren't Mary that went quiet to illustrate his point. Heaven, if only for a moment! He has a few nitpicks about their lines actually being too good and taking away from the bounce, but he loves that their personalities came out. Mary loved it but also had a few technical critiques, which is something I wish she'd do more often because I like hearing what they actually did well and what they could improve on. That snapping worked! Mia then gives Jean-Marc all of the credit for the piece and only kind of gives the two dancers anything for how they performed it. She's confused by Vitolio being crazy one second and contained the next and doesn't understand him -- it's a bit unfair since he was totally contained during the performance, and isn't that what she's supposed to be talking about here? She tells Karla that she looked scared sometimes, but then admits she herself could never do this dance and gives credit where credit is due. It feels like a big step for Mia.
With that, we finish one of the most grossly bloated two hours of television yet this summer and tomorrow we'll see what America thought of it all.
]]>A kid comes in having fallen off some playground equipment, and Jackie and Mo-Mo get him into a bed. His mom and twin brother stand by, terrified, while Mo-Mo bitches about how in Central Park even the ground is soft, but the Alphabets gets monkey bars and concrete. Eleanor appears, shining and proud, and Zoey takes the mom and brother out. "Please wait behind the yellow line," she says, promising the physicians will give them all the knowledge they can, when they have it. Out on the floor, Dr. Cooper appears, cheering: "I've got a gunshot, I've got a gunshot!" Zoey jumps between the mother and Coop, trying to explain: "He's just happy..." The mom's kind of horrified, so she tries again: "Wait, no. He's interest... He's excited... He's interested to experience the, um... the challenge... of a bullet wound." Giving up on mom, she hunkers down and grins at the kid: "There's waffles? In the cafeteria today?"
Eleanor listens to the boy's chest while Jackie and Mo-Mo work around her, without speaking. She and Eleanor work well together, complimentary as usual. Eleanor drains his collapsed lung smoothly, and they grin. "I've been around the block, too, you know. In a nicer car, of course." Mo-Mo and Jackie wink about her, and Mo-Mo takes the boy's hand. "Hang in there, little man."
In the hall, Zoey's reassuring them when Eleanor appears, and there are introductions. Justin's the healthy twin; Jackie guesses correctly that he is the eldest son, by eight minutes. She and Zoey agree that he looks older. The boy in the bed just looks small. Eleanor explains the case to them -- collapsed lung, now stabilized -- and that he's now going for a CAT scan, to rule out a litany of horrors, each one taking a little chunk out of her. "Brain damage, spinal cord injury, internal bleeding, that sort of thing." She leaves as Jackie mouths, It's not that bad, and once she's gone Jackie promises them that O'Hara's the best. She leaves them with Zoey, and at the nurse's station speaks silently again, to Zoey: Give them a hug. Hug them. She does, wrapping her arms around them both.
Then it's later, and Kevin's calling about some school conference that is apparently a bigger deal than they thought. She pushes her chair back, sighing, and gets ready to leave. In the restroom, she lays out foundation on a mirror, and applies it to her face, getting ready for the next bomb to drop. How often does she do this, put on real-world makeup like this? A face to meet the faces that you meet; Eleanor does it every day. She puts a cardigan over her scrubs and tries not to think about what they're going to say: that her daughter is unraveling and they can't believe she hasn't noticed. But if she noticed, they'd all go down. So she puts makeup on her face and a cardigan over her scrubs. She doesn't change out of her scrubs, because they represent a kind of power. She combs her hair ever more starkly and heads out again.
Jackie doesn't even see Eddie walking past until he grabs her. "Hey you," he says, in the voice of every boy who doesn't know if he's your boyfriend yet. She lies and says she's going to the dentist, and he offers to take her several times -- he's gotten an extra helmet for his bike, just in case he is her boyfriend; he hopes she doesn't think that's why -- but she puts him off. If he can't give her a ride, then what? "Are you in pain?" Her eyebrows rise; she considers it before she even notices she's doing so. "Dentist's only gonna give you ibuprofen, I got the good stuff..." She declines. "See you, tough guy," he says, and she grins, and puts on her wedding ring as he's passing between a nun and a giant Virgin Mary. It's pathetic only insofar as, only by comparison to, the things we've never done to be loved. Or the things we've not yet done.
Mo-Mo watches the mom and Justin, talking about things. Zoey appears with more of her unanswerables. "You think it's true what they say about twins? That they can read each other's minds? Feel each other's pain?" He does, and he knows. "I'm a twin." He corrects: "I was a twin." She throws herself on him in instant compassion, in floppy Zoey mercy, and he shoves her away lightly. "Chica, never do that. Never think you should feel sorry for me. I get the aww thing and immediately I want to eat three sleeves of Oreos." That, she gets.
"He died when we were a year old," Mo-Mo offers, and she frowns sadly. "See, now I want to say I'm sorry again." He gets it, but keeps watching the family. "Do you remember him?" He reflects. "You know, I do. I remember being with someone, you know? Like I came into the world with someone. I didn't come here alone, so. You know. Being alone-alone is hard for me. It doesn't feel bad, it just feels... wrong." It should feel like Thor, you idiot.
And does he ever think about his twin now, what he would be like? Every day, he does, because every day he is exactly the same amount of alone. She makes an aggressively sad face and he changes the subject to her hair. "...No, that's worse," he finally says, and stops playing with it, and walks away.
In the school hallway, they discuss the fridge -- fixed, by Kevin -- and how if it breaks down again they'll have to move into the bar and eat beef jerky. Jackie distractedly needles him for pitying the jerky vendor, continuing to buy from him. "Kevin, you are such a softy." He misses her; he wraps his arms around her with a "great comeback to that." It's cute, and she laughs while peeling him away. "We are in a school! Please!" They are so easy together, it's so nice. Darn that Vicodin. She remembers the socks she bought him -- Gold Toes, his favorite just like my Dad's, and his Dad before him -- and pulls them out of her purse. He kisses her again, and behind his back a text comes in: Me so horny -- Eddie. Barf. She rolls her eyes but when he asks what's wrong, she just says she lost a patient.
They head into Grace's classroom, grab-assing all the while, and when they sit down it's sobering: three professionals lined up, staring at them in their child-sized desks like a play's about to start, or a test. It is. Both are. "Her grades are good," the teacher begins, "But we're a little concerned about some of her creative work. I've asked Connie, our school nurse, and district psychologist Skip Nennerine to weigh in." Kevin smiles at Kip, who's clearly uncomfortable about everything always, and asks how he's doing. "I have bursitis," he replies. "I believe your daughter Grace is experiencing signs of generalized anxiety disorder." Jackie jumps five notches to Bewildered, skipping over Confused and Dismissive, too eager to prove she doesn't know anything about this because there's nothing to know about.
Fiona appears at the door, waving toothlessly, and continues on down the hall. Grace exits the bathroom, looking terrified and tense as usual, and Fiona grins. "Mom and Dad are here." Grace jumps. "In your classroom, talking to your teacher." Joyfully, she sings it out: "You're in trouble!" Fiona is a dangerous lunatic. Grace loses it some more, if that's like even possible.
Thor stands with Eleanor while she gives Mom the update, but he doesn't say anything or do much. The kid is stable, no spinal damage or injury beyond the lung. Mom is effusive, so Eleanor sends her in to see her son, but that leaves her alone with Justin, who without warning throws his arms around her midsection and turns to stone. "Whoa!" she says, to no effect. She stands there with him for a bit, in her tights and her heels, and finally just calls Jackie's name into the silence, like they always do. "Someone? Anyone?" Another doctor laughs as he walks by. "Christ," Eleanor mutters, and walks the kid scarecrow style toward his mother's hopefully strong hands. "Okay, let's keep moving, mate. Come on. You're a heavy little bugger, aren't you?"
Jackie looks at the picture: four grey Peytons under a steely sky, outside Kevin's bar, holding hands, kids in the middle keeping them together, expressions somewhere between bored and terrified. "I dunno," she says. "Looks pretty good to me. She's always drawing my hair longer, she hates this haircut." (I love this haircut. I don't think Edie Falco's ever been as beautiful as she is right now in 2009, and the haircut strips everything else away.) Kevin tosses a nod to the brickwork in the drawing: "Pretty phenomenal. That's my bar." Beat. "That I own, not where I drink. I mean..."
Jackie and Kevin share a moment of pride about the art. It's not great, and the pride isn't real, but it's important that they team up right now, that they show support for their daughter, their daughter of many talents and qualities. "Right," the teacher squeaks, "But please, try to focus on what's lacking in the scene." Skip helps them out: "Her pictures are consistently devoid of color." Jackie shrugs, an elaborately unrehearsed shrug that would have come out no matter what. He could say "Her pictures consistently feature mice stuck in each other's vaginas," Jackie would shrug just like this, and say, "Um, yeah?" Just like this.
"She never draws a sun in any of her skies," Skip continues, and school nurse Connie picks up the ball: "Sometimes that can be a sign." Of what, exactly? The pretty young slip of a teacher opens her eyes wide: "Children tend to draw optimistically. Trees are huge, skies are blue. It's how they see the world." Jackie won't give them a fucking inch, of course, so she has to actually say the words out loud. "Are there any problems at home?" Not at home. Kevin and Jackie put on more of the elaborate Peyton Show, ducking their heads and crawling over each other to lovingly say to both each other and the three adults across from them, simultaneously, that they have no problems at all, Grace has no problems at home or anywhere else, they are a perfect family, what is the deal.
The teacher finally gets a little firm on them, having had enough nicey-nice. "She circles her desk. Three times, before she sits down." It floats in the air. "She told me it's so the planes don't fall out of the sky," Connie says, once it's sunk in. "Okay, you know what?" Jackie starts, scared to death, and Kevin jumps in, putting himself between her and them: "How do you think we should address this problem? I mean, if it is a problem?" Skip offers a list of therapists, to their horror, and Connie suggests their eventual course of treatment in the happiest, chirpiest voice she can manage while still stuck in a room with the rabid wolverine Jackie is becoming right before their eyes: "An age-appropriate, low-dose anti-anxiety medicine..." Jackie levels mean, bloody New Yorker eyes at poor Connie: "-- That's enough outta you."
Now clearly approaching Threat Level Midnight, Kevin gathers his shit and stands up in a commanding way, ending the interview. Jackie can't help herself. The makeup didn't help. "Thanks for your time. It's amazing to me, you think a kid has a problem, you just make him take a pill? That's nice work."
Jackie Peyton is a woman who carries the world on her back, and takes pills so it'll be easier, so it will hurt less. So that she can continue to save the world and keep the planes in the sky. And it scares her to death, and it makes her do gross things. It makes her break promises to herself, over and over. And the reason for this, she knows, is her own weakness. If she could be more superhuman, if she could grit through the pain the way those patients do every day in the ER -- she's seen them -- she wouldn't need the pills. It shouldn't be that easy. You don't just feed it with a pill. Not if you love the person you're feeding. And so there is not a problem here, because she's smarter than everybody on earth, which is great until you're in a place where it means she's smarter than you. And then she's all alone, with the complete-absence-of-a-problem that's managing to kill her daughter, despite not existing, anyway.
Grace appears at the door, wondering which plane's coming down this time, and Jackie tries her best to put on a new, sweet face. "Mrs. Vogel says that you have good grades!" Kevin nods, touching her: "We're proud of you, monkey." Connie's beeper goes off, and she silently thanks Jesus, running at a fair clip before Jackie can take her down like a gazelle in the field. But not fast enough.
Jackie runs after her, apologizing for getting rattled. "It's hard to listen to a bunch of strangers criticizing my kid..." Connie spreads her arms wide; you're a nurse, you know this by heart: "Nobody was criticizing. We're here to help." She knows, she didn't mean that either. "Look, we are both nurses. And I really want to understand this. You don't think they're going a little bit overboard in there? There's no sun in the pictures? Please." Trying the nurse game, the We Know Better game, that works so well at All Saints. "Okay, so she circles the desk, I don't know, maybe it could be..." Connie crosses her arms.
Worst part of the job, getting through this roadblock, trying to get as much authority in your voice as possible. Like an intervention, which is what this is: "It's a big deal." Jackie isn't hearing it. She circles around it three times, because she has to. "Look, you know how quickly kids change? Developmentally? Just when you think you know them, suddenly they're into something else. In six months she could be a completely different kid, in which case this meeting becomes totally irrelevant."
Connie's not used to this, she's used to having the upper hand, to having parents worship her the way all nurses are worshipped by those in need, or in pain. Just like Jackie is. The fact that they both speak the same language means they can't ever talk. "Your daughter has serious issues," she says, and Jackie loses the pleading tone, gets mad again: "Issues? What 'issues,' she has a personality. You guys! The minute they show even the slightest sign of being a little bit different, you want to write them a prescription."
Connie, absolutely at a loss and getting annoyed, is once again saved by the bell: a little boy appears, with a note and a fever. "Yeah, you better get him started on Prozac," Jackie bitches, and Connie flees, with a pissed-off "Have a nice day." To her retreating back, Jackie shouts, "I left a hemorrhaging ulcer to listen to your bullshit!" Another little boy, leaning against the wall, slowly turns his head to look at her, and she pulls it together impressively: "I can say that, you cannot."
Outside, she's ranting. "Buncha fucking idiots! That Nennerine guy... What the hell was that? I guarantee he's a hoarder." I don't know why, but that's the funniest thing. Like of all the things you diagnose a d-bag like that with, she immediately goes there. Hell, she's probably right. It is Jackie, after all. Kevin starts to explain that Skip's not the problem, and she jumps him: "So we have a problem? Do you think Grace should be on drugs?" This is who they are: she has the fire, and he keeps her safe and calm. "Jackie, they gave us their opinions. But we're the parents, we're gonna decide what's best for her." Jackie is stubborn and steadfast that there's nothing to decide, because there's not a problem; they both know better.
"Honestly, I'm not thrilled with the idea that she thinks planes are gonna fall from the sky if she doesn't do that thing around her desk." Jackie blows that one off, getting meaner, issuing instructions like it's the ER, as though that's the only place emergencies occur: "She watches too much news. You cannot let her sit at the bar all day and watch the TV..." He coughs. "Who was snoring last night while our daughter was watching World's Scariest Shit On Fire?"
HA! And not to mention, Jackie never turned the crock pot on, so when he was doing daytime daddy duty he had to deal with "a very stinky piece of pot roast." She sighs, he's done his job, she's thinking again. Maybe private school? Although the question there is, does she think the school is stressing Grace out, or is it that the school stresses her out? Private schools are great, because you can pay them to lie.
"That might be extreme," Kevin worries. "And expensive." So they tighten their belts, she suggests, which somehow makes him hungry. She nods, over it, ready to go back to work. These are the things any of us worry about, which makes them comforting. "Can you make us tacos tonight?" He nods, and kisses her goodbye, relieved it's blown over, and her phone rings again: Me STILL so horny... Ugh.
Jackie kisses Kevin goodbye and proceeds directly to a cell phone store, tossing the box and all evidence in the garbage, before returning to the Harmacy, calling Eddie on the way so he'll have the new number. Closing the door behind her, she lets Eddie in on the universal fact that "Me So Horny" tends to have the opposite effect on its recipient: "Makes me Not So Much," she says, and he hums like that's dubious or unusual in some way, and then as an apology -- as a token, as an overture, as a reminder, as a promise, as a pledge, an apology, they count for so much between them -- Eddie hands her a blister-strip of pills. "For the pain," he says, but what he means is, "So I can keep believing I'm your boyfriend, and so you will let me." She kisses him goodbye and pops a pill before the door's shut itself behind her.
Mo-Mo fills Zoey in on this week's other patient, a Lucille Marinovich, who comes in every couple weeks from a skilled nursing facility with end-stage COPD, which is bronchitis and emphysema together, which is terrifying and which means she -- like Justin's twin brother with the collapsed lung, like Grace under a steel-grey sky -- can't ever breathe, and it's killing her.
Dr. Cooper's not around because he had a gunshot to deal with. "Was it exciting?" Jackie asks, and Zoey's face goes resentful, not that either of them notice: "I don't know. I wasn't there." Mo-Mo tells Jackie, not Zoey, that she didn't miss much; Tuesday's GSW was worse. When he's gone, Zoey puts on a whole new, weirdly firm face, and utters in a darkly hilarious, professionalish voice, "I have been consistently shut out of all of the interesting cases today. And I'm not at all pleased." Jackie is too tired, and too fond of her, to laugh, but she raises her eyebrows high: "You are scary when you're mad!" Zoey, of course, wants to roll over for tummy-rubs at that, but stays hardcore, staring Jackie down, until Jackie gives her Mrs. Marinovich and leaves.
Then it's later, and Zoey's looking at the patient's chart: She has a DNR. Jackie nods, tells her what to do, and she heads off; Jackie calls out softly: "Oh, and she's gonna hate the mask, keep it on her." That kind of thing, you know? The contingencies; already knowing nine out of ten how they're going to react in every situation. That's what makes her great at this, but it's also what makes it so hard to get through: She's smarter than everybody on earth, which is great until you're in a place where it means she's smarter than you.
"Hey, Lucille, you feeling crummy?" Cooper looks down at her lovingly, indulgently, and she draws a painful breath, moaning in embarrassment. Jackie watches, carefully. "Don't look at me, Dr. Cooper!" Lucille wheezes. "I didn't get a chance to put my eyebrows on..." He holds her hand, and smiles warmly down. "You're beautiful." He asks her to put the mask on, so she can get her treatment and go home, but that will mean he goes away.
The only good thing about Lucille Marinovich's illness, which is her whole life now, which is to say the only good thing about her life, is Fitch Cooper twice a week. (Which is twice what we get, at best, so shut it, Lucille.) She changes the subject, hoping her advanced age and inability to breathe will cover such an obvious maneuver: "We... had orange roughy for dinner last night." You can almost feel her toes curling: WTF's she even talking about, orange roughy, seriously, anything to keep him where she can see him, get his agreement or his indulgence or whatever, to communicate. He nods, making approving noises. "...It's a mild fish."
Coop agrees easily -- orange roughy is a mild fish -- fixing her wig without thinking, pushing locks beneath it, a face to meet the faces that you meet, and she moans again. "Now you know I wear a wig!" she whisper-shouts in horror, and he bucktooths a smile at her, stumbling: "But I... didn't know till just this minute?" He bops her nose for good measure. It wouldn't matter. It's not about getting close to them, that's not why Jackie watches this so intently, and prays Zoey's paying attention: it's not about getting close to them, it's about making sure they don't feel alone. It's about balancing your real life, your in-the-head life, your responsibilities, with this very simple need. The more distracted he feels and doesn't show her, that's what Jackie's looking for. He passes, and well. He promises to come back, and mock-orders her to put the mask on, and Jackie heads up to the cubes, asking if Zoey's good. "I'm good," she says, sounding both grateful and competent.
"Shit, Jacks, you go missing in action and I'm left dealing with some sticky little tot," Eleanor whines, working at her computer. "I needed your hugs and warm nursey eyes to deflect his hero worship." Jackie stands in a nearby cubical, doing paperwork. "You had to be nice? I can't believe I missed it!" Eleanor, as usual, doesn't hear the irony: indeed, it was a nightmare. "Yeah! And his mucky little fingers ruined a pair of 80-dollar tights." Jackie doesn't spare a laugh, because they're not looking at each other, but there's a smile in her voice: "Remind me why you don't have kids." Additionally, she's seen Eleanor throw better than 80-dollar tights in the trash, of course, but Eleanor waves it off. "I would have preferred those tights to have been ripped off of me in the heat of something remarkable, as opposed to being destroyed by... sullied midget digits." Jackie allows as how she'd see that band.
"Oh, I bought us two napoleons from Le Cirque," Eleanor says. "They're in the insulin fridge." (I can't believe I had to watch the episode three times before I got that joke: of course they're in the insulin fridge, that's where they'd be, to stay chilled, but that's also where they belong.) Jackie fairly stomps her feet: "I want mine right now. Seriously, right now." Justin's mom brings him toward Eleanor's desk, with trepidation. Eleanor's fake smile is more intimidating, and just plain scarier, than if she came at you with a knife. Designed, like some evolutionary adaptation, to make you feel inhuman, grotesque, filthy in a way you can't wash off. Nighmarish, especially since it's not like that entirely on purpose. She honestly thinks what she's doing is smiling, to the degree that smiling at these particular people, at this particular moment, is relevant.
Eleanor stands: Justin's got something for her. Eighty bucks? she whispers to Jackie as she comes to them, staring down at him like an insect, still with that troubling smile plastered across her face like she's about to throw up and doesn't want to embarrass you with having seen it happen. Justin produces a picture he drew for her -- which pulls Jackie right out of wherever she just was -- and she thanks him.
Nobody moves, so obviously there's something more required here. "Now, you be a good boy? And always remember to... Help ladies on with their coats...?"
Nobody moves -- beyond a WTF twitch in the mom's eyes -- so obviously there's something more required here. Eleanor's eyes light up: She snaps off a bit of tape with one manicured hand, and affixes the picture to her desk, where she can look at it all day if she likes. He giggles winsomely, and she capers with toothy exaggeration: "PERFECT!" Mom thanks her, clearly understanding all the different levels of what just happened, and they take off.
Eleanor stands between the twins, who are dancing, with a sun and nine rays above her head. Their smiles -- mom, Justin, Eleanor, the sick kid -- are so strong, so joyful, they arc beyond the faces themselves. Relief bigger than your face can even show. Eleanor's arms are thrown wide, so that her doctor's coat is open, revealing a plum dress underneath. She is as tall as the hospital; she looks like a priest at Advent, or Lent. She looks like a saint. "Doesn't look anything like me," she says, and breezes away.
But Jackie doesn't move; she's been staring at the picture since Justin produced it. Just look at it: the vibrant colors, the sunshine. The family: dancing, smiling. (Spend enough time in one place, and you know the answers to questions you never even asked: "It's not like I want to know this stuff. I just do.")
A flatline beep goes up, and Jackie immediately sighs, knowing who it is and what has happened. She breathes a moment, and heads in to see if Zoey's okay.
She stands as at a funeral, crying quietly and softly. Jackie considers her from the curtain, not wanting to startle her: "Everybody has a first. It's never easy." That is self-evident, not the kicker. Here's the kicker: "And if it does become easy, it's time to quit."
Zoey swallows. "Yeah. But Gunshot Guy's alive. Collapsed Lung Boy's alive. Mine's dead..." she says, as if presenting the last bit of evidence: "Mine's dead, so you see, ladies and gentlemen of the jury..." Jackie nods. "I hear you." After a moment, her phone starts to ring. She doesn't want to answer it, even as Zoey waves her to go for it, but then the second phone rings, too. She makes the yee face and finally turns away for a moment, answering both at once and hanging up both at once: "Can't talk. Love ya."
Zoey and Jackie look at Lucille, giving her a moment of peace, and before they can move Coop comes screaming onto the floor outside, yelling at everybody and nobody: "I just had the most awesome gunshot today! Guy's totally stabilized! Coop 1, Death 0! Booyah!" Jackie tells her let him have this one, and they begin to clean her up. Zoey is halting, her speech even more stilted than usual, as they start to work on the body.
Is this the right thing, the Jackie thing, the less-alone thing? Or is it softness, weakness, the too-close thing? What will Jackie think? If she laughs, Zoey will die. She'll turn those giant eyes on Zoey and she'll feel as big as a gnat and she'll pin her to the wall with some withering comment. But Zoey knows what she has to do. "I... want to do her eyebrows," she finally says, and Jackie nods. "Right. I have a makeup pencil in my purse," she says tenderly. Zoey fixes her wig, pushing locks beneath it. A face to meet the faces that you meet.
Mo-Mo sings to the little boy in Arabic, all susurrations and sibilance, encouraging cadences; it's beautiful, and mournful. The room is dark. It fills the room; it fills the floor. He hasn't let go of the boy's hand yet, not for a moment. Wherever he is, he shouldn't be alone.
Jackie finally takes Grace's picture out of her purse and unfolds it, looking for a moment at its grey sky, the emotionless faces as they drift apart, before taking out a yellow highlighter. Jackie uncaps the marker and gives her daughter a sun as big as the world, as warm and bright as chicken soup. "There," she bites. "Was that so hard?"
It is, and she knows it. Grace can't depend on anything for her sunshine, not like Mommy. There must be something else she can do, there must be a way she can be stronger, because Grace deserves more, and better. We come into the world alone. We don't deserve to stay that way.
Discuss this episode in our forums, then see why vlogger Sean Crespo thinks he and Jackie have a lot in common in No Prior Knowledge.
]]>(The credits screen is furiously, unbelievably detailed, being a pinball machine with many pot leaves everywhere, Nancy in Guillermo-fucking cowboy boots and a "Yo ♥ Mexico" tattoo and a tight t-shirt commemorating Chris, who died for your sins. A tiger licks a good shit lollipop, there's a WHORE ball and a pierced dick, a "Save The Dirt Shrew" sign held by a dirt shrew, that drug-free sasquatch, the blue butterfly that always shows up, a U-Turn sign, and probably a million other things I'm not recognizing. Man.)
Now, spooky-eyed Nancy's shooting at us, at the camera rather, or more correctly yet an old-school arcade videogame. Andy asks her what they're even doing here, and she snorts, irritated, "Big Buffalo Blastin'! It says so right on the thing!" He means, of course, how long they'll be sojourning at Ye Olde Family Fun Bowl-A-Rama, to which all his tokens have gone and at which he has bowled seven games and been recruited into a league. He wants to go home. She shoots two bunnies and an owl before returning to the buffalo. No bears, though.
When Esteban calls is when they can go home, where Andy can plant his "sisterfucking ass" on the couch, he can get high, and schedule a post-sisterfucking jerk session the better to relive all the many pleasures of fucking her sister. (While only about two-thirds of the smartassy lines of dialogue in this episode actually work, that's counterbalanced by the fact that it's the first funny episode since God knows when, and there are only one or two really unforgivable lines.) Andy gets all smug and starts leading the conversation to some kind of feelings Nancy may or may not have for him, and she gets grossed out, and he brings up the border patrol kiss, and she reminds him that she was also about to pee her pants -- you will do insane things if you're about to pee your pants, even beg to be killed, watch -- but he won't let it go.
Andy tries, once again, to force them into some amazing movie of love where she's in love with him and is scared to show it, or maybe doesn't even need to show it, so all it takes is one fabulous sort of Moment and then all our problems go away, so he's like, "Fine, kiss me." Which in the When Andy Met Nancy movie that's constantly playing in his head -- at least when she's directly in front of him -- would be the moment that she would, just to prove him wrong, but the kiss would get all amazing and shit, and then it would turn out that she was wrong, and she would love him and care for him and he would finally be a man or something and so, knowing this, she looks deeply into his eyes and says the exact right kind of thing to break down those stupid macho boy fantasies right in the dirty chum water where they grow: "Baby, Andy. Baby. Baby. Another man's baby." He drops it, and she starts shooting the bunnies as fast as they can come, pointing and firing, pointing and firing, and never blinking.
Shane hopes aloud that their mother falls down a flight of stairs, while Silas watches him play a claw game for a bear, which he then loses. Silas consoles him that he didn't want the pink bear anyway, but at least Shane has realized the entire point: "Fuck the bear, I want to win!" There's no older brother wisdom that can compete with the elegant beauty of that, so thank goodness Nancy appears and says they're going home. Esteban called. "So we get to meet babydaddy," Silas grins, and she tells them both to either be nice, or say nothing.
They choose nothing. Andy sits in a comfy Bubbeh chair that mirrors Nancy's, ignoring all of this, and Esteban stands between them awkwardly. Finally he offers the boys mayoral campaign t-shirts in the colors of the flag, with him giving a thumbs up. It's all fairly bleak. Andy's like, "Those are awesome shirts. I wish you'd brought three!" Silas is like, "So you're the mayor of Mexico or something?" Something. "And you stuck your penis inside my mother," Shane offers, and Nancy wishes her younger son a pleasant sleep. He doesn't go anywhere, and points out he doesn't feel safe anyhow.
Silas asks where Sucio went, and Esteban improvises a lie about him mixing up his medications and wandering off. Nancy's impressed by the lie, but she wants to believe it, too. Andy is reminded of a time he confused Benadryl and Tegretol, and ended up guessing weights for three days at the Iowa State Fair. "Got crabs, and a tattoo. Of a... Crab." Where does he come up with this stuff? So Nancy's like, "You're saying Sucio wandered off, naked. And bleeding." And apparently, this has happened before. "In that case, thanks for giving him a gun!" she quips, "And the keys to our house!"
Esteban asks her to move into his house, then, and they're all shocked. She can't quite believe it, but from the evidence it would seem that Esteban just asked her to move in with him. Andy scoffs that in the TJ, even the donkeys are scared -- "And that's a fun place to be a donkey," he says to Silas, I guess because Doug's not there -- but Esteban clarifies: he has a home north of the border, in Santa Playa. Andy makes a super-ugly, hilarious face that basically translates as, "You have many houses and I have zero houses, but you are a stupidhead, so suck it."
Nancy actually manages to be a bit charmed by Esteban's newfound fervor and sweetness, almost like the old days, maybe better than the old days, as he's making promises about how there's room for the boys, even for Andy. The boys are totally not interested, of course, and Shane follows up Silas's politeness with a notification that Esteban is "not the mayor of US," and that the t-shirts are lame. He then starts to front, so Silas takes "Tough Guy" upstairs, after shaking Esteban's hand like a man.
Nancy tries to explain to Esteban that this is their home, and Esteban goes, "Where is our home?" Tired of revisiting the whole rough sex/landfill thing for the eighteenth time, she just asks him where the hell this newest weird behavior is coming from. She watches him carefully for an answer, any answer other than the obvious, but of course it's the obvious: the test results came back. She's sad. "I see. 'Your' boy." There's grief in her eyes.
It takes balls to make a story in which "If my babydaddy doesn't marry me, I'll just die" is literally true.
Don't fool yourself
Into thinking you're more than a man
Or you'll probably end up dead
While Andy continues making any kind of nuisance of himself that he can, to break the icky spell these two have woven around each other, Esteban calls in Ignacio (the hot one, with the beard). He brings in the Now & Zen Baby Swing, while Andy protests that he can watch just as well as Ignacio, he's excellent at watching. "Right," Esteban laughs, still not even looking at him. "You and your crabs."
Andy's horrified as Esteban first presents the swing as proudly as a king, then moves to touch her belly. She shivers at his touch, and laughs that she's not even showing yet. "I can feel him," Esteban says, and kisses the top of her head tenderly just as her entire body attempts to climb up through the top of that selfsame head. Mind, blown. Andy runs circles yipping around Ignacio about how he's just a thug, he's no match for El Andy: "Take away the muscles and the fiery eyes, and the cold heart of a killer, what does he have that I don't?" A taser. A taser is the answer to that question, which causes Andy to fall on the floor burbling and groaning and sort of whistling. "I call him Mr. Zappy" Ignacio says, stupidly enough.
"Oh great, now he's wet himself," says Nancy. Not what the manchild on the floor needs to hear right now. All that good behavior and taking care of the family, pissed away. Ignacio laughs at him and goes to get a towel. Esteban returns to talking about "our boy," and every time he says it her back stiffens, and she says it back to him, unable to believe what he's pulling now. He holds her tightly, and she relaxes into it finally, looking over at the swing, with its fat little Buddha.
"Nothing is exactly as it seems," she says into his shoulder. "Nor is it otherwise." Says so right on the box, sure as Big Buffalo Blastin's what you do next.
Shane congratulates Mr. Sandusky on smoking in the eco-garden, and then Sandusky blows his mind by offering him three or four grand for more pot. "Unions really are ruining this country," Shane says, which is fine to think but trust me when I tell you never say that shit out loud. Sandusky says he'll meet up with him after fifth period, Choosing Chastity. Shane scoffs at "that Abstinence-Only bullshit," and tells him to blow it off, but he can't, because if he leaves before the movie's over, the hamsters get raped with Sharpies. And here I thought I'd heard of, or imagined, every possible negative outcome of an abstinence-only education (or lifestyle). I wasn't even thinking of the hamsters.
...Now I can't stop thinking about the hamsters. That is some sick shit, and you know, it's totally true. Not like actual hamster rape is an epidemic, but it's so true that demonizing a natural thing like that makes you ten times creepier and weirder about it than if you just got raised right. Don't think about the elephant. And actually I was thinking about it from the other direction, the other day -- and maybe this applies to Shane, in a way -- about how we came up in the age of Madonna and "Justify My Love" and that SEX book and Blue Velvet and Udo Kier sitting on a bullet thinking of power and all that stuff, right. And of course this was all very self-actualized submission-is-power 1990s stuff, reacting to the nastiness of the 1980s and pushing the edges of sex, and being very proud of themselves.
But between that and Rocky Horror, all I can really remember of sex in high school, besides having it, I mean, like as a topic, was this immense pressure to be terribly interesting. It took me a long time to realize that no, everybody doesn't have fifty fetishes and a bunch of accoutrements stashed all over the place. I would wager that 99.9% of grown adults, much less high school students, who claim to have an "oral fixation" have neither an oral fixation nor the body of knowledge necessary to explain what that is. Dress a girl up as Lara Croft or a naughty dominatrix or whatever's clichéd, throw her in the middle of a bunch of arrested-latency nerds who don't actually care, and half of them will lie about their crazy boners and they won't even really know why they're doing it.
Most people just like to have sex, because sex is awesome. Seems simple, and in fact I wager that it is. I believe that in our hearts of hearts, the majority of us mostly don't really need a whole routine. But we assume everybody else has these Byzantine rituals and trapdoors and surprise parties, because the '90s re-centered sex, just like the SATs when an 800 became a 600, and we had no idea that what we were learning was normal was in fact previously thought of as pretty left of center. It was just that the people making the entertainment had become so incredibly boring that they needed to get tied up and peed on in order to get a job done that, frankly, animals can accomplish with little to no fuss.
But who's going to explain that to us? It's where all the information came from anyway. It's like thinking Seventies Bush is something you have to like cultivate, because all you ever saw in Hustler were landing strips, or how a thousand years from now all the gay guys will be flying around with jetpacks still convincing each other that Liza Minnelli and Barbra Streisand are significant. So anyway, that's why Star Trek TNG people are always tying each other up and wifeswapping, and that's also what being Shane Botwin is like, I think, all the time. Tremendous pressure to be as weird as everybody he knows. And it's working.
Silas comes downstairs looking dapper in a jacket/jeans combo, looking like a million basically, the same way mommy would, and grins at Nancy fussing with the swing. "Nesting phase." He worries that he's showing race bias before asking if this is, in fact, a new Mexican bodyguard, and she's like, "Brand new!" Silas says hi/hola, and Ignacio -- from the table where he's watching a laptop -- informs him, with much mirth, that "The cat is Milo, the dog is Otis. The cat is crazy! And the little dog just follows..." Ignacio laughs, and Silas cocks his head, but at least it reminds Nancy to ask where Andy is. In the garage, and with a cute grin Silas adds, "Working out?" Go, little dog! Ignacio says. Go!
She's wearing those cowboy boots, he's pumping iron in the tiniest little shorts you ever did see. "Hey, just in time to spot me!" says Otis, and she asks if this is all about him pissing himself last night. Three answers to that one (No. Yes. He cheated.), and she asks for his help with her "Zen Baby Erector Set." Man, those shorts are tiny. Not in a good way. He pulls on that chest thing with the springs, and says he can feel a High Noon coming, and he wants to be ready. Where did this crap come from?
"This is my stuff," Andy nods. "My athlete stuff." He shoves a Thighmaster into his armpit and goes to town. "It's Judah's," he admits. Judah, who was good at sports, while Andy was good at fleeing. She laughs, honestly, more brightly than she's been in a long time. "I have a bodyguard? I don't need you to crush my foes in your armpit." So then what, being given his tenuous opening, does she need from him? She smiles, because he's got game whether it's working or not, but Ignacio appears: the doorbell's barking. He grins widely at Andy: "You look like Jamie Lee Curtis in Perfect," he says, squinting, and Nancy laughs from her belly. So normal! So real! I forgot she could laugh. "That's what I was going for," Andy grumples, as Nancy and Ignacio take off, still laughing. He pounds one fist into the other, wearing a boxing glove, and comes out with a little, wizened bank book and a shitload of wacky tinkling impending-caper piano.
"Celia. What a wonderful surprise." Really? "Nooo. Not wonderful. Not a surprise..." Celia shoves past Nancy and into the house, growling at Ignacio. She's like the herpes, he spits. Keeps popping up. Nancy doesn't waste much time telling Celia to GTFO, which frustrates Celia terribly because she's got a whole canned speech planned that Nancy won't let her say. "I was kidnapped!" She thanks Nancy for the ransom, and explains further that they were going to sell her gall bladder to the Japanese, but "fortunately, my body is a toxic pit." Nancy doesn't know what to do with that. "Then, I escaped. Heroically! And now I am homeless."
"Celia, I am pregnant." She stares at Nancy. "With a baby?" Her face goes soft, and open wide, like this is still Agrestic and there's a baby, like her friend Nancy is having a baby. "Which means I need quiet and calm and -- thank you," Nancy says, regarding Celia's ever-so-quiet and calm steepled prayer hands, "...And happy thoughts around me, as much as possible." And this whole time, Celia's been creeping, lofting, sort of floating toward Nancy with this beatific not-quite-smile on her face, as though she's going to force them both into some amazing movie of love where they're friends and she's just scared to show it, to be the one that gives in first and stops being mad, or maybe doesn't even need to show it, so all it takes is one fabulous sort of Moment and then all our problems go away.
"You, Celia," Nancy says, pushing her back, "Are not quiet. Not calm." Celia nods, she knows these things, she agrees: "You are so terribly, miserably thoroughly, unhappy that if I pricked your finger, you'd bleed a fucking raincloud." Celia leans forward and asks, not quite conspiratorially, whether it's Andy's baby.
Cut to Celia, and her luggage, being thrown onto the lawn, by a spirited Ignacio; and pull further back, to Roy Till watching the house still, holding a 2005 photo of himself as Swayze and his dead "partner" dressed as a terrifying Jennifer Grey, with "Very Dirty Dancing!" scrawled across the bottom, and then he says something so unutterably retarded, writing of such badness that I can't even believe it, and refuse to recap it. Fucking try harder. That shit shouldn't have made it out of the first draft, and maybe the only reason it did is it got lost in the 75 other lead balloons this script keeps sending up.
Here's one now, a mean Asian lady showing Silas and Doug a drycleaners that they hope to rent for their pot club, once they -- as Doug says -- "Jew these folks down." Silas likes it, and says he'll take it, and responds to her question that it will be a Compassionate Care Club. She's like, "Oh. Gym for fat ladies?" and he shakes his head, because no. Medical marijuana. She starts freaking out about how the Feds will take away her building, and Doug responds that she eats dogs, and she tells him to "Get the fuck out," calling him an "asswhore," and Silas thinks about that but doesn't reply.
(I sure am glad they didn't rent that space! I'd hate to see one more empty stereotype that exists solely for cheap laughs on a show that once prided itself on skewering stereotypes and now just seems to enjoy them. That would really suck. Maybe Clinique can come be a fat-assed illiterate black whore on the corner outside the chinky old bitch's drycleaning service and she can say everything with the "izzle" in it while the old bitch keeps replacing her /r/ and /l/ phonemes and calling assholes asswhores and actual ass whores, like Clinique, she can call them assholes. Or Clinique could turn that faggot bottom babydaddy out, and he could be both! He'd love it, too, you know, because he craves having all kinds of things in his rectum, almost as much as he loves talking about it. That would be so fucking funny, I'd really get a kick out of it. And oh, so edgy.
I love the show enough that I keep jumping back to feeling like there's something I'm not getting, but here's the deal: if the characters do it, that's one thing, because you're saying something about the characters. Silas worries that all Mexicans look alike to him, so he asks for clarification: that's funny, and sweet. But this isn't the characters doing it, it's the show doing it. This isn't Doug's idea about what other people are like: this is the show creating stereotypical characters in order to laugh about and at them, and for no other real reason. And then somehow Doug's racism on top of that makes it okay? It doesn't. It's gross. Go back to Sarah Silverman School, and actually fucking pay attention this time, Lampanelli. There is a difference.)
Whatever, so Nancy can't force the "plastic demon from hell" to snap into place; ironically, the script can't get "the 'X demon from hell' joke from 1992" to snap into place either. WTF, guys. Seriously. For such a great episode, this sure is a shitty episode. The swing stares at her, zenning calmly, and she lies back on the floor in her cute cowboy boots and stares at the ceiling. "Mommy... Needs to get drunk," she whines, which would be funnier if she, um, hadn't done that like yesterday, and then Ignacio drags Roy Till's unconscious form past her, in the front door and through the house.
"He looks little! He's heavier than a sea turtle!" She sits down on her bed, upstairs, looking at Till's prone form while Ignacio breathes heavily. Apparently Till was looking in the window, presumably trying to find Nancy. She laughs and asks what the hell he'd be arresting her for now, after all she's done for him, and Ignacio laughs because obviously Roy Till is coming to kill her: "Pistola. Cuchillo. Puño de hierro," he says, pulling them one by one off Till. And dripping from the last? "Sangre de hombre muerto!" Sorry, Sucio.
Ignacio, I guess not figuring out whose blood it is, licks the brass knuckles, which freaks Nancy and all of us, and then tosses his wallet and the Dirty Dancing photo on the bed beside her. "No badge. Today he's no cop, today he's Rambo." He nudges Till awake joyfully, the better to tase him again, and tosses the taser to Nancy too. What's he going to do now? "Put him in the tub!" Ignacio giggles. "Oh, because he peed his pants. Right." Yes, but that's not all: Ignacio burbles sweetly that he will also be burning Till's clothes, draining his blood, and most exciting of all, melting Till's bones with acid. "Oh, right..." she says vaguely, and then tases Ignacio too. "Not in my tub," she says quietly.
"What's that thing supposed to be?" Shane asks about the swing, and Andy mournfully tells him. "Domestic bliss." It does, indeed, look like someone shit out a Tilt-A-Whirl. Andy asks him, as the moral center of the family, if he should impersonate his dead brother and "pseudo-steal" the money, "for the greater good of the family." (And you know, I think he means that part.) Shoving headcheese sandwiches into his bag, Shane nods and says all Judah's passwords are up in his sock drawer, and tells Andy to wear a hat due to their filial resemblance being somewhat thin. (There's a whole dark/light thing here, with the siblings, but you can't say that was really planned. Well, maybe Jill was the latest one on purpose.)
Andy's happy for the direction the moral center provides, and asks what Shane's up to with all the pot he's ganking. Why, selling it to his English teacher, and if it pleases Andy to assume this is for "the good of the family" -- the family, of course, that recently tried to ship his ass to Oakland -- he's welcome to do so. Andy is alarmed, dismayed, fearful that Silas will kill Shane, but mostly he's regretful that Shane's "true north" is no more. "What can I say? I'm a Botwin. We're not responsible for anything we do." (In the parlance of the day this is called being "on the nose," and it is both fulfilling and irritating sometimes.) Shane spins a piece of the baby swing like a compass gone mad, and leaves Andy to his thoughts.
Ignacio and Till are tied to the bedpost, sitting on the floor opposite Nancy, who's all but applying eyeliner on a sofa against the wall. Till pretty much orders Nancy to untie him, and Ignacio says he'll be the first to die. "You have no badge, Roy," Nancy says quietly, and he barks that he's undercover. And Sucio? The "dirty Mexican," she clarifies, with apologies ("It's true, he stinks like pigshit," Ignacio replies). Well, he killed Roy's partner. Sad that the obvious lie about the medication is now absolutely positively a lie, she asks if he's going to hurt her too, and there's no answer.
Last time we saw Till I thought a lot about how, to an addict, therapists are like cops: they exist to help you, to fix the problem, but when they do it can really suck. And the threat of Till for Nancy always seemed to mirror the threat of rehab for Celia. But when the addiction is the game, itself, those two jobs are even closer. Till says the things you don't want to hear, and enforces the rules you think you're beyond. He's like a moral compass too.
"He's a killer!" Ignacio says, in contrast to himself, who will kill Till in a moment if she lets him, and they can go watch Milo & Otis. They start kick-fighting, hands chained above their heads, and Nancy yells at them to settle down. "I'll make you pee your pants again!" she shouts, and they chill a bit. Till asks whose side she's on, and caught up in the fight, Ignacio yells that she's on his side: having a baby with his boss, in fact. She shoots Ignacio a hurt, annoyed look that is almost worse than the taser, and he's contrite. "What's it like, fucking a monster?" asks Till, and she nearly starts crying, but kicks him viciously instead, over and over, biting down on it.
So the choice is who to free, because they can't both be there forever, but whoever she frees they're going to kill the other one. Go with the good guy, he'll kill you and the bad guy and probably your family. Go with the bad guy, and he'll kill the good guy, and you will no longer be a good guy. So, by the additive property, the choices are: be the bad guy, or be the dead guy. As per usual. Of course, Celia chooses this moment to let herself in downstairs, and the kick-fighting starts again until Ignacio notices that Till's getting a hardon. Hilariously, Roy chins that it's a "perfectly normal reaction to the adrenaline of combat," and keeps kicking at him, but Ignacio, in a hurt tone, whines that he doesn't want to fight with Roy anymore. It's pretty darling, the whole thing.
The door was open. Well, it was ajar. Well basically, it was unlocked. Nancy stares at her, hatefully exasperated, and somehow summons within herself the ability to put down the taser. Well, using it would just make more of a mess, in more ways than one. Celia's next plan is a doozy: she realizes that, due to being utterly despised at this point by Nancy, she can't live in the house proper, but she's willing to compromise and stay on the couch in the balmy screened-in porch out back. Nancy responds by lighting a match and throwing it at her. "Hey," Celia yips. "That's fire!"
Nancy stalks her, walking backwards, to the door, tossing match after match as her delirious monologue gets ever more delicious. She points at her head ("Okay, Final Net Extra Hold?") and her clothes: "This is cotton! I am highly flammable right now!" Finally she just can't take it anymore and starts screaming, even as she's still backing away: "You know what? You are crazy! You are fucking crazy, and I HATE YOU." She stares at Nancy and remembers she has nothing. "We'll talk later." Nancy puts the last match in her mouth, and spits fire at her.
Judah's bank account: $186,437.96. Andy dressed as "Judah," with slicked-down hair and ridiculous hornrims and a soft cardigan sweater: priceless. He looks like a million bucks, actually. Judah was hot, hotter than Andy, but Fake Judah might be hottest of all. And not just for the mirroring with Jill/Nancy going on here, either: When Nancy ran away, Jill's life went to hell, but when Judah's life ended so did everybody else's. All we want to be is the opposite of what we are, until we're big enough for both: "Nothing is exactly as it seems, nor is it otherwise."
"Call me Judah," and all that, and Andy spins a tale about Uncle Yitzhak locking himself accidentally in a freezer chest and dying of the first and still only case of hypothermia in Woodland Hills. "Judah" saved his, but his idiot brother "Andy" spent it on a van one summer when he needed a place to live. This whole "I am a suck-ass and Judah was a prince" thing goes on for a while, but the associate at the bank finally tells him that the growth is pretty average on this account: it's just that Bubbeh's been adding to it for, oh, thirty years or so. "THAT BITCH!" he screams, and then fake-pulls it together about how sad is favoritism.
Andy asks the crazy-eyed lady about the hold she's placed on the account, and she leans forward with the real deal, all "I don't know what bullshit he's pulling, but you tell Judah he has to come talk to me before he sees a penny of this, because I've been waiting a long time to say my piece to Judah Botwin and by God I'm gonna" whatever, whatever, Andy takes off his glasses and soberly fesses up that Judah's dead. And in the time it takes to blink she's catapulted herself into Crazytown, ripping out her hair and banging her head on the desk and crying to the tunefully wacky piano.
"Fast cars, rodent rape, summers off," Shane says in the parking lot, to hottie Sandusky. "Wow, to be you." Sandusky says everything's hilarious to a punk like Shane, but his parents had dreams one day too, and Shane heads for the nose again: "Nothing shits on my mom's dreams -- least of all me! -- and my dad's dead. But nice try." He tosses the gym bag of pot in the trunk, and Sandusky offers him a ride home after they settle up, then adroitly locks the doors and drives off, leaving Shane staring and holding no bag whatsoever. For a moment he looks his age again.
Nancy begs Till to just, hypothetically, walk away: go home and forget the whole thing. Of course, he's high drama about how he has nothing to go home to anymore, and Nancy -- because of all the people on this earth the one person who should be offering grief counseling is Nancy fucking Botwin -- gives him a hilariously insincere, "I know it's soon, but what about dating?" Is she still talking to him, though: "He wouldn't be who you had, but..." And if not, who's she talking about? Ignacio nods helpfully. "My ugly cousin Paolo made himself a fuckdoll from a tire!"
Never let it be said that I stopped loving Cesar -- or Sucio's agreeable grossness, for that matter -- but this Ignacio, he has a certain something. He has that Sir Didymus kind of hyperactive, super-destructive charm that suits me even better than Cesar's malevolent-yet-darling ennui. All that time sitting on the tunnel, and he could have been telling us about Milo & Otis and fuckdolls. Nancy nods: out there for Roy Till, there is someone. Someone, or something. Maybe a tire.
"You have to choose, Nancy." Between Till and Esteban, there is no choice. There was a point where she chose the law over chaos, and went to Till. And he almost saved her, but then he didn't. And thanks to the baby, she had Esteban to keep her safe. Except she didn't really pick him and he didn't really save her. His comfort and safety mean nothing except a long tunnel with death at the end. But thanks to Sucio and a certain belt-sander, the other option's tainted now too: Till's comfort and safety are now nonexistent, a much shorter tunnel with death at the end. She has sufficiently pissed off justice to the point where there's none. She has no shelter: just two men who hold her in the palm of their hands.
"I can't have it either way," she tries to explain, but he's not having it. These are the hard choices, he's saying: "Mommy, you have to pick your favorite!" Because she's right: he'll kill Ignacio, that's the only reason he's alive. On the other hand, Ignacio will kill him without a second thought, and go watch movies and eat a sandwich. "That's true too," Ignacio says agreeably. The people she associates with.
"CHOOSE!" Till shouts, and the force of it sends her sideways, lying on the couch, with a Magic Eight Ball in her hands. If there's no shelter in law, and damnation in the opposition, then we don't even need a moral compass anymore. It's all random, now. Kind of Zen in a way. "I can't. I'm bringing a child into the world. I'm not ready to... sit here and play Buddha and be fucking Zen about who lives or dies. So we'll ask the magic ball." She wipes away a tear and stares up. "Tell me, Magic Ball. Can these two men part in peace? To live to kill another day?" She's playing with them, but not like a cat, not like Milo: she's playing with them because that's what she does. There are a multitude of random options. There aren't any options at all.
"Go on," he hisses. "Shake your magic ball. Tell yourself you're so noble because we're both still breathing. You've got blood on your hands!" Nancy stares.
Silas and Doug sign the lease; the old lady wants it month-to-month, three months down, but their cop buddy gets twelve months with two months down, because he beat up her cat. "I like your style!" says Doug, and the three of them sign, cheering. "Partners!" they yell. "Faggots!" she yells. They are bemused.
Judah was Margaret's first love, first boyfriend, first... You know. Then he left, and her life became a bucket of shit. Andy can identify.
They sit quietly for a while, and she praises him for the scam: no estate tax, no probate. He asks if she couldn't help him out, and she considers it. On the one hand, she could get fired. On the other, the bank's closing anyway. "You sorta look like him," she says. The same kind eyes. "Tell me more about my eyes," he says in some kind of sultry voice, and she breathes like Zoey would. "Here's the deal. Go out with me, and I'll get you into that account." He lies transparently that he was going to ask her out anyway, and she corrects him: "Only it has to be as Judah. You're Judah, and I'm me. And you have to love me, and treat me nice." There's a long pause while he puts his eyeballs back in their sockets, and then he smiles. "Well, there's nothing weird about that!" He calls her Margaret, and she goes very still and serious. "Mags. Judah calls me Mags." He nods, terrified, and she laughs again.
Nancy's in the upstairs hallway when Esteban approaches, and when he asks if she's okay she stares blankly at nothing. "As I see it, yes. It is certain. It is decidedly so. Most likely. Outlook good. Signs point to yes... Reply hazy, better not tell you now, don't count on it... My reply is no. My sources say no. Outlook not so good." She sighs. "Very doubtful." If she speaks, she'll break. He stands up, looking down, and she shakes her head, with the sound of the waves breaking far away. He heads for the door, and stops, turning. He knows her well.
"What's going to happen in there is not right or wrong. It's not good or bad: It is. It's what happens next," he says, looking into her eyes. She finally looks back. "We chose," he says. "You and I. When we came together, we chose. A life. This life. For you, for me, for our son. There is nothing I will not do to protect that life." Everything seems so simple for him. She stares at him, almost angry: how easy this is, and how insane. He heads into the bedroom, and she sits in the sun.
And later, downstairs, turning the Magic Ball in her hands, Nancy sits. Having listened, you see? Having heard. He pats Ignacio goodbye, and stands behind her where she stares at the ball. She barely jerks when he caresses her arm, her shoulder, comforting her. They go walking on the beach, and she stares at the ball, barely standing, begging it for answers, until he takes it from her hands and throws it over the waves. She watches it go. He holds her tightly and kisses her, first her neck and then her mouth. She likes it, it feels good; she loves him, she hates herself. He drops to his knees, kissing her belly even more passionately, and for a moment she's jealous. Then she just holds onto him, to keep standing. He rests his head against her. Out in the harbor, there are little boats.
All alone in Bubbeh's house, Andy's still wearing the cardigan. His hair is still slicked back. He fixes the last piece of the swing: a safe place, for the baby's head. It's easier as Judah, to make things snap into place. "You're Judah, and I'm me. And you have to love me, and treat me nice." Then it's perfectly assembled: Domestic bliss. And Andy sits, alone, in the middle of it, unmoving.
]]>Taylor is up next, and she tells us that Sebastian has called her, so she's going shopping with two of her friends. Oh boy! Clothes shopping! Purses! Dresses! And so on. Taylor tells us that she's mostly dated public school boys, including her ex, Cole. And Cole's "not completely out of the picture." Hmm. Taylor's friends grill her about Sebastian, and she admits that she's nervous.
Sebastian and Kelli are hanging out someplace in New York City. I'm going to claim it's Columbus Circle. Sebastian has brought Kelli cupcakes and tells us that because Kelli left Taylor's party early, he wants to get to know her better. The cupcake earns Sebastian a hug. Kelli interviews that she has "a really weird obsession with cupcakes" and that she likes then more than actual cake. Kelli is so delighted to have had a cupcake that she asks Sebastian what he's doing for dinner. Upon learning that the answer is "having it with Taylor," she's taken aback. Sebastian decides that now is the time to brag and adds that it's at "a French restaurant." That will be perfect for him, because remember that he thinks he can speak French. Kelli thinks it's weird that Sebastian is flirting with her but going out with Taylor at the same time. When she asks him if he's going to get serious with Taylor, his answer is a masterpiece of wishy-washiness: "Maybe. Perhaps. We'll see." Then they part, leaving an empty possibly-Columbus-Circle bench.
PC goes to see his therapist Audrey. Audrey's office is laid out in red velvet and gold furnishings. PC talks to Audrey about how he has trouble opening up and connecting. He feels that people hide themselves from themselves. He's bored with school but finds growing up in New York amazing, both positively and negatively. He complains that the girls he's around cry at the loss of an eyeliner and attributes his antsiness to New York. He's so impatient he flushes the toilet before he's done peeing. He stopped playing ice hockey because he wasn't the best. He admits to being an intolerant perfectionist. End of therapy!
Sebastian and Taylor are at Circle Rouge, because Sebastian likes to impress chicks with his French. As he says, "I always try to speak French around girls, because, like, it always works." Well, anything's better than your English. He greets Taylor with a hug and assures her that this is his favorite restaurant. Taylor tells us that she's very interested in going out with a private school boy. She also finds it a turn-on when a boy is bilingual. She and Sebastian exchange pleasantries in French, although Taylor only has a couple sentences she can say. The waiter arrives and Taylor announces that she's a vegan. Oh. That's just great. Well, the waiter offers her a salad, at least. She asks for it without dressing and Sebastian likens that to eating leaves. Well, yeah. Sebastian grills Taylor on what she does for fun (reads) and what she wants to do when she grows up (be a philosopher). Sebastian accurately asks how she's planning on making philosophy pay, and she claims she'll write books. Well, I guess it could work. Taylor tells us that she attracted to Sebastian primarily on the strength of his hair. Well, it is nice hair. Outside the restaurant, there's a series of awkward goodbyes, and he goes in for a kiss. He tells us, "I thought this was just gonna be another hook-up, y'know, but I'm getting kind of into her." So it looks like he uses "hook-up" to mean "go to dinner with." That's kind of a relief.
PC meets up with ex-girlfriend Amanda in a nightclub. Amanda talks through a locked jaw and it's a little hard to tell what she's saying sometimes. PC feels that he was immature when he dated Amanda and she wants to know what he's looking for now. PC thinks everyone in New York is in a bubble, and they're all the same. Amanda wants to know why PC would associate himself with the stereotypical pompous Upper East Side snobs, which is exactly what PC is, judging by what we've seen on the show. He talks about finding a different crowd to hang out with because he hates everyone's father being a CEO. He also hates straws in his drink. I think PC may have read Catcher in the Rye recently. If he starts yammering about phonies, that'll be a clue.
Jessie's at a clothing store where PC will meet her to pull clothes for Operation Smile. Jeff, the owner, greets her and they plan on making a new Operation Smile hoodie. Jessie gets tired of waiting for PC and leaves a message for him that she can't wait any longer and starts browsing. Clothes shopping! Jessie is ticked off, which you can tell by the face that she uses his full name on the message. Finally, PC rolls in and apologizes. She's still calling him Peter, so you know she's mad. His excuse is refreshing in its directness: he didn't want to come all the way down here (which would mean more if I knew where they were or where PC lived), and also he was being lazy. Jessie is not mollified. And now that he's here, Jessie is angry that he wants to shop. Which is what she wanted him here to do, right? But she's been here for an hour and now she just wants to leave and she's frustrated with him.
PC and Sarah meet up on a corner. Sarah is another of PC's female friends who he likes to talk to about women. He wants to meet someone new and not from his circle. He tells us that in the prep scene, there's a lot of casual sex but that he's looking for "something a little more tasteful." Tasteful? Tasteful casual sex?
Kelli and Camille go to a spa and get glop painted on their faces. Kelli talks about Sebastian and the cupcakes. Camille isn't surprised to learn that Sebastian and Taylor went out because they clearly liked each other. She offers to call Sebastian but Kelli claims not to like gossip. But the next thing you know, Camille and Kelli are in a hot tub full of lemons (it's like a freakin' Ken Russell film in here!) and calling Sebastian up to get the scoop. Kelli thinks it's disgusting that Sebastian kissed Taylor at the end of their date, and I'm just surprised he has so little sense as to tell Kelli about it. Even through Kelli's glopmask, she's clearly disturbed.
Jessie meets up with her friend Zoe, who lives in a place with what appears to be a manual elevator. Living in a loft sounds romantic and cool, but it looks like a lot of work. Zoe will be hosting a turning-18 party and invited more guys than girls. Jessie complains about PC telling her that Kelli and Camille thought she was a bitch. She insists that the fashion industry is hard, and she doesn't have time to talk to people she doesn't know because she doesn't care what anyone thinks of her. Well, let me know how that works out for you. I'm sure you'll be a big hit.
Camille, Kelli and Taylor are shopping. For clothes! This is my chance to learn the difference between Kelli and Taylor, because up until now I've just been thinking of them as "the ones with straight dark hair." I realize that describes Camille as well, but at least she's got that eye thing that makes her look kind of distinctive. I realize I make her sound like Marty Feldman (look it up!), but I do find it helpful that she doesn't look just like the other two. Kelli grills Taylor on all the details of her dinner with Sebastian, and Camille tries to bait her into admitting that she kissed Sebastian. And then there's kind of a slow-motion shot of Kelli and Taylor pushing hair off their ears. I guess it's supposed to be establishing them as rivals or something. Taylor asks Kelli what she and Camille are doing that night and promptly gets invited along to Zoe's party. There is more clothes shopping. Taylor thinks it's dumb to spend 500 bucks on a skirt she could get at Target. It's nice to see that she has some kind of sense. After Taylor leaves, Camille suggests that they invite Sebastian to the party as well so that they can see how he and Taylor act together. You know what I think? I think Camille's a mixer. Also, it seems bad manners to rampantly invite people to someone else's party.
Bonus midcommercial content! PC tells us that "Prep school kids in New York like to be fit and stay in shape". This is another example of the kids on this show believing that something is in some way specific to their experience. Believe it or not, people who live all over the country have an interest in physical fitness. Even kids not in private schools! Anyway, PC is working with a personal trainer, who is a woman named Alex. Alex interrogates PC about his girl situation.
Sebastian and his friend Max shop for shoes in preparation for Zoe's party. This is uninteresting to me, so I will instead report that the background music appears to be the bassline from "Keep Feeling Fascination" by The Human League.
While Jessie and Zoe prepare for the party (by sitting on the couch), Jessie gets a call from PC to tell her that he has a blind date that night. Jessie once more emphasizes how very, very fine with this she is. Why wouldn't she be? There's no reason! No reason at all! We see Zoe dancing in a variety of odd manners.
As Jessie and Zoe ride to the party, Zoe sneers at the Bridge and Tunnel crowd. I officially disapprove of her just assuming people are from New Jersey and disliking them on those grounds, but in this case, I also hate the people that drove past in a stretch Hummer limo.
The moon, according to this insert shot, is full. I mention that because I have noticed that on reality shows, the moon is always full, and I'm hoping to embarrass the producers into occasionally mixing in a crescent for variety.
People enter the party and get their names checked against The List. Let's let Jessie describe it: "The place where Zoe's having her party is a big downtown loft space. It's just really cool. There's like a dungeon in the back." Well, okay. Kelli and Camille get in, and Camille gloats about knowing where the parties are. Then she kind of loses cool points by gushing, "Are these after-dinner mints? No. Way." I'm going to assume that they're particularly impressive mints, because otherwise Camille just got excited over the sight of peppermint. Kelli asks Jessie if PC's coming, and Jessie is annoyed in an interview. She feels that if Kelli and Camille are going to talk shit about her, they shouldn't come up to her and act friendly. Hmm. That puts me in a bit of an awkward position if I ever run into Jessie. I guess it's pretty unlikely, though, so I won't worry about it too much. Note that Camille has the sense to stay away from Jessie. There's a heavily Frankensteined clip where Camille says that it would be social suicide to enrage Jessie given that she needs to get involved with Operation Smile. But seriously, that clip was cut together from three or four different speeches.
Sebastian arrives and gets a big hug from Kelli. He sits with Camille and Kelli, who starts telling him about this French restaurant she went to (Sebastian: "Did you think about me?") I think Camille is trying to keep Sebastian off balance when she asks him "You're a sophomore, right?" but that doesn't mean I approve of his comeback: "You have something in your teeth." It does break Camille's train of thought, though. Sebastian starts to chat up Kelli's friend Lizzie, and Kelli is wracked with self-doubt. She's starting to understand Sebastian a little.
PC arrives at a restaurant for his blind date.
Taylor arrives at Zoe's party and gets a big hug from Sebastian. Sebastian makes Camille move over so Taylor can sit next to him, and Kelli is not enjoying the party at all now. She would like to leave, please. And so she does. Exit Kelli.
PC continues to wait at the restaurant. For 45 minutes. Then he calls Jessie to let her know the deal.
At the party, something new has been added. It's Cole, Taylor's ex-boyfriend! And he sits right next to Taylor and Sebastian. Awkward. He pulls Taylor off to the side and Sebastian and Max discuss the situation. Sebastian's not worried, because Max is like 30 years old or something (he's 17) and also because he doesn't think Cole looks good enough to steal Taylor back. Taylor is glad when Cole leaves.
PC leaves the restaurant in a snit. And a taxi.
There is dancing at the party, and then Sebastian has a declaration for Taylor: "Yo, we're leaving. Just me and you are leaving." Then, to Camille, to make it clear: "Just me and her." So there! Out on the street, Taylor and Sebastian have a moment of sorts, and Taylor tells him that she prefers him to Cole. And he wants to hang out with her tomorrow. They kiss.
Discuss this episode in our forums, then see what vlogger Sean Crespo thinks should be done with prep school kids in No Prior Knowledge!
You can email Monty at montykins@gmail.com, if that's your idea of a good time.
]]>But what happens next is almost as good. She struts up to the house, burning up at least the first minute on that long driveway as Michael VOs, "For many operations, two-man teams are ideal. Simple chain of command, easy to delegate responsibility, and little room for confusion." Even if one of them is Fi? She's in the house by now, where there's clearly a party in progress, complete with bikini babes. A few guys are sitting around the poker table, including a charmless sleazebag that the subtitles tell us is "Randall -- Charmless Sleazebag." He and Fi glare at each other across the room. Outside, Michael's VO continues as a squad car pulls up behind him. He decides to close the trunk and smile rather than let them see what he's got in there. "Of course, with a two-man team, there's not a lot of margin for error. All it takes is a cop showing up at the wrong moment and the team ceases to exist." Michael pleasantly greets Detective Paxson, who has gotten out of the unmarked car that pulled up behind the squad car. "Detective Paxson -- Inconvenient Cop," the subtitles say, which is about as accurate as they've ever been regarding her. Even they aren't trying to convince us that she's "Michael's Worst Nightmare" any more.
Inside, Fi tells Randall the deadbeat she wants her client's $20,000, casting a skeptical look at the cash piled on the card table when he smugly claims not to have it. Outside, Michael is watching his watch count down past 15 seconds, which even Paxson doesn't fail to notice. Michael has a good story for her: "I'm just picking up a friend from a poker game. She consumed an alcoholic beverage; I volunteered to be her designated driver." With less than ten seconds left, Michael pulls out his cell phone to call her, but Paxson says not to. And inside, Fi has gotten to the point in the discussion with Randall where she threatens to deliver Randall himself if she can't deliver the money. "You're going to carry me out yourself?" he sneers. "No, I'll have a little help," she smirks back. Her watch beeps, and she glances expectantly toward the door. Which is not being blown open by Michael in any sense of the word. Suddenly Fi's facing an angry-looking Randall and two even angrier-looking goons, and when she looks out the front window, she sees that her cavalry is too busy chatting with Paxson to ride to her rescue. Realizing she's on her own now, she socks Randall, then picks up a chair and uses it to smash first one of the goons and then Randall's picture window. Out she hops into the driveway, drawing looks from Paxson and Michael of varying degrees of curiosity. "She may have consumed two alcoholic beverages," Michael mildly tells Paxson. Fi runs up to them, just as Randall and his goons come out the front door and stop short when they see the fuzz. "Great party! I'll see you later!" Fi fake-drunks to them as they go back inside, almost as though she could hear what Michael was telling Paxson. Paxson says she's not really interested in getting an explanation. Instead, she brought Michael "some babysitters," by which she means the two uniformed cops in the squad car. Looks like Michael's stuck with a permanent tail. As she heads back to her car, Michael tells Fi, "Looks like we have a chaperone on our date tonight."
The evening does indeed find them at dinner, looking out at the police car from their table at... Carlito's. Obviously Fi's a little disappointed at the venue, after Michael promised to bring her someplace nice. "I said that when I thought we were going to be five grand richer," Michael reminds her. Oh, like he would have taken the money anyway. So Fi gets back at him in typically mature fashion by ordering the most expensive dessert on the menu. Her "date" becomes even more disappointing when Sam plops himself down in the seat next to Michael, resplendent in a bright pink shirt and expositing that he's getting audited. At least Paxson isn't behind this. "Something about deducting mojitos," Sam sighs, and comments on the police escort he couldn't help noticing outside. Michael says it's going to get someone killed. You know, Michael, it's okay to just be annoyed by stuff once in a while. Not everything has to be life and death. Sam says he's been trying to find some dirt on Paxson to get her to back off, but she's "too clean to blackmail." Fi's giant dessert arrives, and Sam realizes something's up. "Is this a date?" he asks, shocked at the very idea that Michael and Fi might be trying to act like a normal couple. And understandably so. Michael answers in the affirmative and Fi answers in the negative at the same time. Having heard the answer he was hoping for, Sam asks the server for another spoon so he can share the dessert. Fi looks annoyed, as though eating that whole thing herself wouldn't double her weight.
Next day, Michael is in his Charger, leading his escort around the city. He VOs, "When you're being followed by the police, it's important to remember that having cops around is a problem for criminals. But it's an even bigger problem for a detective trying to remain inconspicuous on a stakeout." And it seems that's just what Detective Paxson is doing as Michael gets out of his car and sits down across from her at a sidewalk cafe. Don't ask me how he found her; she's not only not advertising her location, she's looking almost unrecognizable in a flowery sundress. Maybe she raided the section of the show's wardrobe closet that's marked "Michael's Female Clients" and he tracked her from there. "Are you on a stakeout?" he whispers faux-innocently, ignoring her insistence that he make himself scarce before his escort scares off her target. "Do you need help with your cover ID? I could be a fellow coffee lover, a boyfriend, anything you need." She tells him she's on another case that she's spent eight months on. "People are dying, Mr. Westen. I don't have time for these games." Michael agrees with her, and assures her they're on the same side. She dares him to prove it, and that seems to give him an idea. "You're right, we should talk later," he says abruptly, and gets up to leave, already on his phone to Sam before he even gets back to his car. "I need you to find out a little more about another case Paxson's working on," he instructs. After the dessert Michael bought him last night, seems like the least he could do.
Michael comes into his mom's front door, and she disgustedly holds up a mixing bowl filled with what looks like a failed grade-school volcano experiment. "Cookies!" she spits. "After your birthday cake, I thought I'd take up cooking. It's supposed to be relaxing. So far I'm not convinced." Hey, you know what I hear is relaxing? Smoking. She should give that a shot. As she dumps her cigarette butt in the bowl preparatory to dumping it all down the kitchen drain, Michael asks her a favor: "If the cops out front ask, tell them I've run to the store." She gives him a familiar motherly guilt trip: "I'd appreciate it if when you stopped by it wasn't only to lose your police tail." I think we've all heard that from our moms. But she does let him out, with a request to get eggs and cigarettes. If those are the only two ingredients she's using, I think I figured out why her cookies went wrong.
Michael's sitting in a nondescript dark sedan outside a graveyard. Well, it's not entirely nondescript; the ceiling liner is hanging down in tatters. So that's descriptive, I guess. From this vantage point, Michael can see Detective Paxson, apparently off stakeout, back in her grown-up pantsuit and now talking to some people just after a burial. You can tell by the hearse in the background. Sam hops into the shotgun seat and asks about Michael's new ride. "Three hundred bucks," Michael says. "Statistically, it's the second-most popular car in Miami. Should make tailing me a little more challenging." And statistically, it's likely to belong to Sam by the end of the season. Sam hands Michael a copy of the police dossier on someone else Paxson has been after, a guy named Rick Matheson. According to the photo (okay, and the opening credits), he's played by Erik Palladino, formerly Dr. Dave on ER. "Got a habit of ripping off drug dealers," Sam says. "Left a trail of bodies across Miami." Including the one currently being planted, an innocent bystander who got caught in the crossfire, of course. Michael asks about Paxson's case against Matheson, which is presently dick. Apparently she took a few runs at him and then had to back off after he filed a harassment complaint. See, Michael, that's how you deal with Paxson. But rather than stealing an excellent idea, Michael explains the plan: they help Paxson with her case. "We take Matheson down the right way, she'll have no choice but to get off my back." No choice? Really? As Paxson goes and gets in her car, she gets yet another subtitle, this one reading, "Detective Paxson -- The Client." You knew that was coming. With the A-plot for the week laid out, Sam's off to his B-plot audit, which he's feeling pretty good about. "The I.R.S. agent's name is Stacey Connolly," he tells Michael. "Time to deploy the Sam Axe arsenal." Let's hope that wink he tips Michael isn't the best weapon in there. It's a bit too "Bad Ash," if you get my meaning. [Good Ash, bad Ash -- he's the guy with the chin. - Zach]
Later, Sam sits at a seaside restaurant, having dressed up for the occasion. Yes, he's still wearing an aloha shirt as always, but it has long sleeves. Michael VOs, "In any sort of operation, flirtation is always a tactical option." Really? What if you're hideous? "Romance is a powerful force, and under the right circumstances, it can achieve your objective." Sam smiles at a businesslike blonde walking towards him, and she smiles back. "Of course, not every circumstance is the right one," Michael says, as she walks on by. Sam's still getting over that disappointment when a bespectacled, roly-poly nerd appears at his table. "Stacey Connolly, IRS," he introduces himself. "Stacey Connolly -- I.R.S.," add the subtitles, just so we know this isn't a prank. Stacey (who, just in case I haven't made it clear yet, is a dude) plops his briefcase down on the table, complaining about the distraction of the calypso music, just as the server delivers the pair of cosmos Sam must have ordered when he still thought Stacey Connolly was a chick. The actual Stacey Connolly is not impressed. "It's not going to work, because I do not drink, Mr. Axe." Clicking his pen, he says, "I audit." Sam stammers that they're both for himself. Stacey pops open his briefcase, which contains a letter stating that Sam's pension checks are on hold until he accounts for all of his expenditures over the last three years. But when he admits that he didn't bring his records ("I just thought we would get acquainted," he chuckles, which is funny because Stacey is a dude), Stacey bails on the meeting, saying they'll set up another appointment. He warns Sam not to try to charm him and snots off with a brusque "Good day." Hey, he forgot to add, "I said good day!"
Michael and Fi arrive at a beach club. Because it's her job, Fi complains about Michael's strategy of going after Matheson and asks if there isn't an easier way. "The easiest way to get her off my back is to answer her questions," Michael says. "This way doesn't involve me going to jail." So far. So they park their butts at the bar to watch stuff. "Finding your way into a criminal organization is about observing social dynamics," he VOs. "You start with a target." Michael's sunglasses are focused on Matheson, holding court in a cabana tent and generally acting like an entire tool aisle at Home Depot. "Matheson -- Public Enemy," the subtitles inform us with uncharacteristic vagueness. He bitches at and trips a busboy as Michael says that the goal is to find the right type of person to get you in. "People in the inner circle are usually too tough to go after. Anyone with real power is bound to be cautious. Drivers and bodyguards are easier, but they usually don't have real access. You want someone with enough juice be hungry for more, someone desperate to make a move. In short, you're looking for a frustrated middle manager." Michael seems to have settled on one, an unfortunate mook played by Nicholas Turturro (best known from NYPD Blue) who's currently getting his head smacked by Matheson for talking business at the club. "See, that's your problem, Tommy," Matheson berates his underling. "You don't think." He dismisses Tommy, who gets up with a rueful look and a subtitle that reads, "Tommy -- Aspiring Public Enemy." Fi's glad Michael has a target, because it's time for them to go. They can hear the approaching sirens and everything. She got a call from Sam reporting that Paxson found her car nearby. "If Mr. Personality here sees you with Paxson..." she says. "It'll be almost as bad as Paxson seeing us with him. Let's go!" Michael says, and they split.
They come out onto the sidewalk to find Paxson waiting and squad cars screaming into position. She busts him for ditching his escort. "Oh, I knew I forgot something," he says mock-ruefully. She issues some more empty threats and leaves, without bothering to ask what he was doing at a place where she knows her other favorite suspect hangs out. Gosh, hard to believe that Matheson ever escaped her tireless clutches.
At the loft, Sam is carefully marking up Michael's inner forearm with a Sharpie. Why? "To the educated eye," Michael VOs, "a prison tat tells a story. Where you did time, why you did time and who you did it with. It's a little like a job resumé for criminals." And is even easier to fake, it seems. [What's prison tattoo for "willing to relocate"? - Z] Fi comes in just as Sam is taking a break, looking up at Michael's face without letting go of his hand. "I leave you two alone for a minute," she "jokes." Michael grins as Sam rapidly explains about the fake tattoo. Apparently it's to get in with Tommy D'Antonia, a small-time hood who did two years at Allandale and now divides his time between the dog track and trying to get in with Matheson. Sam finishes up the fake tattoo, and Michael's about ready to head out when he happens to glance out the window and spot the police escort still waiting outside the courtyard. "Ugh, I gotta take the over-the-roof-and-down-the-rain-gutter exit," he says wearily. Yes, I can see why he's so keen to get the police off his back; he's going to wear out Miami's rear exits. Especially if Fi keeps leaving him alone with Sam. Whoops, did I just say that?
When Michael shows up at the dog track, he VOs, "Every kid who ever went to a new school knows the secret to fitting in: copy everyone else." That would explain the tacky threads that both he and Tommy are currently rocking, in a look that a less culturally sensitive commentator than myself might describe as "eighties Guido." Tommy is currently cursing out his dog from the front rail. "Spies do the same thing," Michael's VO continues. "Tailor their wardrobe, their movements, and their behavior to imitate their targets. All the little things that say, 'I'm your kind of guy.'" Satisfied that he's got Tommy down after a few seconds of study, he approaches him, just as Tommy watches his dog finish losing and throws his betting slip down. Michael does the same, fakely lamenting his own fake luck in a fake Jersey accent to match Tommy's. "You're Tommy D'Antonio, right?" Michael says. Tommy goes all cagey, and Michael waves his Sharpied arm around, introducing himself as "Milo" and saying he has "friends" who told him he should talk to Tommy if he ever comes to Miami. They bond over Allandale for a minute, and Tommy asks if they talk about him there, all sad and desperate. Michael tells him just what he wants to hear, saying Tommy's like a rock star up there. He spins a story about how he came to Miami to "earn," and then started running out of money when his "girl" came down. They share a chuckle of casual misogyny (Michael even doing a little snort), and Michael makes his pitch. "Hey, Mr. D'Antonio, you think I could--" Tommy tells him to use his first name, and Michael acts all honored as he says he's looking for tips. He claims he's even got a small "crew": "Me, my buddy, and my girl. It's not big time like you." Tommy is so flattered he invites them to dinner that night. Flattered and with an empty social calendar.
At Madeline's, Stacey is set up in the sunroom with his laptop, adding machine, and a big box of Sam's files that he's going through. He disallows a bunch of drinks, because apparently "classified" deductions don't count. "And then there's this," he says, pulling a big ol' Desert Eagle or something out of the box, lifting it with a pen through the trigger guard. "You wanted documentation of my trip to the Middle East," Sam says. "That's it. That's all I got. Got it off this guy who was in this group we were targeting." Stacey thinks that means Sam stole it. Sam amends that the guy was "...done with it." Still not getting it, Stacey thinks it's a gift. Sam further clarifies: "There was this thing... and then... the gun didn't have an owner any more." Stacey finally catches the snap, and says he'll put it down as a "windfall income." What, there's no "corpse-looting" classification? He says they're up to 17% of disallowed deductions, and if they hit 25%, they'll have to go back through Sam's records another three years. I'm going to take his word for that, because the alternative is to admit that I have yet to be audited, which would be a jinx of Fi-like proportions. Madeline appears with a plate of fresh chocolate-chip cookies, which Stacey declines, pleading allergies to chocolate, wheat flour and eggs. Sam snags one for himself, and quickly regrets it. Stacey gives Sam his homework for tomorrow -- a breakdown of gifts from his "lady friends" -- and takes off. "I have a headache in my eye," Sam tells Madeline. She offers him another cookie. "I'm good," he says quickly. He should ask her for some Imitrex-chip cookies instead.
Later, Sam's with Michael, Fi (who is chewing gum and playing with her hair in an apparent attempt at broad parody of Tommy's "girls back home"), and Tommy at dinner, as Michael VOs, "Sensitive operations often depend on knowing how hard to laugh at the boss's jokes." Clearly they're struggling with that, because they all just laugh as hard as they can. Fi in particular is sucking up to Tommy with a Jersey accent straight out of Grease 2. Changing the subject to business, Michael makes up stories about how he, "Brianna" and "Big Chuck" used to steal cars. Tommy says they're not thinking big enough, and tells them some fish stories about his own past scores. The team acts impressed, and Michael asks Tommy if they could come along on one of his jobs. Tommy, feeling flattered and expansive, says he'll give them an audition that very night.
Later, it's dark as they walk down the street, Tommy lighting up as he boasts that he's down to one cigarette a day. They're heading to a dry cleaners down the street, the robbing of which Tommy says he already has all figured out, "like clockwork." He rattles off the plan: "Big Chuck over here [meaning Sam, of course] throws a few rocks at the place, gets the guy to come out... Then the little lady runs over, spray-paints the security camera by the door." He hands her a can of red from his bag, which she says is her favorite color. "Then me and Milo run in, grab the cash, and run out the back." Michael has noticed that the camera is attached to a cable, and acts like a confused dumb guy as he pretends not to get whether "Brianna" needs to use the spray paint to eliminate the camera. "Or...did you want her to cut the cable on the roof?" Impressed, Tommy opts for the latter. He then pulls out a little snub-nosed revolver, which he says isn't loaded. It's just for pointing at the guy to scare him if they need to. Sounds like a stellar way to get killed. He shows Michael how to hold it sideways. "That's how they do it now," he explains. Oh, Tommy, that is so nineties. But at least it's a decade ahead of his wardrobe. Satisfied with Michael's sideways-gun-holding technique, he puts his crew into motion.
We start off with Michael, who rolls his eyes. Fi, on the roof, cuts the camera cable. I don't know how she got up there in the first place, unless one of the guys catapulted her up there on the end of a spoon handle. Sam pitches a rock at one of the neon tubes outside, smashing it and ducking out of sight when the cashier comes out. And while the guy's looking out into the darkness, Michael and Tommy dart inside the open door behind him and slam it shut. Michael locks the doors and closes the shades. The owner has his cell phone out and is threatening to call the cops. I guess he could break the window, but it's his own store. Which is the one good part of Tommy's plan. The first drawback is that Tommy can't get the cash register open. Michael rolls his whole head and walks over to fire extinguisher on the wall. "The lock on a cash register drawer is designed to keep it from pulling open," he VOs. "Whack it hard enough the other way --" which Michael does "-- and it breaks." Which it does. They stuff all the cash into a little bag -- including a few bills Michael finds stashed under the cash drawer -- and Michael has to remind Tommy that they're going out the back when he hears the sirens coming and momentarily freezes. The plan's next snag comes when they find the back door padlocked on the inside, trapping them inside. Tommy is completely at a loss. And of course Michael doesn't exactly want to get picked up for this either, because it would be pretty hard to explain to Detective Paxson. I should know, I've been trying to explain things to her for three weeks. It would be hard to explain checkers to Detective Paxson. Still pretending to be the apprentice, Michael asks Tommy, "You're saying unless we break the lock, right?" Tommy says that's right. Michael looks up at the narrow chain holding up a fluorescent light fixture and steals it, then threads it through the hasp of the lock. The sirens are getting closer all the time, which I wouldn't have thought possible. "When a padlock's held onto a door frame with three-inch wood screws," he VOs, "it's no match for a dry cleaning rack that can move 30,000 pounds of clothes." It can? And who wears 30,000 pounds of clothes? Michael attaches the other end of the chain to the rack and hits the switch. The chain goes taut and the mechanism strains for a few seconds, but then the lock pops clean off the door. "Not bad, kid," Tommy says approvingly, as though this were some challenge he had deliberately set up for his young Padawan. They head out the back, just as Fi and Sam pull up in a stolen Impala. "Clockwork, like Tommy said," Michael claims as he and Tommy hop in and they drive off. Wow, Tommy is really so dumb that he even believes people who tell him how awesome he is.
The next morning, Paxson shows up at the loft to brace Michael and Sam some more. She makes some threatening noises about crime labs, which doesn't really scare Michael. And it shouldn't, since they used nothing in the entire job except stuff they found on the scene and whatever Fi cut that camera wire with. And even if they had, where the hell has Miami's crime lab been during the last two seasons? Is it new or something? This is her lame preamble to mentioning last night's robbery/car theft, for which she claims to suspect Michael. So he asks if she's arresting him, which she isn't yet. "Just giving you a chance to explain yourself before the lab work gets done." "Pass, but thanks," Michael mocks. She says he can always check with the cops behind him if he changes his mind. If he can find them, that is. He's already shaken them off at least three times, so far, that we know of, and he isn't done yet. I've met cable repair guys who are more relentless. Paxson takes off again, probably in search of someone else who knows how to file a harassment complaint, since Michael clearly doesn't.
After she leaves, Michael says she's just trying to tie him to anything. So that was the only crime committed in Miami last night? Convenient. As Fi comes down the stairs with a manila envelope and a bundle of cash in her gloved hands, he asks her if she ditched the car she stole. She says the cops won't find it for months. "So after giving the dry cleaner back all his money, last night's heist cost us a grand." And are they also throwing in the cost of fixing his lights, cash register, camera cord, and padlock? Sam's more worried about the crime lab for some reason, and Michael agrees that they need to get this over with. "It's time for Tommy's crew to run into some cash flow problems." Oh, good, that explains... nothing.
Michael lurks in the kennels at the dog track, where Tommy's looking over the contenders. "The sight of a fresh injury has a primal effect on people," he VOs. "If you really need to make a point, sometimes there's no substitute for a good shiner." And with that, he swings a kennel door sharply into his own face. "It's never fun, but if that's what sells your story, it's worth a little pain." Again, Michael's injury comes pretty close to the scar that was already there. I'm starting to wonder if that's some kind of zipper the producers had installed in Jeffrey Donovan's face so they could just open it up every time Michael needs to look hurt and save money on fake blood. Like Bruce Campbell couldn't hook them up. [The man is probably still washing it out of his hair. - Z] Tommy is indeed startled at Michael's battered appearance when he comes up to him, claiming he has to leave town to get away from some debts. Tommy doesn't want to lose his apprentice: "You were a little nervous last night, but you did real good, man." Straight-faced, Michael says, "Coming from you, that means so much," but insists that he's still got to leave unless he gets a big score. Tommy's not giving up, and tells Michael about the worst odds he ever saw on a dog: 200 to 1. So he put a hundred on the overexcited hound, hoping to win a new car. And how did that turn out? "Busted his leg out of the chute," Tommy says. Michael's not really getting the point of the story, so Tommy explains that instead of letting them put him down, Tommy adopted him. "The point is, you gotta wait for the door to open before you can run." Michael says that's not enough, and he doesn't want a broken leg of his own. So Tommy says he might have something, and offers to introduce him to "an associate of mine, Rick Matheson." "What, he work for you or something?" Michael asks, never missing a chance to convince Tommy of his admiration. "We work together," Tommy stammers, and tells him to "dress nice" for the meeting. But how many gold chains does Michael own?
Stacey is just finishing up with disallowing Sam's spa weekend deduction, which brings them close to 25%, one deduction away from whatever. But he trails off when rooting through Sam's files unearths an old baseball card, and he stares at it for a minute. Suddenly Sam realizes he knows Stacey. "Your mom's Josie Connolly. I dated her, back in the day. We used to play catch. You were the little boy with the girl name!" Stacey denies it, babbling about famous male Staceys as a way of claiming that there are any number of them out there, until Sam interrupts with a reminiscence about the time he bought young Stacey a pack of baseball cards. Stacey fakes ignorance, until Sam continues talking about taping the cards to the kid's bicycle. "It sounded like a motorcycle, you called me Evel Knievel!" Stacey cuts him off. So now it's out, along with all of Stacey's old hurt that probably caused him to grow up to be a miserable little IRS auditor in the first place. "You acted like you liked me. And then one day you disappeared, and you never came back." Sam tries to explain that he thought Stacey was a good kid, and tried to call a few times after the end of the relationship, but his mom wouldn't have it. Stacey gets up to leave, and Sam offers to catch up over a beer. "Or no beer," he amends, remembering that Stacey doesn't drink. "We'll just..." But Stacey's already gone. "You dated Stacey's mother?" asks Madeline, who has been visible in the background, eavesdropping pointedly throughout this whole scene. Sam says it was brief. "Looks like it was long enough to make a impression," she obviouses, handing him a fresh beer. Well, now we can see where Michael got his keen powers of observation.
Fi and Michael are doing today's tinkering at the restaurant for some reason. As they get busy with duct tape and a pack of cigarettes, Michael VOs, "It's a challenge to place a bug on someone's body without them noticing. It helps if they always carry something you can reproduce. A phone, a watch, or a pack of cigarettes." They tape a wire inside the bottom of the pack. "Then it's just a matter of planting it on them and hoping they keep ignoring the Surgeon General until you get what you need." I'd wonder if Michael ever tried bugging Madeline this way, but then I realize that the cigarettes would run out long before the battery did.
Tommy comes and meets "Milo" and crew outside the beach club Matheson frequents, complimenting Michael on the white suite jacket he's wearing, the twin of his own. He slaps down his pack of Morleys (X-Files shout-out!) to help Michael with the lapels, and while he pep-talks them, Fi swaps his pack for the real one out of his sight. Tommy grabs the bugged pack and they all head inside. He's awfully busy with that pack of smokes for a guy who's down to one a day. Chalk it up to nervousness, I guess. And the demands of the plot.
"Building up an asset is a little like raising a kid," Michael VOs as they get frisked by Matheson's goons outside his cabana tent. "You can give them the tools to succeed, but when the first day of school rolls around, they're on their own." That's so true. I still remember the first day of school for M. Edium, my four-year-old. It was an emotional day for all of us: me, his mom and the little asset himself. Tommy introduces "Milo," "Brianna" and "Big Chuck" to Matheson, and says he was hoping they could all get in on a job. Matheson gives Tommy a hard time for talking so loud, and, once again, for not thinking. Matheson suspects Tommy's new crew of being cops, pointing to Sam's "cop haircut." Which actually looks totally different from how Sam wore his hair when he was posing as a cop two weeks ago, but never mind. Matheson tries to intimidate Sam (which doesn't work), flirt with Fi (which works even less), and is finally convinced that they're for real when Tommy tells him they helped him with the dry cleaner robbery. "It was like clockwork," Tommy says, again deploying his favorite term with the predictability of... I don't know, something that operates with mechanical reliability and regularity. Matheson invites Tommy to sit down for a talk, and dismisses his crew.
Except the "crew" is listening in on the bug in the beat-up car Michael's driving this week. Fi thinks Tommy's liable to have a heart attack before they get anything, right before they hear Matheson invite Tommy and his crew in on tomorrow's job, which is a hit on a meth lab in a place called "Little Dominica." Expanding into Vice City, I see. Tommy's crew will be in charge of watching the front. When Tommy doubtfully asks about the dealers having machine guns and wonders if there's another way, Matheson basically tells him to sack up and take the shot he's been waiting for. "We're in," Michael says.
But when Michael goes back to meet Tommy at the track, Tommy claims there isn't anything for them. Good thing Michael bugged him, or he'd have no choice but to believe him. So Michael pushes the issue, until Tommy pushes back, hard. "This guy was gonna get you killed just to make a few bucks!" Tommy yells. "That ain't gonna happen. You guys are out!" Michael protests some more to Tommy and VOs, "Work in intelligence long enough, and you get good at predicting human behavior. But sometimes, people surprise you." Which Tommy proceeds to do. He confesses that he thought he could move up if he got a crew of his own. "But that ain't me. It ain't me." "And when they do, you can surprise yourself," Michael VOs. Dropping the fake accent, Michael comes clean with Tommy: "I wanted in on the heist because I'm trying to take Matheson down." Tommy's upset at first that Michael lied to him, but Michael insists that he's a good guy, even if he isn't a cop. "Matheson's hurt a lot of people and he's going to keep doing it. But we're going to take him down. We need your help." Uh-oh, the situation is even more desperate than I thought.
The next day, Tommy meets with "his" "crew" at the marina, so they can tell him about the plan and explain why they can't go to the police. "[Matheson]'s outmaneuvered the cops before. We need to get him caught red-handed," Michael says. He asks Fi to get the Impala back from where she ditched it and Sam to time how soon the cops will be able to get to the meth lab. And Tommy? He just needs to do what Matheson asked him to do, which means getting the van Matheson requested and telling Michael where the heist is supposed to go down, "so we can do our prep work." Tommy agrees, nervously. Michael claps him on the shoulder and assures him it'll be "like clockwork." The phrase works on Tommy like a little key thingy you might use to wind up some sort of mechanical device.
Later, our three leads park the stolen Impala, with Tommy in the blue van behind them. Matheson and a couple of goons also show up. Apparently Matheson is a little more hands-on than I gave him credit for. He explains that the plan is to move in when one of the dealers goes out for "supplies," which apparently he does at the same time every day. The predictability of criminals can come in so handy. When that happens, Matheson and his guys will go in the front and disable the alarm, and Tommy's crew -- Michael, Sam and Fi -- will take up position outside. "All you gotta do is hold off a couple of meth-heads while we take the stuff out the back. Tommy's gonna drive around, pick us up, and we meet later to, uh, split the score." It's obvious that his plan includes getting Tommy's new crew killed out from under him, and he's barely even trying to conceal his mirth at how he's screwing them. Good thing they're already onto him, or they might protest. Right on cue, one of the dealers comes out of the warehouse and gets in a car, so the teams moves in, but not before Matheson tells Tommy to "look sharp," treating him to another head-smack. Matheson's two goons knock the deadbolt off the door, almost like clockwork, and the three of them enter the empty lab, where the beeping of an alarm keypad awaiting a code entry is clearly audible. They bar the door behind them, locking Michael, Sam and Fi out. What they don't know is that Michael is locking them in. "Super Glue's cheap, quiet and powerful," he VOs, laying a double bead of it around the door frame. "Lay it on thick and force-dry it with canned air [which is Fi's job], and you can cut bonding time to less than a minute." As Sam and Michael roll a Dumpster into place to use as a barricade, Sam complains about their tactical position, despite Fi's prep work. "We just need to keep the bad guys from killing each other until the cops get here," Michael says. "By standing in between them?" Sam asks. As he joins Sam and Fi behind the Dumpster, Michael's only answer is to rack the slide on his gun. Is he really about to get into a firefight directly outside a meth lab? Michael, if you proceed with this plan, I'll have no choice but to share a tip with you.
Packing up the bags of meth with his guys inside, Matheson cracks, "Why cook at home when there's takeout?" Har har. As the alarm stops beeping and starts ringing, he says insincerely, "Oops." Dude, I get that he's a heartless fuck, but from the perspective of his own self-interest, is it really safer for him to call down the storm on his team than just disable the alarm, even if half of his team is only serving as cannon fodder to cover his escape? Apparently so. Whatever the case, the alarm is Sam's cue to call the cops. And it's also the cue for a bunch of random guys to start coming out of neighboring buildings, packing heavy. And that's when the shooting starts. And I think it's time I did something I've never done before, which is to treat Michael Westen to an M. Giant voice-over. Just imagine me saying the following in a dry, slow voice:
Meth labs are dangerous not only because they tend to be manned by criminals, but also because they're full of highly explosive chemicals. Fill a cramped, poorly ventilated room with flammable compounds like acetone, propane, and mineral spirits, and you've got a powerful bomb just waiting to go off. Every bomb needs a fuse, and the best fuse for a meth lab is some idiot starting a pitched gun battle right outside. Or, better yet, having his girlfriend set off a bunch of small explosions in the street. But you're the Master Spy, smart guy, so I'll just sit back and watch while you, Sam and Fi turn yourselves, the entire city block and probably all of Little Dominica into a smoking crater. Bye, now.
Oh, did I forget to mention the explosions? Yeah, because Fi's weapon of choice for this engagement is her remote detonator, which she uses to set off blast after miniature blast in the alley, cutting off the advance of the guys with the machine guns. That would be the prep work they were talking about earlier. Good thing that meth lab doesn't have any windows, or they might have gotten curious earlier about why a skinny tan lady with a weird accent was so busy arranging wooden pallets at seemingly random intervals on the pavement. While she's doing that, Sam and Michael lay down covering fire with their handguns to pin the bad guys down behind parked cars. Hey, where's Sam's shotgun? Inside, Matheson is on his cell phone, telling Tommy it's time to leave. Any doubts our guys might have had about whether Tommy was going to come through are quickly dispelled as he and the van emerge from the cloud of smoke, Lightning McQueen hero-shot style, and he tips Michael a wink as he rolls by. He pulls around to the back door as instructed by Matheson, but with one small difference -- he parked the van right up against the door, preventing Matheson from opening it more than an inch or two. Yeah, this plan of Michael's wouldn't seem so clever if that door opened inward. Tommy climbs out the passenger side as Matheson yells at him futilely to move the vehicle. He and his two goons try the front door. No joy there either, thanks to the Super Glue. Right then Matheson gets a cell phone call from Michael, who's still in character as Milo even in the middle of a firefight: "I'm not sure about the plan. It's almost like you were trying to get us killed out here?" Matheson tries to blame it on Tommy's screw-up, but "Milo" says, "Actually, I think it's you that screwed up. You screwed up bad." Hearing approaching sirens for the second time this episode, Michael delivers Matheson's verbal coup de grace. "What made you think you could piss off every drug dealer and cop in town and not get any payback? Oh, wait, that's your problem. You don't think!" He hangs up, and as the sirens get still closer (although we know from earlier in the episode that police sirens anywhere in Miami sound like they're a block away. Fi sets off one more round of explosions to cover their escape. Or possibly to blow Miami off the map, but that second thing doesn't actually happen. Michael, Sam and Fi disappear into the smoke, which will apparently carry them all the way home. Because I don't see any other handy getaway cars around.
And after the cops roll in and a handcuffed Matheson tells Paxson it's her lucky day, an officer tells her he found the "other" getaway car: the selfsame Impala from the dry-cleaning robbery. With C-4 in the trunk. Paxson makes a thinky-face. It's clearly a strain for her.
Outside his place, Tommy introduces Michael to his 200-1 shot greyhound. It's still got a bandaged leg, but it clearly has calmed down quite a bit. Michael bossily tells Tommy to go straight, but Tommy's way ahead of him. He's thinking of moving to St. Louis, where his mom is, and starting a kennel there. They shake, and Tommy thanks him for having his back. Big hug. "I think you guys are going to be okay without me," Tommy says. Michael just grins, because that's more polite than laughing in Tommy's face.
Paxson comes and finds Michael sitting at a table at the Carlito, reading a newspaper, and tells him she closed her biggest case. Michael politely congratulates her. "Thing is," Paxson says, "he was a master criminal who managed to get stuck in a locked meth lab with C-4 in a getaway car parked outside." Michael acts surprised, unconvincingly, and she is suitably unconvinced. She adds that her perp's MO doesn't historically include C-4, although it has been used in other Miami explosions. "Any thoughts?" she invites. Michael removes his sunglasses and suggests, "Well, it seems like you can close the books on those cases. Or you can keep coming after me and have the case against Matheson unravel." Wow, how did he even find a place on the table to put his sunglasses with all his cards in the way? "So I get Matheson and you get a free pass?" she asks. He assures her that any pass he might have gotten wasn't free. He repeats that they're on the same side, and she dismisses the cop escort -- which has somehow reacquired Michael since he ditched them for the 79th time -- with a bob of her head. Or maybe she's just glancing at the traffic. Either way, they're off Michael's trail again, and they no longer have to spend their time sticking to him like felt on a fridge. Leaving, she tells him to "remember where the line is, Mr. Westen. I will be watching." "I'd expect nothing less," he replies. Whatever, three episodes is plenty.
At Madeline's house, Sam has figured out how to resolve the audit situation: get it drunk. Sitting across from Sam at Madeline's dining room table, Stacey says that he thought this was his chance to get back at Sam. "I'm glad you found me," Sam says smoothly. Stacey agrees, and asks for another drink. Sam obliges with a fuzzy navel. "It's not really my kind of thing, but we gotta start you off easy. Work your way up to the good stuff." Stacey's thrilled to have a drinking guru, and asks if he can call Sam from bars with drinking questions. Sam tells him anytime. "Is this not the best audit ever?" Stacey giggles. Okay, I don't believe this for a second, but I'm sure it'll come in handy in the future for Sam to have a "buddy" at the IRS. He's got them everywhere else.
Michael and Fi are at their nice dinner at a nice restaurant, having a nice dinner conversation. "I got rid of the rest of the C-4," Fi says. Okay, maybe not that last one. Michael says it was worth it to ditch the cops, and Fi agrees -- now she can bring Michael along on a bunch of new gigs. But Michael is not about that at all. "I still need back in," he says. Fi was hoping he would have changed, like Tommy, but he just shakes his head. "I'm free of the people who burned me. I'm clear of the cops. This is the moment I've been waiting for." "This is the moment I've been waiting for, too," Fi whispers, and secretly pulls a hair out of her nose so she can spill a tear down her cheek. Michael whispers her name and she says, "Let's just enjoy dinner." Good plan, but it doesn't really seem to be happening. They probably should have just ordered the yogurt.
Discuss this episode in our forums,, then see why vlogger Sean Crespo thinks Michael has a pretty sweet deal in No Prior Knowledge!
M. Giant is a Minneapolis-based writer with a wife, a son, and a number of cats that seems to have settled at around two. Learn waaaay too much about him at Velcrometer, follow him on Twitter, or just e-mail him at M.Giant[at]gmail.com.
]]>So people are throwing around the word "Emmy" in regards to your performance. How are you taking it?
Jay Harrington: With a grain of salt? The proverbial huge grain of salt? You know, it's appreciated, and it's incredible company to be in, but even just as a television viewer... I don't want to say it's not warranted, but let's just say I'm honored to even be mentioned. But I am excited to know that from the get-go, critics have been very kind and helpful with the show. I knew from the first time I read [the script] it was a great show, and I feel like what I've seen is good quality, and all we need now is to get more people to watch. But I'm very thankful.
Were you a fan of Victor Fresco's other shows before you got the part of Ted?
Harrington: I'd seen Andy Richter Controls the Universe a few years back. That was another case of being very well-reviewed and critic-praised and it didn't quite get the viewership. But it's tough in this time, with so many options; it's nice to be talked about in that same scenario. His others... I didn't see Life on a Stick, but Victor goes way back. He worked on ALF, so I guess, yes, I did watch ALF.
Were you surprised to be renewed for a second season, given the number of shows that didn't make the cut?
Harrington: Yes, in that sense I was surprised, but I did feel good about what we'd done and what we'd shot and what was left to go. I felt like, if ABC were going to take a chance on any of the shows that they had going on, why not us, because of the positive words spoken about it? Those that did watch it were passionate about it. The fans were really into it, but yeah, I was surprised. I mean, Samantha Who got canceled, and that was a critically-praised show. So I guess at this point you just go to work and not try to figure out why things work out the way they do.
In last week's episode, we saw a return of some of the flirtatiousness between Ted and Linda. Will there be more this season?
Harrington: Yeah, In the next few [episodes], you will, and certainly, what he finds in Linda is what he's been looking for in the crazy world of Veridian Dynamics. I talked to Victor briefly about what we'll see next time when we come back, and he said that that will always be there, but Ted makes the decision based on his "one office affair" rule, among others, that he's going to go out and look and start dating. I think the idea is that it will give him the information he needs that Linda is the one that he wants to be with. But he takes all the responsibility on himself. He feels like he blew the chance by hooking up with Veronica.
What do you think of your female co-stars, Portia de Rossi and Andrea Anders?
Harrington: I have such a great time with them, and they're from such different schools of training and backgrounds. I've watched Portia a lot, and I've watched Andrea a lot in her stuff, both Joey and The Class, because at that time I was doing pilots and stuff on network, whether they went or not, and it was kind of within the time frame of Andrea's stuff. And Portia, she's just a pro, you know? She comes to work, she's got everything. With comedy, I think it's so important, especially in TV, to know and trust what the writers are writing and just have it down. And she was very helpful with me, when I would be in almost every scene, and she would pull me aside sand say, "Hey, we got stuff for Friday, we have that big scene, let's go work on it, let's go do it, do it, do it." So that when we went in the room, and everyone's standing around waiting to set it up and light it, we were bringing our "A" game, and that then allows you to have fun and play and find different beats and moments. You could see a TV executive saying, "Well, she's great, and she's great, but they're both blonde, so let's go find a brunette somewhere." But they're so different, and they bring so much to their characters that it really makes it [work], I think.
Ted's ex was mentioned in the last episode -- will we ever get to meet her?
Harrington: Not in the episodes coming up, and I'm not sure if we come back [to it]. She could very well turn into the Vera of Cheers, or the -- who was the character on Frasier we didn't see? Niles' wife? But we might -- talking to Victor, again, he was talking about Ted's background. He's wearing a suit, and he's in a conservative environment, in a sort of a right-wing conservative company, but if his wife is off to save the world, then there's probably a part of Ted that was like that in his past as well. So we're talking about looking into that and seeing where Ted came from, and why he ended up at Veridian.
Veridian research generates some crazy products. Anything fun coming up?
Harrington: Well, there's a couple of things that I think are funny. Linda gets the opportunity to try to help green the building, because she's sees a commercial -- you know how they do the Veridian Dynamics commercials? -- and it's about greening their offices. So after the commercial break, she talks about how she saw a commercial, and she wants to do that as a project, so I go to Veronica and ask her if she can have some money to do that, and Veronica says, "Well, there is no project to green the building," And I say, "Yes there is, there's a commercial about it," and she says, "I didn't say there wasn't a commercial, we're just not doing the project." So Ted, in his longing for Linda, decides to move some money around in the office and get her some money to do it, and she then goes through a water filtration system made from urine, which I test unknowingly. She goes to Phil and Lem, and they help her with splicing the DNA of fireflies and flowers to create glowing flowers. And then our last one is facial recognition online, for scanning photos. In the meeting, we use Veronica's photo to show the group, and it scans anywhere she's ever been online ever, and up pops a very interesting photo that will take us into a little bit of Veronica's personal life away from the office and the job she's been moonlighting at, and it's really quite funny.
Ted pulls a lot of strings around the office; is he a power player or a cog?
Harrington: I think he's a cog, as much as he'd like to think at times he's a power player, and he and Veronica have that battle between them. In that particular episode, what he then does is cover his tracks, because Veronica notices that there's money being moved, so she asks why. So I come out and tell her it's for the Jabberwocky project, which I see on the back of a shirt, and I say, "Of course you know what that is." And in the corporate world, if you don't know something, that means you're out of the loop. So she plays along, and unfortunately, as things do, it spirals out of control, so that the entire corporation of Veridian Dynamics thinks that there's something called the Jabberwocky project, which is something that does not in fact exist. Which, then Veronica approaches Ted and says, "You have to give a presentation to 2,000 shareholders in an hour about it." So I don't think Ted learns his lessons as quickly as he should, but the nice thing about the character is he's a mover and shaker in way, certainly, but it's always for what he thinks are the right reasons. Whether it's with Linda or his daughter Rose, he's always trying to do right.
I've noticed that most episodes you seem to sport a constant 4 o'clock shadow. Is that a conscious character choice, or just your untamable stubble?
Harrington: It's sort of a choice, but it's also a technical thing. It's so much easier to maintain a little bit than it is to shave when you're shooting so out of sequence. You know, they're 14-hour days, and you start with scene 3 and you go to scene 50. It's either that or go shave twice a day, and that's just not good for anybody. So you try to make it not look like he's sloppy, but -- hey, maybe it looks like he's burning the midnight oil and working real hard.
Better Off Ted airs Tuesday nights at 9:30/8:30C on ABC.
]]>Oh, god. So they're still in Banff, not Banff "Springs," which is the name of the hotel they're staying at, and not the town. Jillian, who's been knocking it out, looks-wise, over the last couple of episodes in Banff, talks about how huge it is to meet guys' families. In which case I'm sure she's happy to be in the hands of a television show like The Bachelorette, which is always classy and treats love with the reverence and solemnity it deserves.
So we're in Philadelphia, which is Reid's hometown, and right away we're looking at the famous steps in front of the Philadelphia Museum of Art that Rocky jogged up, and there's Rocky's statue which was erected about eighty years ago, like come back to the twenty-first century, Bachelorette! Ah, who'm I kidding. If I ever go to Philadelphia, that's the first place I'm going.
And there's Reid waiting on some street somewhere with some coffee, and Jillian gets out of a car and they embrace and squeal. Jillian's excited to explore Philadelphia, but she's worried Reid will see she's not a good fit. Which is kind of an odd way to put it. Shouldn't she be worried that she'll see Reid isn't a good fit? I mean, she is, ostensibly, in charge here, right? The two of them sit on a bench and talk about being nervous about the first hometown date, and then they nuzzle and kiss and are unfortunately not pelted with batteries by passing Philadelphians.
So the two of them go for a stroll, and Jillian raves about how beautiful the city is. "It would be a very easy city to live in," she says. Unless one of the actual bachelors is from, I don't know, some place like Tehran, the same's probably true elsewhere.
Time to meet the family! Reid says approval of his family is so important that if one member of his family disapproves, he'd say she's not the girl for him. Really, Reid? Would that one member of your family be living with Jillian for the rest of his or her life? That's rather disappointing.
Reid's going to introduce Jillian to his mom Rhonda, dad Larry, and brothers Brett and Chad. Reid says his mother calls him every few days to ask about who he's dating, and when he's getting serious, etc. "Now that I'm turning thirty in two days, she can get a little crazy," he says.
So Jillian sits down with Reid and his family while everyone drinks beer and Rhonda talks about how it would nice to add a designer to the family, since Reid is a Realtor. And sure enough, mom babbles a little bit about how Reid is good with kids and so she figures he'll get married and have kids, finishing, incongruously, with, "...but, whatever." In an interview, Rhonda tells us that now that Reid is pushing thirty, they'd really like to see him settle down. But she doesn't want to see him hurt, so she wants to make sure that Jillian's the one. Well, do you know she's seeing four other men, and that's actually the fewest number of men she's been seeing over the last couple of weeks?
Jillian and Rhonda sit down for a heart-to-heart in which Jillian tells Rhonda that she thinks Reid had a little bit of trouble opening up, and Rhonda agrees, and neither one of them sees fit to point out that total emotional recluse Reid is on a television show being watched by millions. Jillian asks Rhonda if she's Reid's type, and Rhonda says she thinks Jillian's adorable. Good thing, otherwise the almost thirty-year-old would be required to dump the woman his mommy doesn't like.
And then Jillian talks to Reid's brothers, who ask her why they think Reid's still single. Well, if you guys don't know.... Chad thinks it's a commitment thing, as does Brett. "He doesn't have a problem finding women. They kinda just go away," Brett tells Jillian, which must be awfully reassuring to Jillian.
And then Reid has a heart-to-heart with his dad, who asks if he really likes Jillian, and Reid sounds kind of equivocal with his "I think she is a girl I could fall in love with," and his dad advises him to decide if it's a match he could be happy with, and if it is, then he should go into it head over heels, without worrying about getting hurt. And Larry tells us in an interview that he wishes his son would just make up his own mind about stuff like this. Yeah, seriously.
And then surprise! There's Reid's sisters-in-law and grandmother coming by for a surprise birthday party for him. Oh, are there cameras here? We had no idea! Reid says it was nice to have the woman who he just met a couple of weeks ago who is dating four other guys with him at his milestone birthday party with his family. Jillian kisses him, totally making everyone uncomfortable, and his sister-in-law says that they never see him like this. Mom agrees, and she thinks it was good to see Reid so affectionate, so maybe Jillian could be the one. Well, Mom: twenty percent odds right now. We'll let you know. For her part, Jillian says she fell for Reid's family, and everything was great, but she's got four other great guys that she's going to be doing this with. Amazingly, even after pointing this out, she manages not to say, "This is so fucked up."
And now we go to Valencia, Calif., Michael's hometown, and he tells us that he's excited not only to see his family, but also to see his "lady," like maybe Michael is no longer a breakdance instructor but is actually a country music singer in his sixties.
At his parents' home, we see that Michael has an identical twin brother, Steve, and Jillian's going to meet him as well as his mother, Lynn, and his dad Frank, but sister Jenna is out of the country in Australia. Michael tells his family that he's excited for them to meet her, because she's going to "light this place up," and she's adorable and smokin' hot and one time he saw her in pajamas and he "almost fainted" because she was so beautiful. Mom sits there sighing like this is the most romantic thing she's ever heard of instead of this weird dystopian love game.
Then there's Jillian at the door, and Michael jumps up in the air, and Jillian hugs everybody. She reminds us that she talked to Michael last time about how young he is. Way to bring that up apropos of nothing! Jillian tells the family that she and her friend sat down and came up with a list of non-negotiable things to look for in a mate, and Lynn reacts like Jillian discovered the cure for cancer, and No. 1 on the list for Jillian on non-negotiable qualities is her partner has to make her laugh. And then Lynn is inviting Jillian to go help her with dinner, which is the cue for Michael and Steve to go switch clothes and pull the ol' twin switcheroo on her. It's kind of funny the way the brothers argue about how to go about this, with Michael warning Steve not to kiss her. Near as I can tell, the only reason Steve shouldn't be allowed to kiss her is that he wasn't one of thirty men selected by Bachelorette producers.
Meanwhile, Lynn is telling Jillian how much Michael likes to talk about her, and how he adores her, and then Michael comes in, pretending to be Steve, only Jillian saw through it right away. Man, glad that paid off.
Frank tells Michael that Jillian is the "real deal," that he really likes her, but he's a little concerned for his son, who Frank says has fallen really hard for Jillian. Michael says it really brought it home for him, that his parents could tell that he's really fallen for Jillian.
Jillian goes out on the patio to chat with Steve, who asks her, "Is Michael's age a factor for you?" and Jillian babbles a whole lot of words that mean "Yes," and Steve says that when they were younger, they always figured they'd get married younger so they'd have time to spend with their wives before kids entered the picture. "Mike wants a wife, you know what I mean? We want to be, like, be good husbands, you know what I mean? Be good fathers." Jillian tells us, "Steve laid a lot of my fears to rest." Really? She says she's been concerned about Michael's age, but what if she's with someone who's thirty-six who doesn't make her laugh? Good point! Or, what if you're with someone who's forty-six who does nothing but work on his model train set? Is she trying to say that she really wants a thirty-six-year-old who does make her laugh?
So then everyone sits down for dinner, and we're introduced to the sweet family tradition of the family question, and Frank asks Jillian what are three things about her that she's most proud of. They are, in order: 1) That she can laugh at just about anything; 2) she loves to see good in everybody, and 3) her energy or work ethic. I guess I misunderstood the question, and Frank actually asked her for three completely inane pseudo-attributes.
And then, in case you were wondering why we were told about a family member who couldn't be there, it's because sister Jenna is actually home from Australia because it's so important for her to be there to see if her brother is Jillian's absolute most favoritest of her five current boyfriends.
And then the family is dancing in the living room, and for god's sake why is Michael not pulling out the square of cardboard to show off some breakdancing? "Am I nuts are does that girl just fit right into the Stag crew?" Michael asks us. You're nuts. You should have seen her making out with Reid at his family birthday party! Lynn notes that there was a lot of back-and-forth between Jillian and Michael, and it was nice to see him so happy. Jillian says she had a great time, and the Staglianos are very down to earth, and it's clear they all think Michael is ready for something like this, and Michael tells us that he hasn't met a girl and he never will, and he thinks that to the day he dies, there will be something that will hook him with Jillian. Well, I hope it works out, because that's going to be a hard soundbite to explain to whoever he eventually winds up with.
Over to San Diego, now, which is Kiptyn's hometown, and he tells us this is a special day because he's "definitely aware that there's a strong possibility that I could fall in love with Jillian." Sigh. It's like something you can only hear sung by the gondoliers in Venice, isn't it? He's waiting by the beach when Jillian squeals and comes running over to hug him. She tells us that up until now, it's either been that she wants the guy she can't have and she can't be herself around him, or she doesn't want the guy who falls in love with her for being herself, but with Kiptyn, she feels she can be herself and be in love, or something like that. Then they are drinking wine on the beach, which is probably illegal. Kiptyn says she's going to be meeting his stepdad tonight, and then the next thing we know they're making out. "If Kiptyn's family is as perfect as he is, this could be overwhelming."
Then she got worried because his house was so beautiful and rustic, whatever that's supposed to mean. She thinks this might be the first family she doesn't fit in with.
So inside the house, Jillian meets the family, and they hug -- is that painting fuzzed out? What, is it secretly a McDonald's billboard or something? Kiptyn says Jillian's meeting his mom Eve, stepdad Earl, sister Dahvia, brother Bryce and Bryce's girlfriend Nancy. Kiptyn says he hopes Jillian gets along with his family, because that would make things so much easier. Well, um, yeah.
And then Earl invites Jillian out to see the yard, where they have an "indoctrination" prepared for her, which turns out to be yellow caution tape around the hot tub, because they saw the last few episodes of The Bachelor. Jillian jokes that it won't stop her, and then tells us she loves it when people poke fun at her for being a skank. I mean, she words it differently, but that's the idea. Jillian can't promise there won't be another hot tub scene. Your dad must be so proud.
Kiptyn's parents then make her judge the lasagnas they made and the wines they selected, and Jillian considers herself a "foodie," like how annoying are people who refer to themselves as "foodies" anyway, and then Jillian picks lasagna No. 2 paired with the dark red wine, which is apparently the "correct" opinion for her to have on the subject of HER OWN PERSONAL FOOD PREFERENCES, and everyone toasts. And then suddenly Kiptyn's parents are speaking a little bit of French, and then Eve is classily tossing the wine onto the ground, and yelling, "Only Grandma drinks that!" and laughing uproariously, and somehow Jillian is under the impression that Kiptyn's parents are very polished and refined, like THEY PUT YELLOW POLICE TAPE AROUND THE HOT TUB BECAUSE OF YOUR SKINEMAX HOT TUB SCENE. "They might just think I'm a total hillbilly!" Well, impart your hot dog theory. I'm sure they'll be impressed.
So it's dinner time, and Jillian talks about how since her friend's wedding she knows what unconditional love is, and she's the only single one of her friends, and Kypyn's sister is advising him to get her pregnant, and then Eve sits down with Jillian to ask her if there was one thing she could change about herself to make Kiptyn happy, what would it be? Which is kind of one of those questions that begs for a bullshit answer, like when a prospective employer asks about a bad habit you have and you say, "I work too hard," or something, and Jillian spouts some nonsense about having to work for her happiness, and Eve, amusingly, is all, "What does that mean?" and points out that that's a contradiction in terms. Jillian says Eve was the first parent who really truly grilled her, and was kind of intense and intimidating.
Meanwhile, Kiptyn's talking to his sister about whether he would actually ask her to marry him. Kiptyn says it may be premature to be thinking about something like that happening in the next three weeks or month, but the next phase will help answer that question.
Back inside, Eve is "jokingly" asking about how she would deal with an overbearing mother-in-law, and Jillian says she would always want Eve to tell her what she's thinking, which clearly isn't a problem for Eve, who tells Jillian that she's really special and has given Kiptyn a real spark.
And then later on, Kiptyn and Jillian head out to the hot tub, with Eve watching on the inside, and Kiptyn says that everyone loved Jillian, and he thinks they're going to have a chance to continue exploring, but he's nervous because he's not going to see her until the next rose ceremony.
Next up in the California tour is Jesse's family's winery in Carmel. He drives up in a tractor, and he tells us that the last time he brought a girl home to his parents was four years ago, so this is a big step. They hug, and he proudly shows off the family winery. Jillian talks about how he opened up to her at the lodge the last time they talked, so she hopes things continue. Nothing could make me more excited than more scenes of people sitting around saying trivial things about untrivial matters!
He asks her if she has any concerns about him, and her only concern is if he's ready. "But I think, you know, that's something you have to think about, and let me know what you think," she says. After he figures out exactly what that meant, he talks about how his relationships often take him a long time to figure out. She points out they don't have a lot of time, and he says he thinks things have gone as well as they could have for the short time.
Time to meet the family. Dad Joseph, mom Betty, and brother Jacob. Betty leads a Hungarian toast at dinner, and Jillian asks Jacob if he's dating anyone, and Jacob is this massive guy with long hair and a beard and he talks about how women are expensive. So no plans to date any time soon!
Jesse goes outside to talk to his brother, who wants to know if Jillian's getting all baby-biological-clock crazy, and Jesse talks about Jillian's five-year plan to have kids, which I think is a few years longer then any plan I remember Jillian telling us about, and Jesse defensively tells his brother that if he got married he'd want to have kids in five years. "What the hell?" says Jacob.
Meanwhile, Jillian's chatting with Betty, who acknowledges that her son can be standoffish at first but when he's comfortable with opening up, he does. Like he is with his brother, using the word "dude" way too much, and Jacob is focusing on how cute Jillian is. Jacob tells us that he's jealous of Kiptyn, who seems quite excited.
So Jacob sits down with Jillian to ask her why she thinks Jesse could be the one, and Jillian says a whole lot of nonsense about Jesse taking care of her and her taking care of him, and Jacob thankfully interrupts her to ask if they've been naked together yet, and Jillian says, "It doesn't get like that for a little while," by which I guess she means the overnight dates. Jacob says it doesn't surprise him that Jillian says Jesse took the longest to open up, since his brother is "an emotional ice cube" sometimes. Jillian says she learned a lot about Jesse tonight. And then the evening culminates with Jacob on guitar, Jesse on drums, Joseph on tambourine, "rocking out," in the parlance of our times.
And then Jillian and Jesse sit down for some mind-numbingly boring chit-chat about the geopolitical picture and what America's role should be in a rapidly changing world, and also some of the ideological differences between Canadians and Americans, which turns them on so much that they start making out. Kiptyn compares Jillian to a fine wine and then his explanation of the metaphor doesn't work out, what with how you want to drink it right now, but you come back to it months or years later and drink it all in then... or something.
And now, the most dramatic hometown date in Bachelorette history, we've been promised, as a prelude to the most dramatic confrontation in Bachelorette history. Austin, Texas, Wes's hometown. Jillian thinks Wes "gets" her more than the other bachelors do, and they're very much alike, because Jillian buys into the tired stereotype of "small town = honest and decent," and I'd like to point out that when it was time for the bachelors to visit Jillian's hometown, she brought them to her adopted hometown of Vancouver and not her actual small hometown of Peace River or even her grandparents' home in Kelowna, because she wants to live in a big city but if you think that living in the city means you're deceitful and materialistic, then you need to constantly remind people what a simple small-town girl you are. Sorry. Didn't mean to get on a rant.
So anyway, Wes. Jillian says there's something one of them is holding something back, and she can't pinpoint if it's her or Wes. Uh, you can't tell if you're holding something back? What you mean is, the producers have hinted to you that Wes is holding something back, but you have to pretend that you're figuring out something is a little off.
So Jillian meets up with Wes, who introduces her to his band, while he tells us that they have a new CD coming out. And in Austin, Jillian claps and giggles about how awesome it was to have Wes sing to her. And Wes tells us how good it felt to get back up on stage, and whatever else you can say about Wes, he seems genuine in his love for performing.
But we gotta manufacture some drama, right? Because I suppose it was Jake's idea to fly into Austin to confront Wes about having a girlfriend, right? "I'm not here to get a rose back," he tells us, saying Jillian made her decision, but she made it with "incomplete information." He calls Wes a "deceiver" and chauvinistically says Jillian needs protecting.
Back at the Lame Ole Opry, Wes is OH GOD NO HE'S PLAYING "LOVE IT DON'T COME EASY" AGAIN. Jillian says it felt like her heart was going to jump out of her chest. I think that's your dinner, Jillian.
And then the dramatic music plays as we see Jake calling Tanner of all people to ask if he's doing the right thing in telling Jillian that Wes has a girlfriend. We don't hear Tanner speak at all, but presumably the answer has something to do with a pumice stone and nail clippers.
And there's Jillian the groupie excitedly talking to Wes about how cool it would be if his band takes off, and Wes says it's already taking off and she might as well get on the train now. She asks if they make a good team, and Wes says he has to have her to himself. "I am crazy about you," Jillian tells him and asks if he thinks she's not right for him. Wes says the minute he thinks she's not right for him, he's out of there. And he says he's here for the right reasons, and he doesn't know what to say, and Jillian tells him he's saying the right things. Man, he's saying things that would sound immature even for high-schoolers in small-town Alberta.
Meanwhile, Jake has finally changed out of his pilot's uniform and is vowing to put an end to Wes playing with Jillian's heart.
So now Jillian's waiting around in a hotel room, waiting for Wes to pick her up, and then there's Jake at the door. She says her first thought was that he was coming back to ask why she let him go. They sit down and she says something lame about how of all the guys he's the one she's most wanted to check on to see if he's OK, which we all know she'd be saying to whoever was sitting there.
So then he says he's not there to get her back, but because she thinks she'll have a hard time with one guy in particular, who she correctly identifies as Wes. "Because of his career and why he's here. Is that what you think?" she asks him. "My body just went numb," says Jake, like welcome to what it's like WATCHING this nonsense, and I'm guessing the instructions from the producers were to draw this out as long as possible. "Wes is here for his career, Wes doesn't love me, Wes is gay..." prompts Jillian. "Wes has a girlfriend. Her name is Laurel," says Jake, who says Wes confided in him and they talked about Laurel "more than three times." So... four times?
Jillian looks stricken, and Jake apologizes because she's someone who deserves someone who worships the ground she walks on. She asks if he's one hundred percent sure, and Jake says he wouldn't be here if he wasn't. He also says Wes will tell her that Laurel is a girlfriend from his past who he's still really good friends with. Jillian, fighting back tears, talks about how what goes around comes around, and talks about how she's sincere and a good person, and she has to put up with all this, and maybe she should just call it quits. "You can tell Wes that I came here," says Jake, adding that he'll be in Austin and if she needs him she can call him. Jillian tells us that she's upset and really disappointed.
Jillian, still teary-eyed, says Wes has been talking about his family from day one, and she was really excited to meet them, but he fucked it up. We watch Wes walking down the hallway, not yet aware that this is about to become the most dramatic confrontation in Bachelorette history.
After the commercial break, Jillian says she needs to hear it from Wes, that she needs to grill him as hard as she can. Wes knocks on the door, and Jillian invites him in for a drink. "Sho' nuff, sho' nuff," says Jillian. They sit down, and Jillian's being fake perky, and then says she needs to talk to him. And instead of asking him flat out about Laurel, she just asks if there's anything that he needs to tell her about his past or anything. "I hate that you're asking me about this," says Wes, who thinks she's asking him about his career again, but that's not it, so he just asks her to ask what it is that she needs to ask. She says someone told her that he has a girlfriend, and he's all confused. "One of my guys?" he says, and Jillian beats around the bush before finally explaining that Jake was there about an hour ago, and told her. Wes, looking awfully guilty, clears his throat, and then says, "That's crazy." Hilariously, he then tells Jillian exactly what Jake said he would say, about how this is an old girlfriend with whom he's still friends. I think, though, it's worth pointing out that Jake might know that that's what Wes would say if it were also the truth. But kind of tellingly, he gets a little confrontational with her, all, "If you wanna believe that," and Jillian says she doesn't know what to believe. She says Jake is someone she trusts, and she doesn't know why he would mislead her. Wes offers that Jake "misheard," which is hilarious. She asks him if he were the last guy there, would he at least date her? "I wouldn't leave," says Wes, and he tells her he's not playing any games, and that he's not a good liar (agreed!) and she's got to figure this out. Jillian asks if he would want to work this out with Jake. "Bring him out. I don't care," says Wes.
So Jillian calls Jake. Of course, the cameras are already in Jake's hotel room (which is probably just a couple of doors down anyway) when he answers the call. Jillian asks him to come down, and doesn't say anything about Wes being there, but Jake knows what's what. "He's not going to lie to me," Jake tells us.
Jake knocks, and Wes opens the door. "Well, Jake. The man of character," says Wes. Heh. Jillian rubs her eyes on the couch. Wes figures they need to talk. Sho' nuff, Wes. They sit down on the couch, Jillian between them, and Wes starts in with Jake having a motive and a shit-eating grin, and Jake wants Wes to look him in the eye and say he didn't tell Jake on multiple occasions that he had a girlfriend. Jake also says Wes thumped him in the back of the head when Tanner had spoken up, like Jake had let the cat out of the bag. Wes is all "what are you talking about?" and goes on about Jake wanting to ruin his character, and Jake gets all self-righteous and what he's gone through to come down here, and Wes makes fun of Jake being on bended knee, talking to god, which makes me wonder if Jake talked a lot about religion that didn't get anywhere near airing. Jake tells Wes he's disappointed, and Wes says he is too, and even Jillian has had enough at this point and says she needs to figure things out and sees Jake to the door. Jake apologizes to Wes, and Wes makes a "whatever" face at him. Jake tells us that it's been an emotional roller-coaster and that Wes should be ashamed to still be here. And you know what? I like Jake enough. But him breaking down and crying in the hotel hallway? Give me a BREAK.
So now Jillian sits down next to Wes, and tells us she doesn't know what to believe. That's what she tells us. To Wes, she says, "That was weird," and Wes agrees that it was weird. So does she follow through and meet his family? Wes says something about not wanting this to affect things, that he doesn't want to drag things out if it's not going to come to anything. Well, Wes, if you're telling the truth and Jake is lying, why should this affect you and Jillian? But Jillian doesn't see this giant red flag and starts crying that she wants to meet his family. Wes keeps clearing his throat. Despite the fact that she seems to want to keep going, Wes says he wishes he did have a girlfriend so he could say that she busted him, whatever THAT'S supposed to mean, and despite the fact that Wes is now clearly trying to get Jillian to end it with him, Jillian doesn't see it and still says she'd like to meet his family. "Meeting his family might help lay some of those rumours to rest," she tells us. How awesome would it be for Jillian to show up and have his family be all, "Uh, you're not Laurel!"
So it's apparently late by the time Wes and Jillian get over to Wes's place, where Jillian meets his stepmom Renee, mom Caroline, and three sisters. Jillian says it was tough to put on their poker faces, but there was some tension there. She says she thought it would be fair to tell them why they were so late, even though it's Wes who broaches the subject at the dinner table, and says one of the guys who got kicked off the show came back to tell Jillian that Wes has a girlfriend, and the various women around the table are all shocked and go the "they're just jealous" route and say that guys have always been jealous of Wes and everything he has going for him. Well, it don't come easy. That's for sure.
Jillian goes out to talk to Wes's stepmom, who says Wes will tell her the truth, and that he would have stepped out of the process already if he didn't have feelings for her. "He doesn't have three or four relationships going on. He's not like that," says his stepmom. "Mmm-hmm," says Jillian, WHO HAS FIVE RELATIONSHIPS GOING ON. Or does Mom mean that Wes only has one or two or three relationships going on? Anyway, the upshot is that Jillian is relieved to find out from the totally unbiased observers in Wes's family that he is as totally awesome as she thinks he is. "Wes wants to be loyal. Wes wants to be a one-woman man," says Jillian. "Wants" to be? It's actually really easy to do, Jillian. Meanwhile, Wes's sisters are ridiculously good-looking. I'm on Team Wes's Sisters! Then Wes tells us that Jake is who Jake is. Which is, according to Wes, a piece of shit who needs to get off his high horse. He says Jillian likes him, which is all that matters.
And now Jillian's back in L.A., which was a relief after the ups and downs. "Austin just about pushed me over the edge," Jillian tells us. She can't handle any more surprises, she adds. Well, then she's probably disheartened to see that the cameras are just filming her for no apparent reason in her hotel room when there's a knock on the door.
It's Ed. What have you done? You were out! He jokes that he was "in the neighbourhood." They sit down to talk. She says she's happy that he's here, but she wants to know why. "I realized that I made a huge mistake," he says. He says that he got home and couldn't stop thinking about her. He says he needs another shot. "Are you kidding me?" she says, not angrily. She says she's not sure if he's aware what she's gone through. He says that he broke down a little, and he felt terrible, and he kept thinking about it. "I made a bad choice," he says, and he wouldn't want to do it again. I hope he means "I agreed to be on The Bachelorette." She hems and haws and says she has to make sure she's fair to the other guys, and he acknowledges that there are other guys here who she's compatible with, but he doesn't think any of them would be more compatible with her. "I want another shot," he says again. She says she has some concerns but he should come to the rose ceremony tonight, and he instantly gets excited and starts babbling that he'll come, that she can make her decision there, and he promises he won't let her down. They hug, and Jillian says she doesn't know what to think, because Ed has already let her down once before by WANTING TO KEEP HIS JOB. She says Ed's taken a lot of time away from her, and she needs to think about the other guys, and since she's got to cut it to four, now she's going to have to cut two guys tonight.
After the commercial break, Jillian tells us that tonight's rose ceremony is going to be "borderline excruciating." It's weird that she doesn't know it would actually be an improvement for anything on this show to be only "borderline" excruciating. She's struggling because Ed's in the mix, but she hasn't met his family.
She sits down with Chris Harrison, for the nightly "Jillian gets a chance to babble all the inane things she didn't or maybe already did babble already earlier this episode" portion of the episode. This is also known as "Daniel checks out a classic hockey game for a few minutes involving the Edmonton Oilers on the wicked cool DVD set he got for Christmas" portion of the evening.
And then my favourite part of every episode: the last ten minutes! Chris tells the dudes that what they don't know is that there is someone else joining them for the rose ceremony. Ed strolls out, and reactions range from impassive (Wes) to disbelief (Kiptyn) to grinning (Reid, who's totally going home tonight).
And then Jillian comes out, and the guys all smile at her. Thankfully, while not all of them are wearing ties, at least none of them is wearing jeans (unless maybe they're dark jeans). Jillian babbles the usual nonsense about hard decisions, and then picks up the first rose. My prediction: Reid and Jesse are going home, unless she decides that it's not fair for Ed to come back, especially since she hasn't met his family, in which case it will be Reid and Ed.
So, first rose: Reid. D'oh! Well, never let it be said that I'm not an idiot. Reid, with his glasses, is looking particularly Chandler-esque. Then it's Kiptyn, then it's Ed. Last rose is up for grabs for Wes, Michael or Jesse, and it goes to... Wes. Michael shuffles his feet and stares at the floor and Jesse stares straight ahead.
He comes over, gives her a perfunctory hug, and doesn't say anything before walking out. "I feel like shit right now. This sucks," he tells us, adding that if he were a betting man, he would have bet on himself making it. He blames Ed for taking his spot. Michael smiles as he approaches her to give her a hug, and tells her it's OK and he'll miss her. "For a girl that just dumped me, who just broke my heart, I could not say a bad thing about the girl," he says. Aw, Michael. He comes off like a goofy kid, but genuine. "Aw, man, I straight up loved that girl, didn't I?" he says, and adds that the next time he saw her he would have been down on a knee for her. He hopes that it's not a case of not recognizing something until it's gone. I can't even make fun of him. He seems so sincere. If it's any consolation, Michael, I can't imagine good-looking guys who can dance will ever have a hard time finding someone to spend time with.
Jillian tells the remaining guys that they're going to have a fun week in Spain, which has everything she thinks of as fun: "food, fashion, architecture and romance." Are Wes's sisters invited?
Over the closing credits, we watch Kiptyn's parents play the guitar and sing "The Bachelorette Blues," which is totally polished and refined. I'm kind of surprised Kiptyn's stepdad isn't wearing a monocle.
Team Wes's Sisters!
Discuss this episode in the Bachelorette forums, and give the show some Tubeys!
]]>I mean, who doesn't love Christmas, like as a concept, and the whole knotted-scarf allo guvna avanappy Christmas Scrooge McDuck chim-chimminy thing especially. But you're not going to make it fresher or more lovely by forcing David Tennant to pretend he's having a half-hour aneurysm, or giving us a case of the Cloverfields, which is why it's important to pay attention: London was never like this. Christmas was never like this. Christmas is a lie; London is an engine that runs on the blood of children and the silence of women.
"You there, boy! What day is this?" The kid plays along; he doesn't know he's playing along. Nobody in London does. "Christmas Eve, sir." What year? "You fick or somefing?" John Smith jumps: "Oi!" he says. He doesn't even hear her, in his voice. "Just answer the question." It is the year of Our Lord 1851. "Nice year," he says. Especially if you like chess. "Bit dull..." he muses, which is Rosita's cue to start screaming for the Doctor.
John comes running up, and pulls her back: a statuesque black woman with a firm set mouth that tells about her bravery. He pulls her back, she continues to ignore him, screaming for the Doctor. There's something behind a door, smashing itself against the wood, trying to desperately to get out. He cautions her to get away, but she's not ignoring him. She has no time for nutters; she is a Companion to the Doctor. "No, I'm standing right here," Smith says, and offers her a hello. She fixes him to the wall with a glare like Donna's: "Don't be so stupid, who are you?"
They do the whole Doctor Who's On First for awhile, and then the Doctor shows up, much to Smith's surprise. "Where the hell have you been?" Rosita asks, and he laughs, telling them not to worry. "What have we got here, then?" And when John asks him who he is, he just smiles. "I'm the Doctor." Smith stares. "Simply the Doctor," the Doctor says, charming. "The one, the only and the best. Rosita, give me the sonic screwdriver!" John Smith is confused to the point of hilarity as she does. "Now, quickly! Get back to the TARDIS!" John's jaw drops further. "Back to the what?" The Doctor asks him to step back: "This is a job for a Timelord," he says, and John Smith's eyes bug out. "Job for a Whatlord?" The creature bursts free, like a memory. "Oh, that's different," says John, as the Doctor says, "Oh, that's new!" They hold out their screwdrivers: "Allons-y!" They cock eyes at each other. Credits.
It's shaggy, shapeless and black, with a face like a mask of metal; it stares at them and what it sees goes somewhere else, on a screen. Rosita hides behind the Doctor, who brandishes his screwdriver happily. "I've been hunting this beast for a good fortnight. Now step back, sir!" It jumps past them, to the wall, dancing up ten yards or more before looking back at them. John Smith recognizes the idea of the thing, if not the thing itself: "Some sort of primitive conversion, like they took the brain of a cat or a dog." He knows it's the Cybermen, again. So does the Doctor.
"Well, talking's all very well. Rosita? I'm ready." Ever faithful, she hands him the lasso, and he nabs it easily. "Now then," he says, speaking from a deep and nearby place in his memory, "Let's pull this timorous beastie down to earth." It crawls up the wall, sickening, and pulls him up instead. John crosses the distance to the wall easily and adds himself to the rope as Rosita screams at them both. The beast jumps, intruder window, and the boys dangle. The Doctor suggests that John Smith let go, but he promises never to let him out of sight: "Don't you recognize me?" He doesn't. The Doctor doesn't recognize John Smith at all.
"This is hardly the right time for me to go through my social calendaaaaaaaa" he screams, as the beast pulls them up and through the window, across a long and dusty empty floor. They are boys on sleds, on holiday, laughing as they crash through the house toward the other window, where the beast intends to jump again. The Doctor wraps the rope around his hands, refusing to let go, a grin still dancing on his face. As they reach the crisis Rosita chops the rope ahead of them, and the beast disappears. John Smith and the Doctor stand up, aching, and laugh. They throw their arms around each other.
Rosita drags her axe back to them, scraping along the floor, and her look is so darkly dangerous that it sends the boys off in fits again. She leads the way back downstairs, to the courtyard. "Well, I'm glad you think it's so funny. You're mad. Both of you. You could've got killed!" The perfect team. "But evidently we did not!" says the Doctor expansively, and John Smith falls in love.
"Oh, I should introduce Rosita. My faithful Companion, always telling me off..." John Smith knows, and commiserates, to another hideous glance from her, like What. He considers her briefly: "Rosita? Good name. Hello, Rosita." She gives him no ground. She has no idea what he sees, when he looks at her: Rose's name and heart, Martha's humble strength and style, Donna's wise and absolute rejection of all bullshit. If the Master's wife was an inversion of all Companions, the Next Doctor's is a composite of them all. There's a reason but he can't see it yet. All it does for now is hurt: "Now I'll have to go and dismantle the traps!" she shouts, and heads off stomping while the Doctor shrugs. "All that for nothing! And we've only got twenty minutes till the funeral, don't forget. Then back to the TARDIS, right?" Oh, Spaceman.
"Funeral?" John asks. Is that what this is? "Not my own," the Doctor jokes. "Not yet." John Smith inspects him. "I'm not as young as I was. Well, not as young as you were when you were me..." The Doctor's confused. He really doesn't remember John, at all. Everything he did, lost to thankless memory. "But you're the Doctor! The next Doctor..." John's eyes devour the Doctor, his entire body, everything about him. Trying it on, with his eyes; thinking of his son across the Void. "Or the Next-But-One...? A future Doctor anyway." He considers spoilers, asking how it happened, and rejects them aloud. "Although... I hope I don't just trip over a brick, that'd be embarrassing. Then again, painless. Worse ways to go, depends on the brick..." It will. Everything will.
"You're gabbling, sir," the Doctor notifies him, not unkindly. "Now, might I ask, who are you exactly?" John Smith realizes he's fucking up, spoilers from the other side, and shuts his mouth before opening it right up again. "No, I'm, uh... I'm just Smith, John Smith. But I've heard all about you, Doctor. Bit of a legend, if I say so myself." The Doctor is wonderful, adorable, with his chest puffed out: "Modesty forbids me to agree with you, sir... But yes. Yes, I am."
"A legend with certain memories missing, am I right?" The Doctor is surprised; the way John Smith's eyes pin him to the wall. "You've forgotten me," he says. The thing they can't afford to forget, lest they repeat their old mistakes. "Great swathes of my life have been stolen away," the Doctor agrees, sadly. "When I turn my mind to the past, there's nothing." Going back to the Cybermen's appearance, in fact, precisely. "Masters of that hellish wall-scuttler and old enemies of mine, now at work in London Town. You won't believe this, Mr. Smith, but they are creatures from another world." His language is comforting, virile and sure; John is sweetly patronizing: "Really? Wow..." The Doctor is proud, of his secret world, and continues excitedly. "It's said they fell onto London out of the sky, in a blaze of light. And they found me," the Doctor relates, looking into a street fire and seeing something there, something terrible and unreachable. "Something was taken. And something was lost."
"What was I like?" he suddenly asks, turning himself from the memory. "In the past?" He stares into John's eyes, searching for clues that won't get him too close. "I don't think I should say. Sorry. Got to be careful with memory loss. One wrong word..." John Smith walks heartless through the snows of London Town: left one across the Void, the other in Chiswick. This Doctor is more like her than any of them know, yet. One wrong word... She's with him all the time.
The Doctor wonders how it is, that John Smith's so inured to talk of Cybermen from the stars. He doesn't even blink. "Ah! Don't blink, remember that? Whatever you do, don't blink? The blinking? And the statues? And Sally and the angels? No?" They are odd men. John Smith is an odd man, and in the future will be an odd man still. The Doctor suddenly jumps, afraid of compounding Rosita's displeasure: "The funeral's at two o'clock!" He bows graciously to John Smith, and reminds him not to breathe a word.
"Aw, can't I come with you?" John Smith begs; he has no question of doing anything else, but it's a chance to keep working on this new problem. "Far too dangerous," the Doctor shakes his head. "Rest assured, I shall keep this city safe!" Running away, he turns back. "Oh, and, er... Merry Christmas, Mr. Smith." Mr. Smith wishes the Doctor a Merry Christmas in turn, and when the Doctor runs he follows after, to make good on it.
Oh, wondrous steampunk Cyberfactory done right. Steampunk has lost its meaning: you get either generic fantasy -- or delightful New Weird, if you're lucky -- wearing steampunk clothing, or those damnable codebreaking pirates that dorks are now dressing like. The usual trickledown, but still a little embarrassing for everybody. Cyber Leader comes in with his domino face and discusses with his compatriots how "Cybershade 16" has made contact with the Doctor: "This man is dangerous. This man is our enemy. This man is the Doctor." Even the baddies are letting John Smith off the hook this Christmas.
Cyber Leader walks through the Cybermen toward a lovely dark woman. "Plans for the Ascension demand a successful intervention. Is everything in position?" She quirks a smile at him. (Her face is all planes and lines, beautiful and cruel. She's been in London Town her whole life, and paid the price for not giving in to that engine of blood. Too pretty for a mudlark, too smart for a wife. Her story is long and ugly, and best left between the lines. Suffice to say it started when she was young, and never really ended. Suffice to say her imagination and intellect have been warped by the status quo the Cybermen will overturn; the status quo of Victorian Christmas sing-along's, yes, but also of, and entirely supported by, mudlarks and slatterns and the madness of cities. Like any terrorist, her grievance is sound: it's her methods that are unacceptable.)
"Well, that's rather dependent on you! All I can promise is to do my best." Parameters of which, she clarifies for Cyber Leader in his own language, mean she "will operate at maximum efficiency." And in return for her aid? "You will be heralded in the new age, at the Court of the CyberKing." They all salute. The Cybermen have an allergy to gold and a deficiency of imagination that leads them here: they are in the Court of St. James and thus their lives become a court. "The CyberKing will rise," they chant; she doesn't know what she means, what sort of engine CyberKing designates; she has been trained by life and men to sexualize every utterance and moment: "Indeed. How like a man." (Once, with quirked smile is liberated, but twice is silly and three times a deeper issue.) "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a funeral to attend."
It's snowy, and beautiful in another way. Black draft horses pull a black carriage to the graveyard, trailed by pallbearers in black tophats. The Doctor and Rosita watch them go from near the Reverend's house; the snow's thick and getting thicker and you can't see things fifty yards away. John Smith, for example, skulking and watching them just as they're watching the mourners. "The late Reverend Fairchild, leaving his place of residence for the last time. God rest his soul... Now, with the house empty, I shall effect an entrance at the rear while you go back to the TARDIS." They talk about how breaking into houses isn't women's work, but saving her life is women's work, and finally he yells "The Doctor's Companion does what the Doctor says!" Which makes John Smith grin, because no she fucking doesn't, and all three of them know it.
The Doctor bends to the task of breaking in, but John Smith's already inside: "Oh, front door. I'm good at doors." He asks if the Doctor's breaking into the house with his sonic screwdriver, and the Doctor holds it up proudly. "That's a screwdriver. How's it sonic?" The Doctor raps his screwdriver against the doorframe: "...It makes a noise?" The Doctor is showing cracks in his performance.
"It started with a murder," the Doctor says, rifling through Fairchild's things, and John Smith nods, happily. The worse it gets, the more he loves it. "I mean, bad. But whose?" Mr. Jackson Lake, mathematics teacher from Sussex, came to London three weeks ago, subsequently "died a terrible death." Was it Cybermen? "It's hard to say, his body was never found, but that was the first of the secret murders, which were followed by abductions. "Children," the Doctor says in a hush, "Stolen away in silence."
The Doctor and Mr. Smith are in the home of the latest murder victim, Reverend Aubrey Fairchild. "Found with burns to his forehead, like some advanced form of electrocution." John Smith crosses his arms, and nearly his eyes, trying to work it out. What was important about the Reverend? The Doctor finally looks over at him and notes how he asks so many questions, John Smith. "I'm your Companion!" Companion to an ersatz brummagem Doctor in the Home Counties, a human Doctor, a good strong man not yet beaten down. A man with his memory taken? Just a man, to take the reins for awhile.
"The Reverend was the pillar of the community, a member of many parish boards. A keen advocate of children's charity." But why would the Cybermen want him dead? And what's the connection to the first death? (None of these questions means anything, and their answers even less; as a mystery, it's not even trying. I think this, combined with the wack wackiness of the Cybershade chase, is the reason I'm so lukewarm on this episode. I never like the Christmas Specials, but this one... Well, better than the Kylie one, at least. But as a bridge to the 2009 Specials it works. It certainly underlines where our boy's at, post-Donna, and how scary and sad it's still possible to get, which is all the mandate required. Still, ugh.)
"It's funny," the Doctor says. "I seem to be telling you everything." John Smith nods. That's how it works. For the Doctor; for the Companion too: "As though you engendered some sort of... Trust. You seem familiar, Mr. Smith. I ... Know your face." MAKE OUT MUSIC starts, but you can see for a second how this episode works, or is supposed to work: as the prelude for a story about Companions and companionship, about the worst goodbye -- worse than Adric, worse than anything -- leading to a splitting off of hearts and a loss of memory and retreat into that worst of all buffalo, the Doctor who Masters, it's a beautiful reversal to play this episode straight: John Smith, deliberately and once again laying down his title, his name, in order to remember her. To put his hand on the wall once again and feel her on the other side. I'm your Companion, of course I ask questions. I'm your Doctor, of course you trust me with your whole heart.
"I can't help noticing you're wearing a fobwatch..." John says, and the Doctor nods. "Legend has it that the memories of a Timelord can be contained within a watch..." He flips it open, John Smith does, and the works go flying: gears and springs and cogs. No bigger on the inside than it was outside, just like the Doctor. "Maybe not," says Smith, embarrassed, and bids his Doctor continue. "Look for anything different, possibly metal. Anything that doesn't seem to belong, perhaps a mechanical device that could fit no earthly engine." To protect his Doctor, Smith keeps his screwdriver quiet, as he roams and sonics things. "It could even seem to be organic, but unlike any organism of the natural world..." The Doctor hears the buzzing whine of the sonic screwdriver, and John quickly puts it in his pocket. "Just me... Whistling?" As though by coincidence, or in the guise of another excellent question, John wonders offhand what might be in this particular chest.
"Different, and metal," John says, holding up a metal shell, about a handspan wide. "They are infostamps," he tells his Doctor, "I mean, at a guess. If I were you," John says, "I'd say they worked something like this..." He taps the infostamp and pictures appear on the wall: "Compressed information, tons of it. That's... History of London, 1066 to the present day." John doesn't notice his Doctor, behind him, looking down at nothing, lost to the world as another piece of pain falls into place. He's only human.
"This is like a disk, a cyberdisk, but why would the Cybermen need something so simple? They've got to be wireless! Unless... They're in the wrong century, they haven't got much power, they need plain old basic infostamps to update themselves..." John finally notices the Doctor, his Doctor, staring into space, losing track. He puts on his glasses; Smith doctors the Doctor. "What is it?"
"I've seen one of these before," the Doctor says in a harsh, sad voice; the Doctor fights past one lost memory after another: Cybermen attacking, he was holding the device, the infostamp, when they... "The night I lost my mind. The night I regenerated." His face, changing before your eyes. "The Cybermen, they made me change. My mind, my face, my whole self." He puts his hand on John Smith's face, remembering him briefly. Feeling closer to him, for a moment, than a brother. Doctor-Doctor, inside. "And you were there. Who are you?" John Smith looks back at him, realizing he's been playing them both false this whole time. Where there were two Doctors, they thought, there were really none.
The Doctor looks at this man, this nameless man who lives in an improvised, jury-rigged approximation of his broken life, who does with it more good and more joyfully than he can remember feeling capable of. Rose, the Master, Donna. His daughters. Martha. "A friend," he says lovingly, giving the man all the strength he can master. "I swear." The man, the Next Doctor, begins to weep. "Then I beg you, John. Help me." Two words the Doctor never refuses. He watches his Companion, this strange man, go down again, into the shadows, and he loves him.
"But it's not a conversation for a dead man's house. It'll make more sense if we go back to the TARDIS... Um, your TARDIS." The man doesn't respond. It's too close, the pain is everywhere, implicit in the dead man's house, in the house of the man who died. Or was born. The Doctor rushes around his friend, sonicking everything: "If this room's got infostamps, then maybe, just maybe, it's got something that needs infostamping..." he opens a door, and sees a Cyberman staring down. And so begins the chase, which has the benefit of getting the stranger moving again. The Doctor shoves him up the stairs and grabs first an umbrella -- he flaps it open and closed again, which does nothing, all the umbrellas in London couldn't stop this thing -- and then a cutlass, which is suitably ridiculous, and the entire time he's trying desperately to help them.
"Listen, whatever you're doing stuck in 1851, I can help! I'm the only person in the world who can help you! Listen to me! I'm the Doctor. You need me. Check your memory banks, my name's The Doctor. Leave this man alone, the Doctor is me! The Doctor, remember? I'm The Doctor! You need me alive! You need The Doctor, and that's me!" The other man runs, up the stairs, and comes to rest as the Cybermen continue to advance, chasing after them both, screaming Delete! Delete!
He remembers holding the infostamp, holding the infostamp. He remembers it flashing, as it flashes, and then he zaps the Cybermen with it, until their heads explode. Information overload, literally; the Doctor salivates on him: "Infostamp with a cyclo-Steinham core. You ripped open the core and broke the safety! Only the Doctor would think of that!" The last next doctor nods. "I did that last time," he says, remembering their attack in a dead man's house. The Doctor produces a stethoscope out of nowhere, promising he'll be okay, checking both sides of his chest of course. "You told them you were The Doctor. Why did you do that?" And the Doctor's answer is true, and false, and more of both than anything he'll ever say: "Oh, I was just protecting you."
The man's face twists, because he can sense the darkness behind it; the Doctor knows something about the Doctor, something ugly and lonely, a death and memories lost, and the blood of children, and the silence of women, and the engine that takes us where we need to go. "You're trying to take away the only thing I've got, like they did." Like they did, like they always have, like they will continue to do. "They stole something, something so precious! But I can't remember. What happened to me? What did they do?"
The whole point of coming back here, after all the past iffiness with Victoria, was for this moment. The moment John Smith could look this strange, nameless, history-less man in the eyes and see all that strength, all that power and wisdom, the way he laughs at death, and then see the weakness and the fear and the deep unknowable sadness too. So that he could look at this man, be his Companion and realize that no matter what, he has to protect him, save him, help him solve the mystery of himself. The Doctor nearly cradles him now; he's lost so much. "We'll find out. You and me, together." This is what she felt. This is what they all felt. Now he knows. It only makes his heart ache more.
The Reverend Aubrey goes into the ground: the wreaths and flowers and casket are all black against the snow. It's totally awesome. And as the preacher begins to pray, it gets awesomer: Miss Hartigan, lately of the Cyber Factory, strides toward the funeral in a red dress, holding a red parasol. And under it she will protect everything these men forgot to care for, when they were oiling the engine. "...Change our vile body that it may be like unto His glorious body, according to the mighty working..." the preacher says (pithy, but admirably and lovingly sacrilegious, glorious in the way RTD does best), stumbling on his words as she approaches, and when he protests, she wonders whatever for.
"A lady at the graveside is debatable enough, but... Your apparel...." She wonders, then, to the company of esteemed men, if it's simply too exciting. Old Mr. Cole calls her a disgrace and a harlot. "And you should know, Mr. Cole." He is astounded, asking how she knows her name. "You've walked past me so many times, all you good men of charity, never once asking my name," she laughs at them, in their hypocrisy, and an older one remembers her name. "It's Miss Hartigan, isn't it?" She grins. "I saw you looking, you cheeky boy!" She's grotesque, over the line, pushing the envelope for the sake of neither the envelope nor the act of pushing; playing the harlot because it's the only role they left her. And confronted with their works, the company of esteemed men begins to panic.
(As my father, who would love Miss Hartigan, is fond of saying in these circumstances: "Oh, fuck me? Fuck you!" Cheeky boy.)
Who she is, by day, is the matron of the St Joseph Workhouse. "Your... Humble servant," she says, more ironically than lasciviously and more truthfully than ironically. At least before today. What she means is, she is their contemporary. They are slavers, in company. She circles them, spiraling as they recoil toward the grave. "Oh, I've watched you all. Visiting, smiling. Bestowing your beneficence upon the poor while I scrubbed down their filthy beds." As she, long ago, was the lucky beneficiary in her turn, and some other woman, now dead, scrubbed down her filthy bed. And in the night, if she could sleep at all, she'd write letters to herself, in her incredible imagination.
Dear Mercy,
(They'd say.)
The world is wrong...
Mercy summons the Cybermen, the Shades, and they make short work of all but four of these kind gentlemen. For it was Mercy sent the Cybermen to the late Reverend Fairchild, the better to gather them all together. "Man that is born of woman hath but a short time to live," she quotes at them, and scoffs at time, and gathers the ones she wants: "Mr. Cole, Mr. Scoones, Mr. Fetch, Mr. Milligan." The others shove, and run, and push each other into death, all the disposables, including the priest. "Sorry," she says, but she doesn't mean it; him least of all, him and his God that never quite seemed to care enough to save her, because she was disposable. Insignificant, you might say. Signifying nothing.
It's left between the lines because the Christmas Specials, even more than the show, are for kids. But here's what she signifies, in plain language: At the bottom of the Thames, full fathoms down, is all the shit and refuse and shame and dirt and pain and hate and fear that keeps the rest of us alive, and celebrating Christmas. At the bottom of the Thames is where we keep the spider, the shame: the engines that run on the blood of children, and the silence of women. At the bottom is where she lived, for so long. Too pretty for a mudlark, too smart for a wife. There's something on her back. It is you. And it is Mr. Cole, and Mr. Scoones, and Mr. Fetch, and it's Mr. Milligan. And when she rises, she brings not only them but all the shit and refuse and shame and dirt and pain and hate and fear that makes Christmas possible, from the bottom of the Thames right up into the sky. She will fly. She dreams of leaving, but never does. The world is wrong.
When they return, Rosita throws herself on him joyfully, and the man chuckles oddly: "Now then, Rosita. A little decorum." He's still in the grip of it, he still thinks he's a God. He doesn't know yet what he's allowed to have. "He's always doing this, leaving me behind!" she shouts at the Doctor, looking for sympathy. The thing these words do to him is less about sympathy, or more than.
By the hand we're lead toward the Next TARDIS, which the Doctor can't wait to see. Through the house, into the home and the garage. "You were right though, Rosita. The Reverend Fairchild's death was the work of the Cybermen!" Of course she was. All through the house there's luggage, baggage the Next Doctor carries with him if you will: "Evidence. Property of Jackson Lake, the first man to be murdered." The Doctor nods, understanding part of it at last. His new friend changes the subject excitedly, moving smoothly away from the terrifying feeling that man's name produces: Jackson Lake, the first victim. "Oh, but my new friend is a fighter, Rosita! Much like myself! He faced the Cybermen with a cutlass! I'm not ashamed to say, he was braver than I! He was quite brilliant!"
The Doctor and Rosita, Companions to the man, share a conspiratorial look as he sonics Jackson Lake's luggage open -- "Are you whistling again?" -- because they know, both of them, what it is to love him, and the burden only Companions know. All the little things. "That's another man's property," Rosita calls out while the Doctor takes down a particularly important valise. The man sits nearby, once again jolted out of time and space by a horror and a sadness, staring into nothingness. The Doctor asks how they met; how she came to be his Companion.
"He saved my life. Late one night, by the Osterman's Wharf, this... Creature came out of the shadows. A man made of metal. I thought I was gonna die. And then, there he was. The Doctor." The Doctor looks from Rosita to his friend, smiling at them both. This little world, made of pieces. "Can you help him, sir? He has such terrible dreams. Wakes at night in such a state of terror..." He stands again, having come back to them. No more dipping in time for now. "Come now, Rosita," he says, softly approaching. "With all the things a Timelord has seen, everything he's lost, he must surely have bad dreams."
To be understood, to be loved like that: It's not just about making the Doctor a Companion and a strange man the Next Doctor, it's not just about feeling what they felt. This is a man who has walked the halls of the Doctor, thinking them his own, and travelled through the doors, open and shut. He looks at Jackson like he looked at Donna, or the Master, but the deeper truth is that this sadness is real, either way. Jackson Lake has a biography, but that doesn't mean this pain isn't for the Doctor as well. Rosita worries, and the Doctor worries with her. "Oh, now, look. Jackson Lake had an infostamp... Doctor," John Smith says, "The answer to all this is in your TARDIS. Can I see it?"
The pride on Lake's face, showing John Smith his TARDIS, is magnificent as the music that attends it. "There she is! My transport through time and space... Tethered Aerial Release, Developed In Style!" The Doctor finds all this adorable, but she's just a big blue balloon. If you were attempting to think of a form, a skeleton on which to spread the world and make sense of Impossible Things, I can think of no more fitting shadow of her than a hot-air balloon. That sense of adventure, that breathlessness. That heavy loft, above and below you, that makes you feel so much safer than you should. The way the basket swings back and forth so slowly, like you're being rocked to sleep: developed in style, indeed. We take the skies for granted, but listen to them. Young Jed, an employee of the nearby gasworks who keeps her gassed up and in repair, is another sort of Companion: "Maybe tonight's the night, Doctor. Imagine it, seeing Christmas from above!"
"...Well, not just yet, I think," says the friend. "One day, I will ascend. One day soon..." The Doctor asks but you can see in his eyes that he already knows the answer: "You've never actually been up?" Jackson's a bit embarrassed, behind the bluster and the excuses, and Rosita speaks for him. Companions carry the burdens. "He dreams of leaving, but never does." Lake nods, sharply: "I can depart in the TARDIS, once London is safe. And finally, when I'm up there... Think of it, John! The time, and the space..." The Doctor's sad. He dreams of leaving, but never does.
"The perfect escape." But where's he wandering, what's he leaving, what's he running from? What's there to escape? Even this new Doctor wonders. The Doctor hates this part. "...Then do you want me to tell you? Because I think I've worked it out now. How you became the Doctor. What do you think? Do you want to know?" He doesn't. Not really.
Mercy stands with Mr. Cole, Mr. Scoones, Mr. Fetch and Mr. Milligan, shiny new Cybus Bluetooths in their eyes, in a line. The Court of the CyberKing is waiting, of course, but first she tests her control of them, turning them left and right with a word before sending them out to get the labor: those children that belonged to them when they were alive. When they were merely monsters who were men and not monsters in mens' shapes. They head off in four directions and Mercy knocks the roof of her carriage with her red umbrella; a Cybershade drives her away.
The story begins, the Doctor begins, With the Cybermen... A long time away, and not so far from here, the Cybermen were fought and they were beaten. And they were sent into a howling wilderness called the Void, locked inside forevermore. But then a greater battle rose up, so great that everything inside the Void perished. But, as the walls of the world weakened, the last of the Cybermen must have fallen through the dimensions, back in time, to land here. And they found you... At the same time, another man came to London: Mr. Jackson Lake. Plenty of luggage, money in his pocket. Maybe coming to town for the winter season, I don't know. But he found the Cybermen too. "And just like you," says the Doctor to the Doctor, "Exactly like you -- he took hold of an infostamp..."
The Next Doctor starts to rebel: Jackson Lake is dead. That's how he wants it: "The Cybermen murdered him!" But no body was found, and he kept all the suitcases but couldn't open them. He takes the fob watch again and flips it over: on the back is a monogram: JL. Jackson Lake. The secret was in the watch, but not like they thought. Because think about this, first of all that Doctor-Donna was right -- you fix a Chameleon Circuit by linking fragments, by superseding the binary -- but second of all it's the strangest coincidence of memories and sad stories happening here. Tim Latimer and John Smith, long ago in an English winter, both took part in Jackson's general story here, in opposite and troubling ways: it was Tim who carried the watch, and Smith who was had to leave, in the end. He thought he was a lie, just like Jackson Lake now does. And then you have the more obvious parallels with Donna, in which he has false memories to match her missing ones, and they meet in the middle, at their own potential, their strength and wisdom. In the way they dream of leaving, but never do.
"You became the Doctor because the infostamp you picked up was a book about one particular man." The Doctor projects the Doctors, one by one, all nine, on the wall of their home. Their beautiful memories, their faces. "The Cybermen's database, stolen from the Daleks inside The Void... everything you could want to know about the Doctor." It stops on Ten's face and Jackson jerks upright, recognizing the face of his friend. "The infostamp must have backfired, streamed all that information about me right inside your head."
Jackson Lake begins to weep: in the middle of a nightmare, something stolen and something lost, in all that fire and electricity, the information, the regeneration of himself to himself, becoming something else. A man who could cope, who laughed at danger. Who loved it more and more, the worse it got, and would never let loss keep him from saving the world. There are a million ways to regenerate. It's not always so flashy. "I am nothing but a lie," he says, crumbling, and the Doctor shouts, grabbing at his hands. "No no no no no! Infostamps are just facts and figures!" He shivers, terrified, as the Doctor points wildly: "All that bravery! Saving Rosita!" Defending London Town. "And the invention, building a TARDIS... That's all you."
His chin comes up, that lovely chin, and he blinks it away; his alchemy turns fear to angry and thence to purpose, and so it is that Jackson shivers now with purpose. "And what else? Tell me what else, there's still something missing, isn't there? I demand you tell me, sir. Tell me what they took." But they both already know, and even as the Doctor apologizes, Lake starts going catatonic. "Infostamp's plain technology. It's not enough to make a man lose his mind. What you suffered is called a fugue. A fugue state. Where the mind just runs away, because it can't bear to look back."
Jackson hears him, in there, and fights his way to the surface, closes his eyes, trying to listen. To hold onto it. "You wanted to become someone else, because Jackson Lake had lost so much..." The bells ring, in the cloisters, and Rosita calls it midnight. Christmas Day. It brings Jackson Lake back to himself. It is a birth, and it is a tragedy, and that's what regeneration means. That is what change is.
"Oh my God," say he, and remembers his wife. She was murdered, that night he lost his mind. Lost time. "Caroline," he mumbles, as the Doctor watches, and he looks up into those eyes. "They killed my wife." Rosita cares for him while the Doctor looks on, while he loses it, but soon enough the infostamp starts beeping, and then there's another, like easter eggs hidden around the place. The Doctor pulls out a bandolier of them, a whole cache, and moans in awe. But why are they beeping? "Activation. A call to arms... The Cybermen are moving!" The Doctor runs into the street, and sees something in shadows against the wall: by firelight, after Christmas has been packed away for the night, a line of people being marched somewhere, against their wills.
"The Doctor needs help," Jackson Lake says, and we'll hear it a dozen more times before the Doctor does: "I learnt that much about him, there should be someone at his side." She gives in, but he's talking about her: she's the Companion. She's more capable and readier for battle, and so she goes. Without a second thought, without a word.
It's children, being marched. When Rosita arrives asking what's up, the Doctor doesn't blink. "That's Mr. Cole, he's master of the Hazel Street Workhouse. Maybe he's taking them to prayers?" Nothing so holy. The Doctor speaks directly to the old man, irritating, but to no avail. "Mr. Cole, you seem to have something in your ear," he says, reaching for his screwdriver, but soon enough sees the Cybershade guarding against just this kind of tomfoolery. All five of the Creepy Old White Guys Of The Apocalypse lead their herds of children toward the Cyber Court, and ordering them to march. And the children do, crying and afraid -- but no more so than with regard to any other incomprehensible demand these men have made on them, okay, in their short lives, so probably less afraid than your very fortunate children would be in this circumstance -- with Cybershades nipping at their heels, in the middle of the night, in the snow.
JL weeps in his fake house, in his fake life, and I guess this is how long it takes to pull it together, because he eventually remembers something and goes tearing through the house for something and it's all very exciting and meaningful for some reason, and just the fact of him going "Where is it? Where is it?" means we've reached the part of most episodes, but especially Christmas episodes, where I remember how much I dislike this show. Which I thought we already did with the rope thing, but no. So there's much Doctor/Rosita talk about getting into the factory, gotta get into this sluice or whatever, but they get interrupted by two Cybermen -- "That's cheating, sneaking up! Did you have your legs on silent?" the Doctor adorably shrieks -- followed by Mercy, who appears just in the nick as usual.
The Doctor tries to tell her to be chill and not touch the Cybermen, and she laughs at him because she is the boss of them she thinks, and there are puns ("My knights in shining armor, quite literally," she has the audacity to say) and whatever, she's got free will, and she's like, "DUDE. I'm not a ROBOT. I keep telling you!" Actually, what she says is sort of cool, to the effect that nobody ever changed her mind about anything, and she's not about to start with stupid-looking robots.
But the episode as aired, and God knows how much even less sense the US version made, has already made such a hash of this lady that it doesn't really matter anymore that all her lines are just that, one-liner smart-assiness that isn't even all that fresh and manages to make the exact opposite point it's trying to make: "The Cybermen offered me the one thing I wanted: liberation!" Which ends up being like, feminists are not only incomplete men, but also fucking crazy bitches, which is not the intention, but then, purposely leaving out all possible motivation for a character's actions tends to have that effect.
So whatever, the Doctor notifies the Cybermen that he's the real Doctor, proving it with an infostamp, and asks what the kids are all about. "What are children ever needed for? They're a workforce," Mercy explains. "Very soon now, the whole Empire will see. And they will bow down, in worship... The perfect day for a birth, with a new message for the people." What that message actually will be we don't know and never will, because she starts tripping balls well before that time, but I mean, at that point you'd be stupid to care what her plan is, because giant robots are awesomer than any amount of well-written TV.
The Cybermen beat on their tin chests and step forward to kill the doctor and Rosita, but then Jackson Lake shows up, having strapped the bandolier of infostamps across his chest and zapping Cybermen willy-nilly. Maybe it's his new coping mechanism; it certainly looks therapeutic. Mercy screams for backup -- "Shades! Shades!" -- and Rosita makes the time to punch her in the face for some cathartic reason, so then she rolls around with the Cybermen awkwardly and the Doctor and Rosita are smug, and when Mercy stands up there's blood on her face and she is not interested in waiting until dawn anymore.
Jackson and his wife were moving to London so he could take up a post at the university. A teacher, like John Smith. And their house, the one he discovered the Cybermen at? Number 15, Latimer Street. I love this show. So if they got out that way, probably there's a way into the factory from there. So of course the Doctor tells Rosita to go back and be safe, and of course she tells him to suck it, and of course he sighs, but somewhere in there it's the most comforting thing he's heard all day.
"You have wisdom," says Cyber Leader. "If the Doctor is planning to intervene, then the Ascension will commence immediately." Mr. Cole, Mr. Scoones, Mr. Fetch and Mr. Milligan are summarily electrocuted at the pull of Mercy's lever, and she smiles at their fall. It's nice, for a moment, but then she goes into the other room and starts shouting at the kids about the Industrial Revolution like a steampunk Ru Paul all, "I wanna see you work!" so they turn wheels, and carry water, and there are pieces of coal that are as big as their heads, and like, steampunk is kind of a bummer right now. Little kids, working their fingers to the bloody bone. That's kind of amazing on Christmas.
"Soon the CyberKing will awake," Cyber Leader reiterates for no reason, and Mercy takes his arm, asking to be shown his throne. Watching a hot lady take a Cyberman's arm, like he's her escort in to dinner, is pretty awesome too. Less so is how the Cybermen keep automatically detecting Jackson and the Doctor and Rosita no matter what they do. Something happens with some stupid Dalek thing, I don't even care anymore, it's some kind of Dalek machine of some sort, because what on God's earth can't be vastly fucking improved by throwing a billion Daleks at it. So the Doctor breaks part of it off or something, and just says Dalek Dalek Dalek like a million times and runs around with his hair going crazy, and there's much talk of electricity and percentages of this and that, and what happens when the... Mathmath Dalekdalek Cyberthing. Come! On! Little kids doing forced labor, steam and clockwork machines, insane hooker headmistresses? Don't lose me now!
So the Cyber Leader conducts Mercy to an ever-so-steampunky drawbridge, and it's magnificent, and on the other side is an even more magnificent thing that Mercy likes to a throne even though it's obviously a total electric chair because Mercy doesn't get it, still, that the Cybermen don't really have aristocracy or kings, just an electric chair to kill you with or a Dalek device to bore you with, and anyway, there's no such thing as royalty in a race of robots that run on pure Cold War Communism. Mercy congratulates Cyber Leader on being the cyberfuture CyberKing and he's like, "OMG this is so embarrassing because now we're going to take out your brain and stick monster in your ears and turn you into the pilot of a giant fucking robot," and she's like, "I'm fairly certain I asked you about that, and you said no," and he's like, "Yeeeaaaah. We lied?"
"What do the Cybermen want?" Rosita asks, and even though Freud hasn't even been invented yet the answer's the same: the Cybermen want to take your brain out and put it in a metal shell and for everything to be just like them. For example, cut to Mercy Hartigan, who is now strapped into the chair and arguing semantics -- You can't do this to me! and the guy's like, "Incorrect! For we did it already!" and this kind of thing -- and panicking, because she wants to be the boss of robots and not a robot. Or I mean, at least a friend of robots. She complains that she would have served them anyway, and not only is that clearly untrue because she's awesome, but also because she's not: "Your mind is riddled with anger and abuse and revenge. These have no place in a Cybermind. Activate!" The crown comes down, and the many hurts and lost memories of Mercy Hartigan, the anger and abuse and the revenge, are taken care of. "Emotions have tormented you all of your life. Now you will be set free. This is your liberation." All hail the CyberKing, awakening to a new dawn, her eyes open and black as night.
Looking down into the factory. The kids working, cyubermen patrolling. JL: Upon my soul... R: What is it? It's an engine. It's huge, gears and steam everywhere They're generating electricity. But what for? JL: We can set them free! Calming him: No, no, no, no, no, no, no...
While the Doctor and Companions stare down at the factory and get all heroic and excited, Mercy realizes that being the CyberKing is not all bad. The black eyes are on like every show, eventually. Sometimes they mean demon possession, sometimes they mean you are about to go turboslut at the behest of Dionysus, occasionally they mean you tried to film a threesome and ended up watching some guy accidentally OD on coke which so traumatized you that you had to run through the city with no pants on and have sex with a heavily waxed human Ken doll and then fuck off to boarding school for a year, causing everybody you left behind to break down and become suicidal and bulimic and queer. But here, I guess they mean your brain is becoming tapioca, like evil pudding, because for such an awesome character, Mercy Hartigan just turned into a real shitty character, with a retardedness quotient equaling or exceeding that of the cat-penis octopus-headed Dalek Guido Thing.
Essentially for the exact same reasons, actually. So the Doctor puts his glasses on and something something science. There's an engine, and if they stop it, the Cybermen will come, but if they don't, then the bad thing will happen, which I guess is not Mercy going all black-eyed demon on us, but then it doesn't matter, because there's a "power fluctuation," which is... Mercy Hartigan doing her best Bad Wolf impression. "I can see the stars! The worlds beyond! The Vortex of Time itself and the whole of infinity... Oh, but this is glorious!"
Cyber Leader explains she's wrong, because "glorious" is only something you'd say if you had emotions, and she's like, "Totally! I am having all kind of emotions right now! There is so much joy in this machine!" Which, okay, that made me happy. Happier even than the fact that her body -- which she seems to agree on some level is "vile" -- has been changed, that it may be like until this glorious body. According to a mighty working. But whatever, Cyber Leader isn't having it. "Joy is not acceptable!" So she's still strapped down, and the brain-tapioca sort of takes over, so it's like, "Don't you see? My mind is stronger than you ever thought! It dominates, sir! It dominates you!" And they freak out. "I am new. The might of your technology combined with my own imagination... Yes!" The voice changes from the clangy vibrato before to mostly the voice she had before this whole folly was mounted: "There will be a new race of Cybermen. My Cybermen! Logic and strength combined with fury and passion!"
(Oh my GOD, this is exactly like the cat-penis octopus-headed creature. I swear on that guy from Alphabeat if she or the new race of Cyberwankers suddenly has a change of heart due to the power of the human spirit I am going to spit on the floor. I will do it, sir.) So they shoot science vibes at each other and you think she's a goner, but apparently a standard feature of her amazing mind is that it's also good at shooting lasers at robots. From her forehead.
The Cybermen go down in sparks, and there are sparks shooting out of the thing the Doctors have been babbling about, and the percentage of the whatever is shooting up, up, and the assumption is that when it is at 100 whatever percents, all the children will die. So then there's running. Meanwhile, the CyberKing has eliminated all threats to her regency and now has all the remaining Cybermen under her control, because she can do anything in the whole world, I guess. Except chill out.
More running. Doctors and Rosita get all the kids out of there and it takes a million steampunky years, while Cybermen rush around with those doggies some more, being commanded by her imperious steering wheel-headed self. Then comes a thing I don't even want to talk about, so I'll just say: let's take ten minutes out of this impending whatever-it-is that we still don't-know-what-it-is so that Jackson Lake can suddenly unfugue about the fact that he has a son that was kidnapped at the beginning of the story -- and of course like in all science fiction this is of vastly greater importance than the guy's wife having just died -- and guess who's standing on that ledge like Toby the Future Goblin King? Right, the kid. What kid? The kid with the power. What power? The power to suddenly be very fucking important in the middle of this story, destroying all forward momentum and making Jackson Lake look like even more of a weenus.
So yeah, stop the whole fucking story so we can have a big fake emotional moment where the Doctor literally swings on ropes for awhile to get to the kid, while things explode forever and everywhere and Daddy blubbers down in the exploding place, and saves the kid, and OMG daddy loves you and all this, and seriously, it goes on forever. And Jackson Lake -- whom we've known now for about five minutes -- sweeps up his son -- whom we've known since this paragraph -- into his arms and cries and cries and cries and cries. None of which fucking matters, because who are these people, and why was the idiot kid standing on that ledge while the place was literally coming down around his ears in the following ways: It was on fire. It was electrocuting itself. It was sort of raining in there, or boiling steam clouds were in there. Giant boulders. Things exploding and competent adults literally conducting the children to the doors one by one, but not old Frederic Lake, no. Not our Freddy. He's going to stand right there in the most fucking precarious place possible until several grown men are forced to go up there after him, and why? No reason other than the heart-tugging reunion between two people we have never met and cannot care about. And then outside the building there is yet more administrivia as Rosita explains to approximately thirty kids, separately, that they should run to the left and stay away from burning or exploding things.
Finally, finally, the giant robot. It comes out of the Thames, and it is fabulous. Big as the sky. Built less like a Cyberman and more like a Wicker one. There's lots of running around, and Mercy's chock full of tapioca chatter -- "Behold! I am risen! Witness me, mankind, as CyberKing of all!" -- which doesn't even mean what she thinks it does, turns out, because really a CyberKing isn't a person or a job: it's a thing. "A ship! Dreadnought class! Front line of an invasion. And inside the chest, a Cyberfactory, ready to convert millions!" (Girl who was a ship, check.) And Mercy's booming, "And I will walk! I will stride across this tiny little world!" And so she does, and it is awesome like whoa. Houses smashing, clouds rising, people screaming, giant robot feet. The denizens of the new world do not accept it well. "My people, why do they not rejoice?" she shouts, smashing everything as it walks across London Town. I think I know.
Jackson tries to accompany the Doctor for whatever he's going to do now, and the Doctor tells him to stay put. "You've got your son. You've got a reason to live." Jackson asks the salient question -- and the Doctor doesn't? -- but this sends the Doctor into a little fugue of his own, and they're both really sad for a second. Got it, Jackson nods, and he says goodbye. "God save you, Doctor," he says, and takes his son to safety.
The Doctor -- still carrying the Dalek thingy he broke off the other Dalek thingy -- runs up to Jeb, who's just been standing around I guess, and they get the TARDIS into the air. It's very exciting. And still, the Voice of Tapioca. "People of the world! Now hear me, your governments will surrender. And if not, then behold my power!" The CyberKing, not content with being huge and awesome, converts her fist into a huge gun, blowing the shit out of an alley, and then more and more exploding things. It is remarkable. What is she even doing?
The Doctor loads the infostamps into the balloon, is informed by Jed that he is "flamin' bonkers," and they finally get the balloon in the air. Meanwhile, Jackson introduces his son to Rosita, and she just sort of stares at them while the robot blows everything up and continues to wander around. Jed laughs in sheer delight as the Doctor lofts up toward the robot, and down below Jackson crows for it. Some dude's like, "The heck is that dude?" And Jackson goes, "His name, sir, is the Doctor!"
The Cybermen notice somebody getting close, and Mercy's like, "What? Check it out! So they Voltron the head around to look at him, and his hair going absolutely crazy in the wind. He aims the infostamps at her, and she's like, "Another man, come to assert himself against me in the night!" Which would be so, so compelling if any of this made sense. So the Doctor levels with her -- "You might have the most remarkable mind this world has ever seen, strong enough to control the Cybermen themselves" -- and she tells him to shove it, because she doesn't need his permission to be awesome, but he tells her she kind of does, because she's stomping on London and is going to die if she doesn't calm down. He offers to use the Dalek thingy from the other Dalek thingy to send her somewhere else where there aren't any people to Cyberconvert.
"I have the world below," Mercy points out. "And it is abundant with so many minds, ready to become extensions of me. Why would I leave this place?" Because he's going to stop her. "What do you make of me, sir? An idiot?" No, but that's not the question, the question is whether she's going to make him into the kind of a guy who blows up awesome robot-controlling ladies. She is firmly in the affirmative on that one, and he's sad. "You make me into this," he says, and fires vibes into the robot's mouth where she's hanging out. And nothing happens, so she laughs at him, but it's too hard to even care because A) this shit fell apart a good while ago and B) his hair is now Edward Cullen amounts of crazy, and it's really distracting.
"I wasn't trying to kill you. All I did was break the Cyber-connection, leaving your mind open." She begins to wig out, because of that goddamn human spirit thing no doubt. "Open, I think, for the first time in far too many years. So you can see. Just look at yourself. Look at what you've done." She starts hyperventilating like a hooker that didn't know her place and ended up turning into a giant robot. He apologizes, and she realizes what a dick she's been acting like, and then screams so loud that her Cybermen explode, and then she explodes, and then it's just a giant robot with nobody driving it, and it's about to fall on London and kill everybody, but then the Dalek thingy does something or another, and the robot disappears. The Doctor is sad, because that was dumb.
And the sad thing is, RTD and Gardner realizes later on that obviously Miss Hartigan -- in addition to making any sense whatsoever -- should have been the one to disappear the CyberKing somehow, herself, without any reference to the stupid Dalek thingies at all. That would have been great. Instead, we just have the Doctor giving this "I'm killing you for your own good" speech he's already given a million times, and a bad guy who was neither bad nor a guy, but somehow and for some dumb reason became both.
"I'd say he used that Dimension Vault to transfer the wreckage of the CyberKing into the Time Vortex, there to be harmlessly disintegrated," says Jackson Lake, the Victorian Age's answer to a question nobody asked. Then he jumps up on a lamppost and decides to make everything even stupider. "Ladies and gentlemen, I know that man! That Doctor on high. And I know that he has done this deed a thousand times! But not once, no sir, not once, not ever, has he ever been thanked! But no more! For I say to you, on this Christmas morn, Bravo, sir! Bravo!" They all cheer, and it's so fucking dumb I can't believe it. "Bravo! Bravo, sir! Bravo, Doctor."
The Doctor is stoic in his own little dreamworld of sadness and the humanity or whatever, and then finally hears them applauding, which makes him smile at wave at them, and it starts to snow. Needless to say, Jackson Lake is down there crying like a baby. And for my part, I have just fulfilled my promise to spit right on the floor.
Later, London is a mess due to being stomped on by a giant robot, but they're cleaning it up. Jackson calls himself "a widower, but with my son and with a good friend." Rosita... Oh, she doesn't matter anymore, I guess. "Frederic will need a nursemaid and I can think of none better!" Even the Doctor looks at him like, "I'm so sure." Jackson invites him to dinner with the family, at the Traveller's Halt. "A Christmas feast, in celebration." Jackson looks down, away, but stays present: "And in memory of those we have lost." The Doctor just looks at him, sad, because of all people Jackson Lake must know that he won't stay. "You know me," he says, and Jackson follows him saying, "I don't think anyone does." Not anymore.
Jackson geeks out at the sight of the real TARDIS, but can only handle being in there for like five seconds before he runs back out into the street, laughing his ass off adorably. The Doctor watches him laugh, and loves him ever more, and finally they get ready to say goodbye for, oh, the fourth time I think. When do we jump on the bed with Dominic Monaghan? Wake me up when it's time for that one.
"Tell me one thing. All those facts and figures I saw of the Doctor's life, you were never alone." The light goes out of the Doctor's eyes. Completely. "All those bright and shining Companions! But not anymore?" It's too sad to answer properly, but Jackson pushes, so he answers honestly. "They leave. Because they should, or they find someone else. And some of them... Forget me. I suppose in the end they break my heart."
Jeez. See, if it had just been that somehow, just sad and dark with all that mirroring of Doctor and Companion and Smith and Lake and Rose-Martha-Donna-Rosita, the memories lost and found, Doctor loving Jackson Lake the way we love the Doctor, I would have loved it. Or if it had been Mercy Hartigan attempting to create praxis and the Doctor being forced to fight her even though she is totally right. Or if it had been about Ten's jealousy about Rose's Bad Wolf Bay life with Ten-Five. Or if it had just been about a bloody giant robot, that would have been fine. But instead it's all of this at once, all of it half-assed, and there's nothing more embarrassing than a half-assed episode of Doctor Who, because if you shoot for the moon even something dumb can be transcendent. Planet Of The Ood, for example: that was television with the whole ass. I'm not asking for Human Nature every time out the box, although I don't really see a reason we couldn't have that. But this was more like steampunky Torchwood, in terms of the unnecessary plotholes and general fakeness of emotion hiding the actual structure and meaning of the story under a full fathom of Thames-floating crap.
Anyway, bummer. I like the next one a lot better, and not just because of the heavy hints as to what happens next, or the kind of world into which Matt Smith/Twelve will be born. God, every word in that one is heavy with import, and not the obvious ones either. That's going to be fun to talk about. But ugh. Christmas every time. So Jackson Lake gets a little Donna on the Doctor -- "That offer of Christmas dinner? It's no longer a request, it's a demand. In memory of those we have lost" -- which manages to change the Doctor's mind, which even he finds amazing, and as he accepts and they head off together, he says sincerely, "If anyone had to be the Doctor, I'm glad it was you." I'm happy to say I agree.
Meet you in a month ... On THE PLANET OF THE DEAD!
]]>Rachel has told Kathy to get on a young, hip, Gossip Girl-y show on the CW. So one week later, Kathy is on the Paramount lot ready to appear on a show called "Privileged", which is so small we don't even recap it. [And it's been canceled. - Zach] Kathy will be playing "Olivia the Wedding Planner," and her character will be organizing a gay wedding. In front of Maggie, Tiffany and Kathy's friend Patrick (who is the casting director and got Kathy the role), Kathy tries reading her lines as an angry, foulmouthed freak. Tiffany is in gales of laughter, but Patrick is unamused. Then Kathy does it as her imitation of her mother, which everyone enjoys. Patrick thinks she should keep trying.
Now it's time for Kathy to mingle with the cast. First up: Ignacio the Hunk, who comes out of his trailer and reveals that he has written "Kathy" on his belly. What kind of CW hunk has a belly? Isn't it supposed to be all washboard this and six-pack that? By the way, his belt buckle is on the side of his body, not the front. These kids today, I tell ya. Kathy teases him about being really hot and when she asks him for drug tips, he just makes a weird face. Kathy attributes this to oxycocoin, which is a drug she just made up, composed of oxycontin, cocaine and heroin. When Kathy bids Ignacio goodbye, she forces herself into his arms and then pretends to be shoving him away. And as she and Tiffany walk away, Ignacio calls out, "By the way, if I wasn't afraid of water, I would motorboat the [bleep] out of you." Huh. Well, that's nice. I guess.
Kathy claims that she and Ignacio are "just learning about sexuality and experimenting". Then she indulges in a whole-body eyeroll and makes the jerkoff gesture.
Guest star! Mike McDonald is here on the lot! And he's on a more prestigious show than Kathy, which is Kath and Kim. Well, I've at least heard of it. I think. [Yeah, that one was also canceled. - Z] He and Kathy exchange insults, with Kathy asking him if he's portraying a successful actor and Mike asking when Kathy will be in hair and makeup. See, because she's already got the fancy hair on. Mike runs some lines with Kathy and she is theatrically bad. And I watched The Room earlier tonight, so I know from bad. By the way, in the background of this entirely coincidental meeting in a studio alley, we can clearly see Kathy's mother, who is sitting in front of Kathy's trailer. All I'm saying is that they could have at least gone around the corner for this.
It's time for Kathy to shoot! And it's been a few years since Suddenly, Susan, which means that her script-memorizing muscles are a bit weak. But she soldiers on and comes onto the set. Oh, the director is David Paymer! He's done a lot of work. You'd probably recognize him. As Kathy gets some makeup touched up, she asks Tiffany if she has those "things we talked about". When one of the Privileged actors asks, as he was obviously supposed to, "Things?" Kathy snaps back, "If you mean my lines on cards, I resent that." Yes, very droll. In the rehearsal, Kathy steps on someone else's lines and then looks mortified about it. When Kathy goes over to Patrick, Tom and Maggie for reassurance, Maggie says it looked fine from what she could tell. Then Patrick says that Margaret Cho is on hold.
Kathy chats with an actor, who tells her that it was a tactical error to do her own makeup and hair, because that cuts her out from the valuable hair/makeup gossip channel. Now Kathy is convinced that everyone on set hates her. Also, Kathy isn't thrilled about being on a show shot in high definition. As Kathy says, "HD is not the friend of a lady whose age has a four in front of it." She would like to be shot through a thick layer of vaseline, please. Kathy describes Cybill Shepherd on Moonlighting as having been a ghostly, amorphous figure, "and do you know why? Because there was probably a gay cameraman who loved her."
As Kathy shoots her line (which is about doves and fireworks not going well together), the punchline of "I learned that the hard way" isn't getting a laugh. But the next bit, where she calls someone "perky" and makes a fireworks gesture, is pretty funny. And we're out!
Kathy's house. Kathy wants to get more use out of her mother, who is a trained secretary. Maggie takes a very long time to write something in shorthand. In fact, Kathy thinks it would be faster to have a dance troupe interpret a sentence. Anyway, Maggie will be in charge of Kathy's Facebook page. Maggie asks, "What's a page?" Hmm. This won't end well. Maggie asks if it's done on a typewriter and Kathy goes on this long sarcastic rant that involves a mule train somehow. Maggie realizes that this is "what's happening to all those teenagers".
Kathy, Tiffany, and Maggie are at a computer. Tiffany will be teaching Maggie about Facebook and Kathy will be saying funny things and talking about wine. Go! Maggie will have to be posting as though she's Kathy. But first she has to learn about the mouse. Kathy complains that Maggie isn't as efficient at exploiting her daughter as Dina Lohan. Kathy wants Maggie to cyber-bully Ryan Seacrest, but since Kathy has no more idea what that means than I do, it sounds difficult. We see Kathy type "Enjoy your..." and then there's some typing. I don't know what she typed, but Maggie is insistent that this not be posted. "I will not let it be sent!" Ah. The complete post is "So happy for your success. Enjoy your fisting session tonight!" Maggie is not on board with Kathy's appalling Facebook status updates. The only one that gets posted is the one about teabagging Nick Cannon, and that's just because she doesn't know what teabagging is. A response gets posted almost immediately: "Yes, do it. Bitch needs 2 B muzzled 4-Eva." Maggie does not want the Facebook job.
New scene! Kathy is going to be going shopping with Paris Hilton! Tom and Tiffany enter with armfuls of weird pink clothes, which turn out to be Paris's actual clothes that Kathy somehow got from Paris's office. So Kathy wants to dress like Paris, which will make Paris like her and do coke and sex tapes with her. Then Kathy strips down (mentioning her "new sexy underwear", which isn't as baggy) and starts trying on clothes. Tiffany correctly identifies the first thing as "very Liza", so it's out. Kathy explains that she's not taking her bra off, and then practices getting out of cars and bending over so as to show off her crotch. This is an Emmy-winning show!
Paris poses on a Hollywood street with one of those really teeny dogs, named Prince Baby Bear. Kathy rolls up with Chance and Pom Pom. Paris tells Kathy she looks hot (TM), and Kathy tells her that she's wearing Paris's clothes. Guys rarely do that sort of thing. Paris is in the middle of a paparazzi scrum and Kathy wants to get some photographer attention. So she hikes up her skirt to show off her underpants. Mission accomplished!
Paris and Kathy go into a store and Paris begins to tell Kathy what's hot. Members Only jackets? Again? Apparently I was stunningly fashionable from 1983 through 1987. As Kathy demands more tips, she notices that Paris keeps saying "Hmmm." and standing still. Paris explains that she likes to pose whenever she stands. Incidentally, there's a huge crowd of people surrounding them at about a 20 foot distance. Kathy and Paris get into a pose-off, which ends when Paris sees something shiny. There is a frenzy of shopping. Kathy is determined to shop just as much as Paris. Everything Paris is immediately echoed by Kathy, although without the "bizarre baby accent".
Suddenly! Jill, from one of those Real Housewives shows, enters and starts chatting with Paris. Jill also talks to Kathy about her concerts, and it's clear that Jill's plan is to get some camera time. And it works.
Paris's bill comes to $12,500, and the clerk calls her "Paris", which I think is a little familiar. When someone comes into your store and buys 12 grand worth of dresses, you call her "Miss Hilton." And probably don't make eye contact. Kathy's is $14,200, and she gets called "Katie." Ouch. If you're going to be on a first-name-basis with your customers, at least get that name correct. Still, it might be a nice change for Kathy, since it's usually her last name people screw up. Kathy emphasizes to us how her A-List moment got undercut by her name getting messed up. Also, she's a little freaked out about spending 14 thousand in one place. [Seriously, does Kathy have Paris Hilton money? - Z]
Back at Stately Griffin Manor, Maggie is having trouble with "the Faceplace".
Kathy and Paris go to another store (the place with the mudflap girl as the logo. Classy!) and briefly talk about Facebook. Then Kathy says that she needs a bathing suit that says, "I'm accessible, but you can't rape me." Paris explains that shopping is exhausting and burns more calories than working out. They check themselves out in the mirror and Paris has Kathy open her lips a little more. When Kathy takes it too far (as she is wont to do) by saying "Who wants a blowjob?" Paris looks disgusted and says, "I never do that. My mom always taught me only ugly girls need to go down on their knees and do things like that." Kathy looks taken aback for about half a second and answers, "Well then I'm not gonna do that or take it up the butt. It's disgusting! Who needs that? With the economy, no thank you!" Kathy interviews that she no longer needs to... look, this gets kind of graphic. There's a strap-on involved. I'm not sure I should tell you what she said. It was funny, though.
As Kathy and Paris leave the store to go to the pool, they take separate cars. All the photographers follow Paris. Incidentally, I think Paris is coming off pretty well here. She's letting Kathy leave the stores first so she can be in the pictures and playing along with Kathy's "No! Don't take my picture! I need my privacy! It's me, Kathy Griffin!" act pretty well.
Bonus commercial content! Maggie records a video for FacePlace, which features her waving and saying "Hello! Hi out there!" Won't that kind of clue people in that it's not Kathy?
Kathy interviews that she has no regrets at all about her plan to go poolside and be in a bikini next to Paris Hilton. None! Actually, when they arrive, Kathy shouts "We're here, bitches!" so it's not like she's trying to sneak around. Paris tells Kathy she should make an entrance, like what about the "We're here, bitches" didn't Paris get? Paris coaches Kathy on how to walk, sit on a cabana seat, and so on. Now it's interview time!
Paris likes LA more than New York, because New York is fun only during fashion week. She likes Paris Hilton more than Paris, France; Kanye West more than Kenya; Martha Stewart more than Rachael Ray; and cannot answer missionary vs. doggie style. Paris is embarrassed! She tells her mom not to watch. Kathy interviews that she's up for any sexual position including some she's making up right now. Like the "Angry Badger."
Kathy asks Paris to demonstrate how she would get a "cute, model-y boy" to come take their picture, and Paris just calls out "Hey, sexy! Would you come take our picture with this camera phone?" She claims to be using a baby voice, but it's just the same as her usual voice. Kathy freaks the boy out by talking about his penis.
Now it's the part of the show where Kathy makes her special guest calls someone she couldn't get on the phone herself. Paris considers Katy Perry, but she's on tour. How about Snoop Dogg? Kathy is enchanted! Until she hears Snoop's hold music. Snoop eventually answers and Paris starts talking that Fizzle-Dizzle language that I'm pretty sure not even Snoop understands half the time. Snoop's having a dinner with a glass of Kool-Aid and sounds like a pretty good sport, even when Kathy insists that he come over and have sex with both of them.
Paris describes her usual Thursday night, which has like four afterparties. Kathy decides she can't come and they have a goodbye hug. Man, I can't believe Paris Hilton would let Kathy get anywhere near her. She's either an incredibly good sport or has no idea what's going on around her. Or possibly both.
Kathy returns to the clothing store from earlier to return her $14,000 worth of clothes. She claims that she already has all that stuff already and would like the credit on her card, not on store credit. And don't tell Paris. Thanks!
Back at the Griffin Estate, Kathy is preparing to fire Maggie off the Facebook job. Maggie hasn't been accepting everyone's Facebook friend requests. Kathy doesn't like the drunken videos, nor does she approve of Maggie posting "Two-Buck Chuck is on sale at Trader Joe's". How can Two-Buck Chuck be on sale? Is it "Buck-Fifty Chuck"? Anyway, Maggie's fired. Big deal.
Kathy makes up some stuff that she learned this week, like that scripted television requires knowing your lines and that Young Hollywood goes to parties a lot. And we're done!
Next week: Don Rickles! That is going to be awesome. And Betty White!
Discuss this episode in our forums, and see a deleted scene from this episode here!
You can email Monty at montykins@gmail.com if that's your idea of a good time.
]]>We meet our contestants! First up is Alicia, 23, from Scranton, PA! When she isn't hanging out with Jim and Pam, she's fat. At least, that's all she tells us about her background. She enters her new home, which is decorated in typical brightly-colored and IKEA-furnitured reality show style. She finds two cabinets. One is full of fruits and vegetables and the other is full of junk food, because this show is mean. Trice, 24, who pronounces her name "Tree-sha-nell" for some reason and claims to be from "Inglewo-wo-wooood!" even though her graphic says she's from Chicago so it's all very confusing, wants us to know that you can be fat and still have moves. Then why is she on a show about learning moves while losing weight? This seems contrary to everything she stands for. Miles, 28, is from Salt Lake City, and his father died at a young age from obesity but Miles didn't really learn any lessons from that so now he needs to be on this show. He gets a good workout right away when he enters the house and Trice jumps into his arms. Then there's Pinky, 29, who is even worse than Trice because she pronounces her name "Sophia Maranya Perez." I can't wait for Raymond Luxury Yacht, pronounced "Throat Warbler Mangrove." Pinky is a "street dancer" and thinks if she just lost the excess weight she'd be even better at it.
Brandon, 20, is a Type 2 diabetic and proudly holds a candy bar up in his home submission video. Shockingly, his blood sugar was so high in his pre-show physical that he almost wasn't allowed on the plane to Los Angeles. Brandon walks in the house and immediately complains about how the healthy food pantry "stunk" because it was full of fruits and vegetables. If he thinks it stinks now, wait until about a fortnight later when those fruit and vegetables are good and rotten. Also, I'm pretty sure there are like ten jars of peanut butter on the top shelf of the supposed healthy food pantry, so whatever. Brandon opens the bad food pantry, takes out a bunch of donuts, and eats them. It's not like I want anyone to go into a diabetic coma, but if I did, it would be Brandon. Next up is Karla, 29, and... holy shit! I'm pretty sure I used to live in the same apartment building as she did! And yet, they claim she's from Phoenix, even though she's lived in Los Angeles for years. One time, in our apartment building, the elevator went out for like five months and Karla had to hoof it up four flights of stairs to her apartment. I'd always find her slumped on the stairwell between the second and third floors. In her defense, it was really hot, because our apartment building was apparently in Phoenix, unbeknownst to me. Karla says she wants to lose weight so she can get a boyfriend. She might also want to get a mirror, because when she meets her castmates, she's amazed at how much bigger they all are than her when they're about the same size.
Angela, 24, used to be a model before gaining 55 pounds in the last two years. Yikes. That sounds like either a past or a present eating disorder to me. I don't know if dancing can really cure that. Ruben, 43, walks in shortly after her and tells us he used to be a professional dancer, so hello, Ringer. Ruben is gay and left his partner of seven years in ICU recovering from cancer to be on this show. Dance your priorities off, Ruben! Mara, 32, from Detroit, claims that diabetes runs in her family, as her brother died from it and she and her mother suffer from it. She wants to make a change. Tara, 32, from Orlando, says being a mother is her first priority unless she gets cast on a reality show, at which point she dumps the kids and seeks fortune and fame. Shayla, 27, used to be very much in shape, as her home submission video shows. Then she gained 80 pounds over ten years, which seems like a lot until you realize that it's just eight pounds a year, which is less than a pound a month, and you see how it can sneak up on you. Warren is 29 and wants to show his kids that you can be healthy as long as there's a reality show in it for you.
Now that everyone has arrived, Trice wants us to know that she's here to win, not to make friends, because there's always one reality show contestant who has to say that. MJW finally saunters in and everyone feels the need to hug her. Nobody hugs Jeff Probst like this. What the hell? Hands off the host! This isn't Dance Your Personal Space Off. Alicia says that MJW is the only "plus-sized girl" she's ever seen to make it in Hollywood. Alicia clearly doesn't get out much. It's not easy to be large and in charge, but it's not impossible, either. Please don't let MJW be your example of the most a larger woman can achieve in the entertainment business. MJW and her giant hair repeat that this competition will change everyone's life. She explains the contest: each contestant will be paired up with a professional dancer. They will also meet with Dr. Huizenga, the weight loss reality show whore. Are there no other doctors in Los Angeles to choose from besides this clown? Or maybe they're all too busy taking their careers seriously. Contestants will have a nutritionist, personal trainer, choreographer and costume designers at their disposal. And they have their own private lofts with a gym and dance rehearsal rooms next door, which is very nice indeed. No military-style tackily-decorated apartments for these contestants! When MJW tells them there will be a live audience and judges watching their weekly dance routines, Ruben acts like he had no idea that was coming. The eliminated contestant will be determined by a combination of weight loss and dance scores. The winner gets $100,000. "If I win this money, I'm gonna go shopping," Mara says. Yes, that's wise. The rest of the contestants have better things to spend their money on, like college and mothers. With that, everyone gets to meet with creepy Dr. H, who scolds them for their various obesity-induced health problems, not like that's much of a motivator for these people. Brandon is diabetic and he still eats candy bars and donuts. Alicia bursts into tears for the second time in the first 10 minutes of this show and whines a lot. Dr. H tries to defend the bad food pantry, saying it's there to give the contestants the same temptations they'll face in the real world, when we all know it's just there to be mean.
With that, we go to the live studio audience (but not actually live) portion of the show. MJW is on stage while the contestants are in the back looking nervous. MJW introduces us to our judges, who are sitting in a giant sparkly egg. Mayte Garcia has been a choreographer for Prince and Britney Spears, which means she has a lot of experience with crazy people. Lisa Ann Walter was in a movie about dancing but doesn't seem to have much of a dancing background. In fact, she's a stand-up comedian who had the concept for this show and managed to convince the network to let her be a judge on it. And finally, there's our snarky British judge, choreographer Danny Teeson. MJW tells us that the contestants have already weighed in, so the last two picked to perform tonight are the ones who lost the least amount of weight. I don't see the point of revealing this information before the dancing, but I guess every little bit helps pad this baby out to almost an hour and a half.
First up to dance is Alicia. Try not to cry, Alicia. We see an unfortunate montage of her moves and learn she starts off at 257.6 pounds. Alicia wants to eat a turkey burger for lunch and dinner, but the nutritionist says no to that. Alicia bursts into tears. She meets with her dance partner, Italo, and gets fitted for her outfit. Dance time! Alicia and Italo will be dancing to Ricky Martin's "The Cup of Life," because this show blew the music rights budget on those private lofts. I have to admit, it does look a little funny to see a large woman dancing with a skinny little man, but Alicia does a pretty good job, even going down into a split. I can't do a split, so I'm pretty impressed. Mayte talks about how great Alicia's dancing was before giving her a lowly 6. But she claims it's a "good 6." Alicia's like, "I would prefer a 'good 10.'" Lisa was impressed enough by the split to give Alicia a 7. Danny has to be the nasty judge, so he says that Alicia's enthusiasm made her a bit sloppy and gives her a 6. Alicia will get an average score from those three numbers of a 6.3 as well as an awkward side-hug from MJW. Alicia does her split one more time before MJW sends her to the scale to see how much she lost this week. I like how they tell us the contestant's height during the weigh-in, by the way. I always wonder about that on these types of shows. 200 pounds looks much different on a 5' woman than a 6' man. Alicia lost 7.5 pounds this week, which is 2.91% of her body weight (this show is really specific with the numbers, huh?), which is the number they'll add to the judges' average. This gives Alicia a total score of 9.21. She goes flying to the top of the chart, which isn't very impressive since she's the only person on that chart.
Next up is Ruben, who began the contest at 314.3 lbs. He spent the week exercising and learning how to cook, just like Alicia and probably every other contestant except Brandon. He then meets his dance partner, Hilary, who is very pleased with his ability. Which she should be, since he was a professional dancer. Ruben says that doing the steps and the moves was hard in such an out-of-shape and heavy body. Ruben and Hilary will also be dancing to shitty '90s club music with Cher's "Believe." Also, Ruben's dance outfit is horrible. I thought they said the costume designers were there to make these people feel good about themselves. Ruben has been out of the professional dancing world for a while, it looks like. Or maybe he wasn't a very good professional dancer to start with. Mayte criticizes Ruben for anticipating his moves but then says she loves his costume, so I can't trust anything she says. She gives him a 6. Lisa accuses Mayte of being tougher on Ruben because of his dancing background before giving Ruben a 7, the same score she gave Alicia, which means she just did the same exact thing that Mayte did. Danny also thought Ruben was too in his head and not in the dancing moment, and since he's an evil English judge, the audience boos and Lisa gets all defensive on Ruben's behalf. Then Danny gives Ruben a 5. Ouch! His average score is 6. But then he loses 13.9 pounds, which is 4.42% of his body weight. His combined score is 10.42.
Shayla is the next up. She meets her partner, Mario, and dances for him. She looks pretty good to me, and Mario is also pleased. During rehearsal, she realizes that her weight is keeping her from doing some of the moves she used to be able to do. But Trice says that you can be a size 18 and still dance just as well as a size 2, so Shayla must be wrong. Shayla warns us that she might get X-rated before saying most of her weight is carried in "the girls." Shayla, the show has the word "ass" in the title. Don't worry. She weighs 206.5 pounds, although she really does wear it well because she doesn't look especially huge in her underwear. Except for her boobs, of course, which are freaking massive. Shayla says that having giant boobs isn't so great, because they're large with fat and they hurt. Preach it, sister. Shayla and Mario are dancing to "Pround Mary" (the Tina Turner version, not the CCR version), so already I know this will be awesome. She does a decent job, but it's hard to tell when the choreography is so bad. Don't recycle Tina's moves, Mario. But the audience loves it, and give her a standing ovation. Mayte points out that Shayla did the entire dance in heels, which is pretty awesome of her. She gives Shayla a 7, and one guy in the audience claps enthusiastically, probably because of Shayla's boobs. Lisa gives Shayla another 7 because that's the only number she knows, apparently. Danny has praise for Shayla, although he must also say she has room for improvement because he's English. He gives her a 7, too. Shayla gets on the scale and loses 4.9 pounds, which she's thrilled about even though it's only 2.37% of her body weight. Her total score is 9.37. Go Shayla!
Warren goes next. He started the show at 357.6 lbs. Whoops! He is big. The nutritionist sets him up with plenty of product placement turkey and apples, which you'll be shocked to learn is not Warren's usual diet. To demonstrate, we watch slow-motion shots of Warren eating a donut over and over again. Warren meets Sarah, his dance partner, and gives her his best white man with no moves moves. Oh dear. Warren has a lot to overcome on this show. And he and Sarah will be dancing to "Jump Around," the song for all white men with no moves. Tragically, he'll be wearing bright red shorts pulled up high with suspenders, a wife beater, and a lime green cap. Yuck. Okay, so Warren does a really good job with his dance, although there's nothing too difficult in it. But come on. He's 350 pounds and from Utah. I am impressed. Mayte is not, and criticizes Warren for not connecting enough with his partner. She does praise his running man, which I actually thought was the weakest of his moves. She gives him a 5. Lisa picks on Warren's facial expression during his dance, which is kind of unfair. It's his first week! Also, Lisa's lips are over-inflated with collagen and that is even more distracting, so she should shut up. She copies Mayte and gives him a 5. Danny has praise for Warren, saying he was impressed with his ability to memorize all of those moves and train his mind so quickly. He gives him a 6. Danny's opinion is the only one I trust on this show now. Warren's average score is a 5.3. He tells MJW that giving up bacon was harder for him than the dancing and heads for the scale. He lost 11.6 pounds, which is 3.24% of his body weight! But his overall total is 8.54, putting him in last place, thanks to Mayte and Lisa.
Trice is next. She meets her partner, Jesus, and interviews that he's "so small." Jesus, on the other hand, is nice and so praises Trice for her moves in his interview. Trice can do a split. She's the third contestant out of five to be able to do this, which makes me think I need to do some serious work on my flexibility. Trice and Jesus work for seven minutes before Trice gets tired. Bad attitude. Her starting weight is 274.9 pounds. She works out and says she's looking forward to losing weight and getting a great ass. Except that if she does get a great ass, it will eventually fall off, as per the show title. Trice and Jesus get some current music for their routine, doing "Disturbia." Trice looks pretty good and shows off her split. She makes a lot of scary faces, too, although some of them might have been intentional. But if Lisa is going to pick on Warren for his faces, she'd better nail Trice, too. Mayte tells Trice to work on her arm movement, which prompts Trice to show off her not inconsiderable arm fat. Mayte will not accept this excuse, although poor Jesus is looking terrified of the slaps he is going to get from it if Trice makes it to next week. Mayte gives Trice a 6, and Trice takes this as another opportunity to give Inglewood a shout-out. Lisa compliments Trice's flexibility but calls her energy "too frenetic." Trice responds to this with a lot of energy that is too frenetic, so good luck with that. Lisa gives her a 6. Danny compliments Trice's dance-ending booty-shake, although he does so by alleging that Trice could make a lot of money by selling that ass as possibly a stripper or prostitute. He gives her a 6. MJW asks Trice the burning questions: what food did she miss the most this week? "Cheesecake!" Trice says without hesitation. Then she hogs the mic and makes a speech about how she's no size 5, but she's shaking what her momma (and a shitload of cheesecake) gave her. MJW finally gets Trice on the scale. She lost 11.4 pounds this week! Wow! I guess when you take the cheesecake away, she really isn't supposed to be that heavy. That's an impressive 4.15% of her body weight for a total score of 10.15.
Angela the model is next. Her starting weight is the lowest of anyone so far at 185.9 pounds. She gained all that weight in just two years, which is terrifying. She hopes this show will break the bad habits she's gotten into. She meets her partner Kenny, and then the routine begins! They'll be dancing to "Crazy Little Thing Called Love." Even I can tell that Angela is not a natural dancer and her moves are conspicuously jerky and awkward. The dance ends with a bad lift/cartwheel thing. Mayte gives her a 6 anyway, even though there's no way that was better than Warren. Lisa gives Angela a 5, and Danny says this obviously doesn't come naturally to Angela and gives her a 5. Her average is a 5.3, and she lost 3.5 pounds, which is just 1.8% of her body weight. Her total is a lowly 7.18. Yay! Warren is safe!
Next up is Mara, who began the show at 261.9 pounds. She and the scale lady have an awkward interaction before she meets her new partner Paul and shows off her "Afro-Caribbean-infused jazz hip-hop everything gumbo" dance. Mara even dances food. Paul claims he's impressed but doesn't sound too convincing. Mara and Paul dance to "My Humps." Mara's gumbo dance looks pretty good to me. She's so thrilled with herself that she bursts into tears when it's over. Mayte gives her a 7. Lisa does as well. And Danny "absolutely loved it," praising her for being into the dance and loving what she was doing but not going batshit crazy with the energy like, say, Alicia or Trice. He gives her an 8! Yay, Mara! Now let's see how much she lost. She lost 6.6 pounds, which is 2.52% of her body weight and a total score of 9.82. Third place for Mara! We get to see her at least one more week!
Tara goes next. She weighs 237.4 pounds and reminds us that she has children and they worry that they'll end up fat like their mother, which isn't a very nice thing for children to say. Way to raise rude kids, Tara. Tara meets her partner Michael, and is immediately thrown by his complicated move of lifting one arm into the air. Uh oh. In an interview, she praises his patience (deserved) and her costume designers (not deserved), who have put her in red vinyl, fishnets, and booty short because they clearly hate her. Or they think she's a roller derby girl. Tara and Michael dance to "Let it Rock." Tara doesn't get anything impressive to work with, but she has an awesome mean/sexy face the whole time. Mayte dings her for being too focused on herself and not enough on her partner before giving her a 6. Lisa says Tara didn't commit to some of her moves and gives her a 5. Danny agrees with Lisa that Tara has potential and gives her a 6. Her average score is 5.7 and she lost 4.5 pounds, which is 1.9% of her body weight. Her overall score is 7.6, which puts her above Angela.
Ninth up is my ex-neighbor Karla! She weighs 174.9 pounds, which is a lot on a short person. Karla says she's funny and meets her partner, Jull, who is almost as short as she is. Karla shows off her moves, including the worm. Go Karla! ALSO, she is dancing to "Push It," which is my ringtone! And she does the worm during her dance! But then she goes in front of the judges, and Mayte calls it "the snake." Shut up, Mayte. She gives Karla a 7. Lisa very much enjoyed the '80s flavor of Karla's routine and Karla's energy and connection. She gives Karla a 7. Danny says the routine contained all of his favorite moves and entertained him. He gives her a 7. Karla lost 9.5 pounds this week. Holy shit! MJW can't believe it. That's 5.43% of Karla's bodyweight for a total score of 12.43 and the top of the standings. She's 2 points higher than second-place Ruben! Karla laughs and points at the board.
Next up is Miles, which means Pinky and, not surprisingly, Brandon, are the bottom two in weight loss. Miles began the game at 260.8 pounds with high blood pressure. He cries that he doesn't want his mother to have to bury him. She should have raised him with better eating habits, then. But Miles won me over with that one comment. Miles meets his partner Michelle and impresses her with his knowledge of swing dancing. It should come as no surprise that they'll be dancing to "Jump, Jive, An' Wail." They're pretty awesome, as Miles keeps up with all the footwork and then flips Michelle over his back. Wow. Mayte has nothing but praise for Miles, but then gives him just a 7. Lisa also loved Miles and gives him an 8. Danny says Miles looked down, although I didn't notice that, and thinks he's capable of even harder moves next time. He gives Miles a 7. Miles' average score is a 7.3, which he's pretty thrilled about. On the scale, he lost 6.9 pounds, which is less than I expected. But it's 2.65% of his body weight for a total of 9.95, which is good enough for 4th place.
After the break, MJW reminds us that a hideously out-of-focus Angela is currently in last place with just two contestants left to dance. Brandon and Pinky are the bottom two weight losers, so they'll dance and get comments from the judges, but no scores until after both have danced. First up is Brandon, who weighs in at 230.4 pounds. He claims he wants to change his life here, and meets his "gorgeous" dance partner Yesenia before telling us that his weight has kept him from having the confidence to date. At 20 years old, he only had one girlfriend in 8th grade and he's still a virgin, which he's proud of. This is his first time dancing up close with a woman. Wow, Brandon is sheltered. He and Yesenia dance to "Forever." He has some trouble with a lift, but his footwork is pretty good for someone who has idea what he's doing. Honestly, all of these contestants have done a better job than I could ever do. And he nails his final move, flipping Yesenia over his knee. Mayte liked Brandon's energy but not his lack of arm movement. Lisa thought it was great, though. Danny says Brandon has a natural groove but doesn't think he put it in fifth gear or something. Brandon heads for the scale and his disappointing weight loss of 3.6 pounds, which he still seems pretty happy with. He was probably afraid he gained. That's 1.56% of his body weight.
Finally, we've got Pinky. She wants to join her skinny brothers' dance crew, but is too fat, thanks to her grandmother's home cooking. It is hard to say no to grandma. And Pinky's grandma cooks some delicious-looking food. Pinky starts at 186.9 pounds. She meets her partner, whose name is "Mr. Lucky" because he's ridiculous, and is fitted in her all-pink costume. She'll be dancing to "Just Dance." She does pretty well and is obviously a trained dancer. Mr. Lucky wipes off her head at the end of the dance for some reason. Mayte notes Pinky's obvious dance background and judges her more harshly, saying she could "do more." Lisa liked the determination in Pinky's face. Danny doesn't understand how Pinky could have had so much trouble losing weight this week with such a cardio-intensive dance routine. Maybe she ate like shit? He says he loved her dance. Pinky runs to the scale. She lost 2.4 pounds, which is 1.28% of her body weight.
After the break, it's time to reveal the loser! Brandon, Pinky, and Angela take the stage. MJW reveals the judges' scores. Pinky got 7s from Mayte and Lisa and an 8 from Danny. With an average score of 7.3, her total score is 8.58, which puts her way up in 8th place. Yay Pinky! That means it's between Brandon and Angela. Brandon got a 6 from Mayte and a 7 from Lisa. Angela seems to know she's on her way out. Danny gets a moment to say that he hopes whoever goes home tonight learned enough to do well blah blah blah Brandon gets a 7, which means it's good-bye to Angela. But Brandon is a drama queen, so he cries and walks in a circle and sobs on Angela's arms and kind of steals her moment. MJW talks to Angela, who cries that she didn't get the chance to show the world what she wanted to. Her heart is broken, but MJW doesn't let that dampen her perky spirits one bit. She kicks Angela off the stage and says next week is Disco Week. We go to the credits with a big dance party of the remaining contestants.
Discuss this episode in our forums, then see what other weight-loss reality shows we'd like to see!
You can read more from Sara Morrison at L.A.me, or you can email her at saramorrison@gmail.com.
]]>The second chef to arrive is Cindy Pawlcyn from the Napa Valley. Oseland tells us that she's the queen of Napa Valley cooking, and that she does "very rarefied and extremely intelligent cooking." Does that mean everyone else does common and dumb cooking? I don't know what he means by that comment. It's one of those things that sounds smart but really doesn't mean anything. Anyway, Cindy's owned a restaurant for over twenty-five years, and she hopes she doesn't go brain dead during the competition.
The third chef to arrive is Ludovic "Ludo" Lefebvre, who is originally from France but currently owns a restaurant in Los Angeles. He's won many awards despite being fairly young, and has classical French training. Between his emo hair and his tats, I'm sure he's the Johnny Depp of the culinary world. Also, his accent is strong enough that they caption most of what he says.
The final chef is Rick Bayless, who you've surely heard of before even if you're not a foodie -- he is Chicago's best known chef of Mexican food. He's the one chef I had heard of even before Top Chef. I remember doing book signing events for him when I worked for a national bookstore chain.
Kelly Choi welcomes them all to the kitchen and asks if anyone has butterflies. Rick Bayless admits that he does, because it's not his home kitchen and he doesn't know where things are. Ludo looks confused. Bayless adds that he was a judge before, but competing is totally different. Kelly Choi puts her eyebrows way up to show that she's listening, since I'm not entirely convinced that she's human. I think she might be an alien. What better way for an alien to infiltrate our culture than to host a reality show? Come to think of it, that might explain Samantha Harris too. Hmm. Also, the Chenbot. I think I'm onto something here.
Quickfire. The chefs draw knives and must create a dish based around the color of their knives, which was a challenge from Season Two. Mikey won. Seems like there are a lot of references to even-numbered seasons. Wilo has anxiety bout a one-color dish, since he thinks it'll be tough to make it work. They'll be judged by a food stylist, a cookbook author, and a food photographer -- people who are really concerned about presentation and visual style. Cindy is nervous, because she feels like she's old and slow. Aw. She'll kick their asses. I hope.
Rick Bayless is concerned because he's the king of slow food, and this is all about cooking quickly. Wilo has had a lot of different roles in the culinary world, and the common thread that has led to his success is passion for food. Ludo admits that he's really intense, and part of it comes from his French training, and how hard he was pushed. Cindy is shocked when she sees that there are only two minutes left and hurries to finish her food. She interviews that, when she started out, a lot of chefs didn't want women in the kitchen. They show the most adorable picture ever of Cindy in a giant chef's hat showing off a ham or something. I'm glad the show is addressing the sexism of the culinary world, at least in the past. Cindy thinks her strength is that she's stubborn and determined.
Rick says that he grew up in Oklahoma and was taught by an intuitive cook, so that's why he was drawn to Mexican food -- a lot of it is about intuition. Wilo spots some edible flowers and thinks the female judges will like it. Cindy and Ludo jokingly spar for space as he says that he doesn't share because he's French. Is that a stereotype of the French? As time winds down, Ludo runs out of time and asks Cindy to help him plate. Apparently, her stuff is all ready to go? She's supposed to put beet juice on his plates, but time runs out before he can finish. Ludo throws a little fit when he realizes that he forgot to put a tomato on his plate, since he left it sitting in the fridge. He curses up a storm. I wish he and Wylie Dufresne were in the same episode. The editors would have to work overtime to bleep out all the swears.
It's time to serve the judges. Ludo's dish is based around red. He serves steak tartare with watermelon, red onions, and beet gazpacho. It looks like a plate of placenta. I'm sorry. I know that's gross, but it's true. In addition to forgetting to put a tomato on the plate, the waiters forget to take the gazpacho out. He gets the waiters to take the gazpacho, but the judges think it makes the dish less appetizing, because it just looks like a puddle of blood. Gross.
Cindy's dish is based around yellow and serves yellow vegetable curry over sweet corn grits and fried corn tortillas. The judges like the variety of texture (crunchy, creamy, roasted) and shades of yellow. Cindy aims low, and is happy that they didn't spit it out.
Rick has green and serves roasted vegetables, mole verde with tomatillos, cilantro, green chiles, and pumpkin seeds served on a banana leaf. The judges call his dish complex and tasty.
Wilo has orange and serves smoked salmon tartare with coconut milk and tomato paste sauce. There are carrots in there somewhere as well. The judges like the texture but think he should have removed the ring he used to form the salmon cake. I notice that he did remove the ring from the glamour shot dish that they show as Wilo explains the dish. Wilo agrees about the presentation, but he's happy that the judges loved the dish.
As they wait for scores, Cindy hopes that none of them get zero stars, because it would hurt their feelings. Quickfire Scores: Ludo gets 3 stars, Cindy gets 3.5 stars, Rick gets 4 stars, and Wilo gets 4.5 stars. Wilo can't believe he won, because he thought he would lose a lot of points for forgetting to remove the ring.
Elimination Challenge: The chefs have to cook street food for tourists at Universal Studios, and they'll be basing their dish on a protein that the average American would find unappetizing. A cart is rolled out, and each chef draws a knife to find out what their key protein will be. Wilo gets beef hearts, which he's never used before. Cindy is psyched that they'll be cooking with offal, or what she calls "all the interesting parts." Rick gets tongue, which he loves. Cindy gets tripe (stomach). Ludo gets pigs' ears. Rick is happy that he didn't get ears, because he's never cooked with them. Ludo says he could have competed with any of those proteins, because he learned how to cook all of them in FRAAAANCE. Ooh, isn't he fancy with his French training. I feel like he refers to his French training a little too often. We get it, with the accent and the lack of bathing. You're French. You went through the hardest training in the world. If you hadn't screwed up your Quickfire, I might be a little more impressed.
They head to the grocery store to shop for their ingredients. Ludo complains that French people don't eat street food. Isn't France the home of the crepe? Isn't that French street food? Although I guess you can't really make a pig's ear crepe. Ludo decides to make a quesadilla, which Rick Bayless thinks is a bad choice, since a French guy knows nothing about quesadillas.
Wilo wants to make a tripleta, which is a sort of sandwich, but he's going to put a twist on it by using pita bread. Cindy reveals that she started a club called "Girls Who Eat Guts" and they go out and eat organ meat together. I don't think I'd want to be in that club, but I think it's awesome that she started it. She's my favorite, so far. She's decided to make menudo. No, not the band that Ricky Martin used to be in, although that was my first thought. It's a Mexican soup that she tells us is "the classic hangover cure." So it's the Mexican version of Mountain Dew and tater tots? Because that was my hangover cure in college.
Rick Bayless decides to make a taco, and Ludo thinks he's copying him. Oh, is it such a shock that Rick Bayless, king of Mexican food, decided to make a taco? Shut it, Ludo. Cram a quesadilla in it. Cindy tries to make peace by saying their two dishes will be very different.
The chefs return to the kitchen and start fretting over the time constraints. Cindy uses a pressure cooker since she usually cooks tripe for three hours and she just doesn't have that much time. The problem is that she's never used a pressure cooker before, so Rick steps in to generously help her out. Ludo is going to cook his pigs' ears, and this will shock you, the way that he learned in France, which means in a vegetable broth. Wilo reminds us that he's never even tried beef hearts, so he decides to slice them thin and hopes they turn out tender.
Rick narrates that he's feeling much better than he did during the Quickfire, because he has more time to let the flavors blend, which is more like his normal cooking style. Ludo is falling behind, and feels like everyone is done before him. Rick reminds him that everything needs to be packed in containers so they can transport it to Universal Studios. Rick offers to help Ludo pack things, but Ludo refuses the offer and interviews that he just wants Rick to get away and stop telling him how to cook. Yes, because offering to help is the same as telling someone what to do. Shut up, Ludo. Cram a pig's ear in it. Anyway, Ludo apparently finishes just in time, as there is no cursing when time runs out.
The chefs pack up and head to Universal Studios. They each get a booth and a sign, and have one hour to set up. Rick Bayless talks about how he needs to make his food sound palatable for "mid-America." Cindy likes doing soup because she thinks it will be easy and quick to serve, and she emphasizes again that she's not as fast as some of the younger contestants. And yet, she's the one who had time to help Ludo plate his food during the Quickfire. I think she's selling herself short. She writes on her sign: Hot & Spicy Yummy Tummy Menudo and Spunk." And spunk? Is that really what it says? Because isn't spunk a synonym for semen? Not super appetizing, that.
Ludo opens up his pig's ear and finds that it's stuck together (frozen together?) in a big block and he has to re-chop it. That takes up most of his prep time. Wilo thinks his food will appeal to a wide audience because he used ketchup and mayonnaise, which are flavors that people are familiar with, even if they're put off by the beef heart.
They only have a few minutes left, and Ludo is finding that his quesadillas aren't cooking. He presses down on them with his hands to try to get them to cook faster. He should just stick a heavy pot on top. That's what I do, since I don't own a press. It works for a panini at least - sometimes I even fill the pan with water to make it heavier. Instead, Ludo cries and whines like a little baby and spends his remaining time wandering around behind his stand aimlessly while admitting that he did not even have one quesadilla cooked when the gates opened and the people poured in.
Rick is the first to serve up his food, and he tries to banter with the customers while dishing out his food. There are a lot of "slip me some tongue" jokes. He has made potato, chorizo, bacon, and tongue tacos with raw tomatillo guacamole and pickled onions. One customer compliments the "layers of flavor." Kelly Choi tromps up and introduces Rick to the three judges. Rick is a little intimidated by Gael Greene, in particular, as he feels that she's unpredictable. Kelly asks if Rick has ever done this before, and Rick says that he's never worked as a street vendor, but he's definitely made this type of food before. The judges step away to sample the food, and they all really love it. They say that it's "brilliant," and "melt-in-your-mouth tender." Raynor points out that it's not date food because it will make your breath stinky, but Gael Greene doesn't care and says she'd go back for seconds.
Wilo's customers seem to like this beef, ham, and chicken "tripleta" in pita bread and caramelized onions. Of course, the beef component is beef hearts. Wilo says he's trying to mimic what he's seen street vendors do, because he thinks it's sort of like dancing. The customers keep talking about how delicious it is. The judges show up and he offers to customize their tripleta with spicy sauce and cheese if they want it. He explains that he made the cheese sauce himself. The judges chow down, and Oseland says that he thinks there might be too much topping because he couldn't even get to the filling on his first bite. Raynor and Greene like the textures, especially because it's more tender than chewy.
Ludo struggles with getting his food cooked in a timely fashion, and there are tons of customers waiting for food at his station. He tries to be charming with the accent and everything to distract all of the people from the fact that he's struggling. The judges pop up and Ludo doesn't have any food ready for them. Ludo uses the time to explain that he made pork quesadillas with chorizo, pinto bean puree, lime aioli and smoked paprika. Just as Ludo is saying that cooking is all about technique, he totally screws something up. Ha! The editors really loved him, because he made their job fun. The judges start heckling Ludo, asking him if he's ever even made a quesadilla before, and ripping on how long the food is taking to make. Ludo admits that he tried to charm Gael with his accent. I have to say, from what I've seen of Gael, I don't think she's falling for it. The judges take a bite and say that the pigs' ear is a good texture, but they're not sure it works with all the cheese Ludo has dumped on there.
Cindy serves up hot and spicy menudo, a Mexican soup and hangover cure, to her many customers. While soup might seem unusual for street food, Cindy is lucky that it was a cool day, because people seemed happy to have the warm soup. The judges show up and get their soup, then step aside to taste it. Raynor finds it to be a bit underseasoned, but Gael and Oseland think the tripe is cooked well, and is sweet and tender.
As the chefs pack up to leave, they each assess their chances. Wilo knows he got the most stars from the Quickfire, but that won't be enough to win. Ludo thinks that he did really well. Really? So he's delusional in addition to being kind of a jerk? I shouldn't say that. His food wasn't that bad. He just seemed really unprepared, and I don't think that will fly when you're up against three great chefs. Rick is happy that people liked his food. Ludo wants to beat Rick since they both did Mexican food, so he's anxious to find out his scores.
Critics Table. Shouldn't there be an apostrophe in there? Because it's the table that belongs to the critics? Well, the producers didn't put one in, so I guess I won't either. The chefs march in and face the judges like they are a firing squad. Ludo gets to talk about his dish first, and can't help but remind everyone about his FRENCH TECHNIQUE. He also tried to please the people and not frighten them. Gael Greene thinks he was successful. Ludo describes how he cooked the pigs' ears in a vegetable broth, and Oseland says that he didn't really pick up on the subtle flavors that should have resulted. Maybe because Ludo slathered it in cheese?
Cindy goes next, and talks about how she was worried that she couldn't slow cook the tripe. Oseland says that the tripe was tender anyway, and she did a great job cooking it. Greene liked that it was "a hot stew on a cold day." Raynor wonders if Cindy went more conservative because she was using offal, and he thinks that the broth was underseasoned. In other words, he thinks that she purposely didn't make the food too spicy to try to appease a bland palate, but he thinks it was a mistake. Cindy says that's for the critics to decide.
Gael tells Rick that she really liked the cheese on his tacos, and Rick says that a little cheese can help. Raynor thought it needed acid, but Rick says that his tomatillo guacamole was meant to do that. Oseland thinks Rick was successful there.
They move on to talk to Wilo, who says that when he found out that he had heart, he immediately thought of tripleta, which uses three different meats. Wilo says that in a traditional tripleta, the meats aren't cut as thin, but he needed to do that to make the heart more palatable. Oseland wishes that the pitas had been heated or toasted, but Wilo didn't feel he had time. Kelly babbles something about texture and no one listens. Gael liked the spicy mayonnaise.
The chefs return to the kitchen to drink alcohol and wait. The critics say that Cindy's dish put her main ingredient up front, which was the spirit of the challenge, but they agree that the seasoning was too weak. Raynor thought that Wilo's heart was cooked so well he was picking piece out just to eat them, and Greene loved the pita, but Oseland thought the beef was sliced too thin. And that affected the flavor how? He doesn't really say, so I don't know if he just didn't like that it was nontraditional or if it really changed the overall taste. Moving on to Rick's dish, Greene thinks he was smart to add in cheese and chorizo, because those are flavors that everyone loves. They all agree that it was delicious and perfect street food. And with Ludo, the judges think that while the pig's ear was well-cooked, his dish didn't hold together. Raynor wants to point out that Ludo got the short straw because his protein was the most difficult to cook. So their decisions have been made and it's time for the long star-awarding ceremony.
Here are the scores in this order: Quickfire + Diners + Raynor + Oseland + Greene = Total
Ludo: 3 + 3.5 + 4 + 3 + 3 = 16.5 Stars
Cindy: 3.5 + 3 + 3 + 2.5 + 3.5 = 15.5 Stars, so she's out.
Rick: 4 + 4 + 4.5 + 5 + 5 = 22.5 Stars, so he takes the lead and Ludo loses.
Wilo: 4.5 + 4 + 4 + 3 + 4 = 19.5 Stars. Rick wins!
Rick goes to the Champions round with Hubert Keller and Suzanne Tracht, and the field is halfway complete. Rick is pleased, and adds that he did what his cooks told him to do, and played to his strengths. Ludo wants to come back if they do this show again. He doesn't say why he think he'll do better. Cindy vows to go home and order some tripe and make menudo, because she really liked her dish, or maybe she thinks she could do it better. Rick thinks he could be a contender to take home the big prize! Dream big, Bayless.
]]>Eric groans and acts post-coital for awhile and sort of pornishly lets the drops of Jupiter formerly known as Royce dribble down his chin, and Lafayette gollums himself back behind that pillar, because Eric does everything so intensely you have no way of knowing whether he's going to roll over and snore or else he's just coiling. "If you have any silver on you," Eric wheezes, "Now would be the time to reveal it." Lafayette swears he's not that stupid, but you and me and Eric, and Lafayette, know that's not really true either. He stopped being able to lay claim to his superiority once the bucket entered his life.
Eric breathes and acts sexy in a sort of unmoving reptilian way for awhile, and then wipes his mouth, and even Eric is a little impressed by the amount of total blood covering him from head to toe. "Is there blood in my hair," he says, not asking in tone, and Lafayette's like, "...Whut?" So he says it louder, in what is still a taciturn and sardonic tone on our mortal scale, but is for Eric like a hair-pulling desperate dementia: "Is there blood in my hair." Lafayette says he can't really tell, so Eric zooms to a crouching position right in front of him, grinning secretively. "How about now?" Lafayette must admit that, yes, there is just a bit, a little bit, a certain amount of blood. In his hair.
"Well, this is bad," Eric reflects. "Pam is gonna kill me." When Lafayette asks who the eff that is, Eric's delighted, looking him right in the eye, seductive: "Why, do you want to meet her?" Not in the slightest. The thing that scares the thing that scares me? No thank you. Even if it's about hairstyle. "Well, you're going to." Eric unlocks his collar and raises him up, shirtless in cargo pants, and Lafayette can barely walk, grabbing at the poles of the wheel as they go, Eric's hand on his neck like a friend after a very long, very dark night, up into Fangtasia! to find out what Lafayette knows. "I wouldn't try anything rash if I were you," Eric says, kicking Royce's leg, metal hip included, out of the way: "I'm still hungry."
And from Eric, who should be completely clean in the middle of his grooming session, to Bill and Sookie, who despite the gallons of fluids pouring out of every orifice last week are now lying in beautifully ironed sheets in his big old bed, with nary a drop in evidence and his chest shaved to within a millimeter of its life. Which is fine, because I have finally figured out that Bill and Sookie are best loved in the way that you love Buffy and Angel (and Giles) in that awesome Xander episode where they're running around having a love that never fucking ends and constantly saying goodbye and breaking up and making up and oh the humanity and oh the undeadity and heading into the good fight the final apocalypse the passion at the end of it all and being ever so romantic with mood lighting and disappearing come and blood and chest hair, the kind of love you can flounce around in a barefoot graveyard nightgown for-slash-get grave-dirt fucked on your back for, which is to say that Bill and Sookie are best enjoyed because of and not in spite of the fact that they are plainly, and epically, ridiculous.
I'm sorry to have come to this particular party so very late, but you know, sometimes I think I have an earnestness problem. And it occurs to me that while the show has always treated Bill and Sookie this way -- as these demented poster-children for constant tears and fucking* -- it only got consistently out of control as of this season. So Sookie's like "That was makeup sex! Check!" and he's like, "However do you mean? Was there a faaht?" and instead of saying, "Yeah, you ... Compounded my rape by raping it? In addition to a little girl, whom you murdered? Now lives in your house? Ringin' any bells?" which is what I would say, she's like, "I enjoyed Thought You Were Dead Sex at the end of last season... Or in that graveyard... Or all those other times I thought you were dead, which are all of them, because you are dead."
*(Also nipples and hair removal.) However, "Thought You Were Dead" Sex also means a sad moment in a life which is nothing so much as an array of sad moments, and therefore "feeling like I'd lost you" is too heavy a price to pay for Thought You Were Dead Sex. So I guess they should fight more often, but about what? Before Sookie can think of something, she thinks of something: "Holy mmrfle!" Because they have a daughter now, with magic vampire ears, who absolutely could hear them having that deeply upsetting fireball-snowball-sanchez-trombone sex they were having last week, but for some reason I guess she can't, because as Bill points out, she would be screaming meemies up in that joint if she heard them. Sookie's just slightly titillated by the idea, but even more relieved that it didn't happen. So let's... Fight about Jessica.
"You know, you might want to try going a little easier on her." He rolls his eyes and she's like, "teenage girldom is rough," and he gets all "forsooth but she is vampyre" like he does, and... I don't know. I really like this scene, mostly because I really like when they're alone and Sookie's total mental breakdown backs off for a sec, which is the point of their relationship if you think about it, but also because -- just like with Keith and David -- this parenthood stuff, this Families We Choose synthesis thing, rings so very true. The single dad and the other-race quasi-fiancée quasi-stepmom, it's just so real.
Like here's what Sookie has to do: make friends with Jessica, make an ally of Jessica -- because it's in both of them to get territorial no matter how fucking annoying Bill is -- and provide the female guidance that poor Bill can't even visualize, not get eaten in a more-than-metaphorical sense, not pull age rank, not pull humanity rank, not pull sex rank, not be the weird stepmom, not demand intimacies she doesn't yet deserve, not be standoffish or annoyed by Jessica's place in her life, love her but not too much, help Bill but not too much, feel sorry for her but not too much, encourage her but not too much. And the worst of all: never ever think or look about all the things she and Jessica have in common, because that is icky, and not to overcompensate by pulling those ranks.
And the best of all: not step out of line for one second w/r/t to her contradictory roles here, because Jessica is a danger to herself and others, including Sookie. You think as the stepmother you are just called upon to love her, and to make a little place for her in your life, and to stay the fuck out of it. It's not enough. Because a child isn't a decision, they're a situation, a relationship: the child stays alive and it keeps changing and demanding new things and compromises from you, like any other real relationship. And like any other relationship, you can either grow by it or wither. And you can kill them with a look, or by sticking them in a box and expecting them to stay there, which is what this episode is really about.
Sookie's stepmom stuff and Tara's ongoing mommy issues are just two of the six character stories here: the rest is about dads. Which is a sore spot for almost everybody, because being let down by the person who's archetypically required specifically not to let you down is something that everybody fears and most people have to face. But the most powerful thing a dad can do to you, the thing that fucks up your life forevermore until you can drop the weight, is pin you to the wall like a concept or a butterfly and leave you there, telling you not to change or leave, forever. Amanda Jane, when she says Jesus asked her out today, she's talking about this. She is talking to and about the kind of man who installs a front door alarm that beeps every time it's opened, the kind of man who names his daughter "Eden" and makes her feel uglier with every birthday.
The thing that our culture is trying to navigate right now, I would say, is the idea that sexual trauma doesn't necessarily imply sexual assault. To give us that No Touch No Foul thing -- which makes me feel like Andrea Dworkin to contemplate, because it's so obviously handed to us by the perpetrators, and I hate feeling like her -- is like saying anorexics are created by starving your kids, or bulimics by forcing them to purge. Carrie White -- her ass is all over this episode -- wasn't abused by her mom, but Piper sure as fuck did a number on her.
I am so tired of watching people go looking for a single obvious narrative reason for things, in any fiction, because we've been trained I guess to do this, but it's like, "Oh! Sookie does X because of Bartlett" or "Oh, Jessica is like a Mormon runaway!" Which is to say we want to rub off the complex edges, which is the opposite of how people actually work. And because we privilege victimhood over any other possible virtue, we tell each other it's not possible to be deeply fucked up about sex just because nobody interfered with us in these particular ways; we're not allowed to have sexual fears and creepy little surprise parties and/or trapdoors because we haven't earned it through our victimhood. Or even creepier: we're allowed to have these fetishes and inabilities to get off, it's just kink, it's just how people are, it's not an unhealthy obstruction to our sexuality because after all, it didn't come to us through "abuse."
So this is the particular map I've trying to follow in this episode, which is to say that to get stuck in the 1:1 assault reading with Jessica -- and look at her face when he reaches for her hands on his belt, if you want to look into the face of terror -- I think is to miss the point, which is the same point it always is, which is that telling somebody or believing that salvation is reachable is a good way to make sure they never do, because it means you stop hunting: Amanda Jane's "honesty" is Jason's "purpose" is Eden's "problem" is Eggs's "luck" and Maryann's "passion" and Tara's "worth" and Sookie's idealization of the perfect life with Bill, which she keeps having to update and level and adjust and compromise. And the only thing grosser than letting yourself get caught in that bullshit is sticking somebody else in it before they know enough to get out.
So whatever, Jessica is vampyre and thus Sookie's only slightly not allowed to have an opinion about Bill's daughter, which is awesome to see through this fantastical lens, because she's all, "So are you? And yet parts of your former self are still in there, right? I wouldn't be with you if they weren't." Her eyes glamour him, and he must tell the truth. "Yes," he says, sadly. Would that it were otherwise.
(They could so easily be David and Keith talking about their sons; maybe that will make this particular through-line -- and Sookie's total retardedness in a little bit -- easier to follow: I manage to understand you just fine, right? Because we're in loooove? Am I unable to wholly love and understand you because of your black experience? Are you drawing that line? Because it's your prerogative, I just... Am I allowed to be offended by that? Because from this side the added bonus is that it looks uncannily as if you just drew a line. And there's me on one side, and you -- plus our kids -- on the other. And I think maybe that implication was a mistake on your part? But I'm, again, unsure if I can even say so, because doesn't that also imply, although not in parallel because white privilege, but doesn't that also imply that there are unknowable things about me? Because I'm pretty sure there aren't, and I'm pretty sure they're just... Kids. If I had to guess. So isn't this just you being kind of jealous and territorial and most important, obstinately not wanting to think about another viewpoint? Specifically the viewpoint of the person you love, into whose lap you just dropped SIX METRIC TONS OF BULLSHIT, about which I am kinda being a champ?)
"But I've had to work extremely hard at finding my way back to my humanity, fragile as it may be," he says, staring and memories and edicts. "When a vampire's as new as Jessica is, she has no humanity. She's in the grips of an overwhelming number of transformations. There will be times when she cannot control even a single impulse." Sookie laughs and delivers a passable performance of an unreadable and dorky bit of dialogue: "How is that any different from being a teenage girl? No humanity: Check. In the grips of overwhelming transformations: Check. Cannot control impulses: Check. All right, uh, how is that different?"
The rule is that when you're being balls-out (because this conversation is essential to the Sookie/Jessica Menstruation Talk coming up) and the subtext is climbing up the face of the text like a spider until it's all you can see, you can't also turn to the audience and say: "On behalf of Oscar Winner Alan Ball and the talented cast and crew of True Blood, we are going balls-out at this time. FYI." It's gotta be one or the other. You can't be meta about being meta, because if you do it too many times it'll go all Foucault's Pendulum on you and then there really will be vampires, and who needs that.
"All raaht, so whut do you suggest Ah do? Just spole the girl? Give in to her every whuim and dizarr? After awl, that ee-is what every teenage girl wonts, isn't it?" Um, yes, but that wasn't what she was saying and you know the rule in my house, reductio ad absurdum means in a direct relation reduction in fellatio, because that's not how adults talk to each other, and she's like, "A) Bill Compton, lose the tone, and B) Bill Compton, maybe you should consider the point I'm making, since your bullshit isn't working out so hot." (Considering it's still the night Jessica showed up, we'll give them a pass for nudging us gently to this new status quo.) He agrees, and then they're like, "Remember how we were only fighting so we could fuck some more?" They're so, like, in sync that way. It's beautiful.
Pam takes Eric to task about his hair, because the stuff was already in it which means the blood is like dye now. "This is a disaster. We'll have to go much shorter than I planned." He's back in his smock, in the chair, with Lafayette watching, terrified. The concept of Lafayette being so freaked out that he can't even spare a moment for the hilarity of all this is really dreary, isn't it? Of all people. Eric is contrite, and demands that Lafayette back him up: "But he took silver to me! You were there, you saw it. Defend me!" Lafayette just wants to know why he's there; what they want so he can give it to them. Survivor first.
"I've seen your website. It's quite, um, low rent. But your clients miss you, Lafayette. They're wondering if you're ever coming back," says Eric. This is like etiquette for him. Lafayette asks honestly if he is, which is forthrightness Eric will always respect, but he just looks down at him while Pam continues to fuss. "Look, I'm here because of the V, right? How about I give you the names of everybody I ever sold to?" Pam almost sniggers ("All this time I thought prostitutes were good at keeping secrets") and he gives her a great little speech. "Oh, don't get it twisted, Honeycomb. I'm a survivor first, a capitalist second, and a whole bunch of other shit after that. But a hooker, dead last." Pam nods, like, okay then. "So if I got even a Jew At An Al Qaeda Pep Rally shot at getting my black ass up out this motherfucker, I'm taking it. Now, what you want to know?"
Pam looks at Eric, who brings up Eddie's disappearance. Lafayette swears he doesn't know, and is a little sad for him -- "Last time I saw him he was doing real good," he says ruefully -- but the assumption is that he was kidnapped. And by whom? Lafayette swears he doesn't know, but as they press him with their eyes, he says it could have been Jason Stackhouse. Pam gets excited, because she loves Sookie more than Eric does even, and talks to him in Swedish. "Sookie's brother. Could be fun?" Eric admits it could be, but that it would be stupid, because Sookie is "too important to us." I don't know what that means, still, yet, but Pam does, and agrees.
"Sadly," Eric says, addressing him again, "This information is of no use to me. Not now, anyway." Lafayette feels shitty for having given it up. "I understand dealers of vampire blood sometimes trade product with one another across state lines," Eric says. (This phrase recurs throughout the script this week, maybe on purpose maybe not, but the idea of crossing boundaries is always so huge with vampires, and there's the whole thing with Mr. Hamby's door alarm, and Jessica crossing from girl to woman. And there's Jason standing on the line between hate and salvation, unsure if he's a saint or a traitor, beloved or hated; and then plus you got Maryann literally crossing the lines between states, vibrating men into animals and dancing upright citizens into who knows what and generally dancing back and forth across the line that separates us from God, so maybe not so coincidental.)
Eric asks if Lafayette has any buyers in Dallas, and there's only one, nameless: "I have an e-mail address. Pussylover9@gmail.com." (Possible shemale.com; either way, Pam's amused. She laughs at Chow and even spares Lafayette a smile before going back to combing out the blood.) "A friend of mine in the Dallas area, his name is Godric, has gone missing. Now, while the circumstances of his disappearance are unclear, it stands to reason his blood would be very valuable, as he's over twice my age and ten times the vampire I will ever be." Pam chides him for his attempt at humility, and Eric spikily informs her that it's not humility, it's just true. "Your associate, this... Pussylover. Has he or she mentioned any new product coming on the market?"
Lafayette swears no, and swears that Eric knows he'd be honest if he did. Eric nods, clipped, and tells Chow to take him back downstairs, and there's a rather undignified splayed-out Sylvester the Cat attempt on Lafayette's part to stay put, but to no avail. His grip on speakers and lightswitches is no rival for Chow's vampire strength. "You gave me nothing," Eric hisses; Lafayette continues begging to differ long after they've forgotten all about him.
On the bus to Jesus Camp, Jason tries adorably to sing along to their weird anthems and chants ("We all come together as one/ Bound by the glory of the sun / Our mission here has just begun/ We won't stop until our work is done") which, as in any good cult, are the secret glue that keeps everybody together and feeling good. They cheer and high five each other, and Jason grins like the sun because he loves singing, but they leave him hanging. Enter Luke McDonald, a giant of a young man, who hits his palm and slides in next to him. "No relation to the restaurant," McDonald introduces himself, and Jason laughs. "Okay, any relation to the farm?" Luke doesn't get it, which is unrealistic but not as unrealistic, in Jason's experience, as meeting somebody dumber than him. Needless to say, Luke then attempts to bond over football.
Jason looks down at his body for a second before remembering that he was a football player long ago. QB1, actually; Luke was a tight end, scholarship to A&M and the whole thing -- which we remember was like the Holy Grail for poor Jason long ago -- but blew out his knee. What followed was no doubt a muddled but very sincere thousand days of sorrow and deep introspection before Luke was finally celibate enough and Bibled enough and generally persistent enough to get into the Leadership Conference.
Meanwhile, of course, Jason started this journey of a thousand steps two days ago, to which Luke reacts with a weak sort of insult, and Jason tries to explain in his inimitable way: "Well, I didn't know about it till then. See, I was having breakfast with Steve and Sarah, and they asked me if I wanted to come..." And thus ends the brief bromance between Jason and Luke, not that Luke is conscious of it yet and not that Jason ever will be. He offers to bunk with Jason, the better to get or learn his luck or mojo, and Jason's moved and ecstatic, so much so that he says the word "shit" and is reminded gently not to swear. Then to chill Jason out, Luke starts everybody singing a super-scary racist song: "If you have doubt/ Just sing this verse/ They live forever/ But we were here first!"
Tara comes out of the house in a robe, in that timeless morningy time it always is at Maryann's, and Eggs is doing some topless gardening, as one does. Tara would seem to be taking this whole Empire of the Senses thing to a new extreme, talking about how he smells "nasty and nice, all at the same time" and how she'd like to bathe in his sweat. Go too far with this, and mark my words: At some point you stop overcoming the neurotic potty-trained division of self and environment and go straight infantile. Shitting your pants, eating dirt, the whole thing. Remember Jason in the garbage last year? That's where you're headed with this whole "embrace nature" bathing-in-sweat thing. Abandon is good, but it's only half the story.
Tara explains upfront that she's going to be interrogating him about himself, because she's starting to like him, and has a history of "putting the cart so far out in front that the horse can't see it," especially if that horse is Jason Stackhouse who can't even spell the word "cart," and he's like, but you already like me. True. "People usually take years unloading their baggage, so I'm just trying to figure out: what's the rush?" The rush is, of course, that Tara realizes on some level that she's stuck in a gingerbread dreamworld of magic and doesn't know where wishes stop and real shit starts, and going by Eggs's intense and vibrant abdominal-pectoral landscape, it's entirely possible that he is entirely imaginary, so give up some biography already.
Of course, his reticence worries her, and it becomes a demand, so he nods, he gets it. Firstly, he was homeless, as in underpass, when Maryann found him. He is still broke, of course, which doesn't bother Tara because she doesn't care about money, so she focuses on his face and waits for him to continue. Well, he was in prison. What for? Drugs. "Possession or dealing?" she asks, which is a good question at this point in a conversation, and he's like, "all of the above." Her lips purse themselves. "Okay. Colorful," she says, and disappointment begins to bloom in both their eyes.
To his credit, he continues without prompting. "And I also served some time for armed robbery. And assault. But I got out early on the assault charge for good behavior, so..." There's an ironic twist; she bites her lip. "That's a plus..." she says, and he finally shrugs, too hurt by her expectations and his failures to remain: "Yeah, you wanted to know." It's sad to know that he would have accepted anything about her, anything at all, and that he knew somewhere he couldn't expect the same from her, but moreso, it's almost unbearably sad watching the lights go out in her.
Sookie sits with her coffee all alone in the morning because all her friends are dead, and sees some bereaved parents of a kidnapped girl on TV. Guess whose? Her jaw drops open when they finally show the picture of Jessica, doing her best to appear happy once upon a time. "She's our first-born," Mom says. (I like Mom because she was fascinatingly off-kilter on Book Of Daniel, which of course I loved.) "And she's a goodhearted, smart girl ... We just want to see our baby again." And Sookie stares, and swallows, and thinks about loss. About the line between parent and child, past and present, and what it feels like when that line is cut. She's never had a daughter, but she's lost a mother: Adele.
She heads into Gran's room and feels her presence for a moment; she picks up a (weirdly Photoshopped) picture of herself with Adele, Tara on the other side. A family of women. The only thing that made everything okay. Wholeness, as the old spiritual music brings Gran into the room with us. Sookie closes her eyes, touches the picture, and makes two decisions in that second, faster than she knows: One, that she will provide the safe harbor to Jessica that nobody else, not even Bill, can or knows how to provide: She's never been a mother, but she knows how to mourn; and Two, that Tara is far, far too far away.
Jason stands with a circle of a hundred or so people, on the outside where the tall men go, next to his new friend Luke, watching Sarah Newlin welcome them to the Conference. She is lovely. She's blonde and icy, but with such a tenderness in her eyes and such width to her smile that you can believe in her, young as she is. A lush young beauty, Amanda Jane, approaches Jason, flirting, as she hands him his "honesty ring," which Sarah explains is a symbol of the promise to be "completely honest and open while here on this campus." Which is deft in the way that Maryann is deft: you can't have a cult if people think they have something to hide. You can't own someone completely unless you can see all of them, shadow and light, all their parts, and tell them it's okay. And if that sounds worryingly similar to love, well, there's a reason it works.
Although this honesty is interesting, because it's not really honesty: it's the illusion of honesty wearing the clothing of honesty. Take a hollowed-out man like Jason, who destroys everything he touches and loses everyone he loves, and say, "Whatever you say in this circle is all that you are," and that you love it, he'll find himself in a womb kind of feeling. But then tell him, "And this is what you are," he'll have no recourse: he's wearing honesty on his fingers. He has lost the capacity for secrets, and left no place in himself to hide, to hide the truth from your honesty. And so the hollow place is filled.
As Luke and Jason Wonder Twin their rings together, Sarah reminds them additionally that honesty is made of hate: pure, real silver. A metal that means something in this world that it doesn't mean in ours; a word that means kryptonite. "So protect it with all your heart. And maybe one day, your ring will protect you!" A guy who doesn't matter yet, but will someday soon, jumps into the circle, overcome with excitement: "Die, fangers!" They laugh, she laughs. Indulgent. She keeps talking, about how they've been lonely and they don't know people here yet, but they will make fast friends. Jason smiles: "And this is nothing to worry about." The idea is shockingly like grace. They are united, all one, Pluto becomes a planet again, just as Orry promised: "You all have one thing in common. Because for every one of you, today is the day His holy light begins to shine on you." Her husband laughs, and adores her, and as a chorus of Amen strikes up, they kiss.
Daphne's marrying the mustard. Not matrimonially, but... You know what I mean. She screws it up. Sam encourages her, and then spits ever more hatefully at Tara that she's late, as she comes in. She scuttles away, and in her place there's Maryann, radiant and wickedly friendly: "How about me? Am I on time?" Always.
He paces her, like a hound, as she looks around the place. "I was in and out of here so fast last night I barely got a look at the place. It's, um... It's so, um..." She laughs at its emptiness. "Vibrant." Still playing him as the rube, holding her class above his head. He grunts, and says there's a big rodeo in town today, so it's emptier than normal. Maryann grabs a menu for herself, of course, and settles in, cheerful and chatty, throwing exclamation points like sparks, italics like spells. "Tara says the food here is wonderful, so let's see what I'm in the mood for..." Daphne squeals with delight for her first table and tells him to wish her luck, but Sam physically protects her and says he's got it, almost shoving her behind him: "You just focus on one thing at a time." He knows Maryann enough to know that this is key.
Maryann ignores Sam as he approaches, until he's leaned over into her face, hands on the table, staring over the menu at her impassive smile, barking like a dog. "Stop fucking with me," he demands unwisely. The temperature drops, or else it raises. "A tableside visit from the owner himself! I must be important!" He orders her to leave, and her reply is ritual, hiding punctuation he can't see yet, a demand for respect as old as time: "You're not really going to refuse me service, are you?"
"I mean, after I forgave you a hundred thousand dollar loan, the least you could do is let me buy myself some lunch..." Somehow still thinking this is about pride, and not the oldest magics men and beasts can know, he nods angrily, backing off with the hackles, and asks what he can get her, then. "I think I will go with the stuffed snapper, with the crawfish topping... The blackened ribeye, the red beans and rice, the... Ooh, the fried catfish, and, uh... Oh, dear." She lightly, gently, lovingly fucks with him, standing with his arms crossed, so afraid it turns to anger: "Now, would it be possible to get the smothered pork chops for lunch? Even though it's here, on the dinner entrées?" He nods, pained, and she goes on: "Now, how are your..."
I love the editing in this episode, so much. Like on the bus, when they cut away from the horrible "we were here first" thing to the abnormally peaceful quiet of Maryann's garden. Every scene rips you away from the last; it's startling, but mostly it's hilarious every time. Now we're watching Jason be awesome at flag football. The scene goes on and on, not that I'm complaining, but the main topics of the scene are: Jason is awesome. Luke is not loving that, to the point of getting violent in the name of the game. Jason takes off his shirt, causing both Newlins to turn inside out with just completely naked desire. Jason ends the game on the upraised hands of the entire Leadership Conference, arms spread out, a hero, completely at peace.
When Sookie arrives at Merlotte's, Tara reminds her how pathetic it is to come in on your day off -- "like going back to school and visiting your teachers" -- but Sookie assures her she's not there for teachers, she's there for Tara. Same diff. The latest bites in her neck are visible, vivid, vibrant against her skin. No scarves now, not anymore. She doesn't wear them proudly and she doesn't wear them in shame: she wears them because they are a part of her. She tells Tara to take a break, and reminds her that Sam is always pissed so they don't have to worry about Sam getting pissed for taking a break. After last week, Sam pissed wouldn't exactly be a bad thing anyway. In the kitchen, Terry Bellefleur starts to freak out under the pressure of reading Daphne's handwriting. When Sam sees the scratches, he starts to scream her name.
Then, another long gross scene in which the re-chained up Lafayette remembers a fact about himself, which is that he is a survivor, and a fact about Royce, which is that his ass was once magnetic. He turns the wheel to get himself closer to Royce's discarded corpse, eventually pulling the disembodied leg toward himself with his own legs. He bites through bloody plastic and gristle to free a large metal pin, which he twists into the chain holding him there, and rather quickly -- and heroically, considering how much barfing he manages to not do throughout this process -- has himself free. He stands up with a metal collar, with a foot or so of chain dangling from it -- giving the overall effect a disconcerting LeVar Burton flavor -- and limps toward the door again.
"So basically, you're like a stepmother to a vampire?" Sookie shrinks back from this assessment, but can't dispute it, and they laugh together. When it's time to talk about Tara, she shivers. "You know I've been living over at Maryann's for the last couple weeks?" Sookie nods, obviously unimpressed with this concept and probably picking up some of Sam's attitude about Maryann, but Tara doesn't really notice. "Well, in a lot of ways, I don't ever want to leave. I mean, everything is taken care of for me there. My bed gets made, my laundry gets done, there's breakfast on the patio served to you by a chef..." (Gingerbread House! Magic Gingerbread House!) and Sookie laughs. "Can I move in?"
Tara's like, for real! "But it scares me too. And maybe that's just because I'm not used to taking and not giving, but something inside me says, This is weird, Tara. Don't trust it. What do you think? Does all this sound too good to be true to you?" Sookie, nervous at the non-Sookie turn this conversation has taken, brings it back to herself, specifically the conflict of interest it represents, considering her errand. She takes Tara's hand, like a proposal, and becomes jokingly serious: "Tara Thornton? Would you like to move in with me?" (Consider here the possibility that part of this is about evening the score: You've got a new roommate, tied to you through unknowable bonds of blood and responsibility? I call.)
Tara laughs, unsure, and Sookie tells her it would be awesome. After all, they always got along in the days of Lettie Mae, she stayed over more than she didn't, and they never really fought. Tara admits that she was in fact jealous of Sookie's hair -- that in other words she had a "problem with hair," with beauty, with Sookie's long blonde idealized locks -- and dreamed of cutting it while Sookie slept. (Jealousy was never really Tara's demon, though. You need to have something before you can want something more.) "I've been trying to get my act together to move into Gran's room for the past couple weeks, and your moving in might be the kick in the butt I need to do it." Tara doesn't know what to say, but just then they're surprised -- saved by the bell? -- by a terrific smashing outside the stockroom: Daphne, dropping a whole tray of full plates. Sam, the more frustrated he is the more adorable he gets -- "Oh, Daphne! That's right on my feet, how am I supposed to ignore that?" -- but I mean, terrible day. God making fun of you at table four, award-winner PTSD victim cooking things and slowly melting down, bartender and best waitress having secrets in the stockroom, and now the new girl's actually throwing food at you. How are you supposed to ignore all that? Focus on one thing at a time.
Maryann stops Sookie at the door in her flighty upper-class mode, making a sound like wooba! "Is this the infamous Sookie? You're very special, you know. I mean, to have been through everything you have in your life -- not to mention the last few weeks -- and to emerge through all of it walking, let alone smiling, it's... Well, it's simply astonishing." As Sookie narrows her eyes, trying to listen, to focus, Maryann pulls Tara into it ("I see what you mean about her, Tara") with her Universal Mother tone. Putting herself in Adele's place, at the center of that photograph: me and Tara, we know you're special. Can't you admit you're special too? But all Sookie can hear in there as Maryann smiles tighter and tighter is the unending cascading undulating coruscating unending chant of ritual, and one name invoked over and over, again and again: Bacchus, Bacchus, Bacchus.
"She has an old soul, doesn't she?" Maryann continues, and Sookie -- as usual -- couldn't be less interested in what's going on outside her head. "I'm usually good at placing people's accents, but yours, I can't get a handle on. Where are you from?" Maryann grins, turns it into a joke, names the richest place they know, resting her bounty on their heads like a goddesses' hand, like a pair of warm breasts: "Cape Cod. Best potato chips in the world!" They all laugh, for some reason, and Sookie scoots away, with an archly territorial request for Maryann's benefit, to think about the offer. "Oh," Maryann says, hiding her hurt: "She asked you to move in with her?" Tara laughs, embarrassed. "That was awfully nice!" she says expansively, and Tara shrinks before her. Maryann smiles, and doesn't speak, as Tara assures her she hasn't really considered it one way or the other yet: she doesn't know "what she's doing," in the grand sense. And even still, Maryann does not like that one bit.
Lafayette makes his way to the front door of Fangtasia! and, finding it locked, bashes himself against it. Nasty Ginger comes creeeeeeping out from a hideyhole behind the bar, looking crazed as usual: "Who the fuck are you?" He babbles -- it's daytime, thank you Jesus -- and goes, "You're human, right?" And if she weren't so fucking horrible and wasted and broken and used up -- as forum poster [b]Prettyeyes[/b] memorably said, "Rode hard and put away drowned" -- her answer would still be true but it wouldn't be as funny: "Kinda."
Not that this is a promise of safety, of course: she's on the side of the demons. He shifts into webcam mode, running his hands up and down himself as though absentmindedly, knowing what to give a girl like this, shifting into Young Black Buck in cadence and vocal tone and grammar, not out of shock but out of his survivor's wisdom: "Look at you. Not only is you sexy, but you can read minds too? That's getting me all riled up in my nether regions..." She puts short work to that, telling him to cut out the flirting: "They told me to pay special attention to the faggot drag queen in the basement." He shifts again, crossing state lines into threatening, strong, violent, angry: "Oh, skank ass bitch, you're going to let me up out of here," he says, stepping closer, and she trains a gun on him: if she does that, she'll die. And he knows it. For a moment they are twins, caught in the same web from opposite directions. She's very funny, but not really. They did this. This is what they made. This is what they helped her make of herself.
"You ain't gonna shoot me, not with them shaky-ass hands. You ain't got the stomach for it," he says, drastically underestimating the truly bugshit nature of Ginger, and she nails him in the leg. He goes down screaming bitch and she stares at the gun, quickly getting herself into the usual Ginger Frenzy. "Holy FUCKER! I'm sorry!" She stares down at him, gibbering and shaking and gingering out all over the place. "AH! OH! I hate guns! EEEEE!" She drops the guns and keeps screaming, at this point in a gerundial fashion, completely unlocked and unchained from any subject of her screaming, screaming because things have gotten to the point where screaming is all there is. He cuts through the fog, shocked out of all his shapes and sounding like Lafayette again: "Hey! Hey! I'm the one who got shot, will you quit screaming and go get me a doctor before I bleed the fuck out?" She gives a token agreement to this plan, but you know she keeps screaming her unholy ass off. "These are all dirty!" she shouts, brandishing bar towels, and because he is awesome, he still manages to roll his eyes as he demands the fucking towel.
Amanda Jane, dressed in that Bratz doll Hot Topic version of kinderwhore, undulates for the Leadership crowd, who agreeably dance throughout, until they seem stuck on the end of their own desire, wanting her and wanting her to be denied, virgin and whore, with guilt on top for the existence of sex. Abstinence as its own porn, exerting more control over these warped young men than any amount of force could have done. Here are the lyrics. I don't really think they need much comment beyond their recapitulation:
There was a time when you taught your baby girl how to ride
But then on a dime, I rebelled and wouldn't show you [a word here. Time? The time?]/ No, no, no
I thought I was cool, I would not come back straight on home after school
I broke all the rules, I laughed at you and called you a fool/ No, no, no...
Sarah and Steve laugh and chat in the corner, watching them dance, whip themselves into something so in flight from desire that it becomes desire, and the scary lyrics start in earnest.
Because Jesus, he loves me
So now I love me too
I'm saving myself for you
I'm saving
Jesus, he loves me
So now I love me too
And I'm saving myself for you
It's a boner forest out there. She and the similarly underaged/overprecocious keyboardist do a little rap.
I told you Daddy
I'd be okay
Somebody asked me out today
He said he'd have me home by nine to pray
Amanda Jane folds her hands in prayer, leveling a gaze of frank desire over the tips, fairly licking them, upright before her lips; Amanda Jane has no idea what she's doing, what she's saying. She's expressing His holy light. Honesty.
I'm still your little girl
With braids
This last over a smirk like a whore's. "Jesus, everybody! Honesty!" One horny youth screams out, "Honesty, babe!" Another shouts, "Honesty!" It is my belief that Maryann's house can appear anywhere, at any time, because it is everywhere if you know where to look. No divisions, as they say, between ourselves and divinity. And chastity, well, abstinence can become its own sort of abandon; we surrender ourselves, don't we? To each other, to ourselves, to V, to pleasure, to compassion, to humility, to the Lord. This is only surrender. In certain moments, any house could be Maryann's house.
"Let's hear it again for our very own Amanda Jane! You did very good, honey," Steve Newlin says sweetly, paternally, not a trace of desire in him, patting her lovingly on the back. She is doing God's work and by facilitating this, by making trendy this honesty and this surrender, this prayer, he is doing God's work too. "Honesty!" They calm down, in his presence, and Steve smiles down on them all. "That was 'Jesus Asked Me Out Today,' and it's on her new album. Which drops next Tuesday, is that right?"
She nods, a Jonas sister in a Simpson body, and says the words she's been taught to say. "Yes! Oh, look for it at Walmart, Target, Costco... And of course the single's already available for downloadin' on iTunes. So check it out!" They chuckle; they will. "I love you Amanda!" one young man screams, as she leaves. Steve waits for quiet. "You hate to have to follow that," he says in a wacky voice, and bids them take their seats. "We're gonna wind things down with a little game, which, while fun, should also be instructive. Because as each of you heads out into the world, at some point you will be faced with real life encounters with vampire sympathizers." They all boo, and Jason squirms.
That phrase could mean a lot. Maybe your sister's a fangbanger, and you still love her. Maybe you dreamed once, electric dreams, of fucking vampires and being fucked. Maybe you loved a vampire once, a little bit, and wept when he died, and felt so guilty you confessed to crimes you never committed. Maybe that's what that means. Is kindness sympathy? Is compassion treachery? Do we cross from light to dark when we learn to love the other? Can he come back from that?
"And we want to make sure that you're ready. So, Sarah honey, can you come on up here, please?" They cheer; Steve's "beautiful bride" will be the sympathizer, and -- as though offhand, as though they didn't see the powderkeg of loneliness and confusion the second Orry offered him to them on a pure silver platter -- let's just say Jason Stackhouse for the good guy. He's shocked. He's never played that role. Steve's smile is infinitely loving, and Sarah's expectation is so delightsome, and once he stands the cheers are so loud and so specifically his, belong so much to him as he belongs, finally, to them, well: how can he say no?
Sookie lets herself into Bill's, with her key, and calls out into the house. She can hear the television. Jessica stomps into the foyer like a true teenager, mouth agape, having a conniption about something, only too willing to start the story in the middle without even a hello: "I just saw my parents on TV!" Sookie knows, she did too. She expresses her sympathy and Jessica shudders: "I finally get why they never wanted me to watch it in the first place. It's horrible!" Sookie, not wanting to parent or get into this at all, asks where Bill is, and Jessica gives us the moment of the episode, a pitch-perfect and hilarious rendition of Bill's stern face: "I have no idea! All he told me was, 'Jessica, Ah have errands to run. Errands which do not require yore presence.'" Sookie does a good job of keeping a straight face, still concerned about Jessica's state of mind, while obviously delighting in it. "'So remain here, and do yore best to stay out of trouble whilst Ah'm gone.' And I hate it here. I hate it so much!" She stomps into the parlor and throws herself down on that red velvet couch.
Sookie sits with her, and Jessica begins to babble this latest upset into the cushions, overwhelmed. "I'm... I think I miss them?" Her awful parents. "And my little sister. I was always totally horrible to her. I was just such a brat, and..." She wipes the tears from her face, and of course they are rich, dark red blood. She freaks out like Carrie White -- and I mean to say exactly like Carrie -- assuming yet more terrors are coming toward her: "Hey! What's wrong with me?" Sookie, who knows a thing or two about unwelcome change and the body's mysteries, speaks softly. She was nine when her mother died, so it would have been Adele. How did Gran explain it? Find the words.
"Sweetie, vampires don't cry regular tears. So when you cry, you're gonna cry blood from now on." Jessica shudders -- We what? My body WHAT?" -- but her question is salient indeed: "Well, why do you know that and I don't? I mean, don't you think I should know this about myself?" "Bill should probably have told you," Sookie says, but of course in this particular frame, in this moment of the metaphor, he'd rather have died. He would have fled, and left it to Sookie anyway. Jessica holds out her bloody hands, blood smeared all over her face, eyes bugging out with offense at the entire situation: "Jeez, ya think?"
Jessica flops around with that sound she makes, the angry upset squeak, and Sookie hands her a tissue before returning to the reason for the tears, and not the tears themselves, because Sookie has learned something very profound in the last month, something that it took me a long time to figure out: we miss people uncategorically, if we're going to, when they're not around. You move away from your grandparents, or a childhood friend, and you miss them. It aches. And maybe you see them again, maybe you don't, but the pain is the same. And the only difference with death is that there's never going to be another visit. The pain is still the same, but it extends its parabola out into infinity. Never goes away, but it gets easier. They're somewhere else, just like they were when you both lived in separate places.
And so Sookie tries to apply this, correctly, to Jessica's situation: she is dead, like Gran is dead, but who lives and who dies -- in this world where death is just crossing state lines -- is not as important as the line that divides them. Dead Like Me, at least the superior first season, was about this: we mourn the dead, and in worlds like these, the dead mourn us. It's not the state you're in, but the line between you. "When people love each other, and then suddenly one of them isn't there anymore, it's the distance that hurts. And the distance is the same no matter who's doing the leaving." Jessica slowly admits the possibility that Sookie can actually understand -- the only thing teenagers want, proof that they're not the only person who ever felt something, the promise it will get better added to the authenticity that you're not just handing them fake sympathy -- and before you know it, she's made the jump to asking for help. "What do you do when you feel so far away you can't stand it?"
Well, earlier today, and last week, Sookie went into her room, just to sit. It helped, it helps. "I don't know why, but just being someplace where she's been, it makes me feel better. At least a little bit." Jessica smiles, and leaps further. "You think maybe you could drive me to my parents' so that I could..." Sookie recoils, because shit.
"No, please! I would just sit in the car, I swear. All I'm asking is to sit across the street, and catch a glimpse of them through the window. Just so I can say goodbye." Sookie apologizes carefully, suddenly aware of the strength of her, and tries to point her in any other direction: "I'm sorry, it's just not my place. But if you explained it to Bill the same way you just explained it to me, I'm sure he'd take you..." Honesty: "Are you really sure about that? Because I'm not so sure he would." She's right, and they both know it.
And Sookie looks at this poor girl with blood smudged on her face, and remembers the ache of Adele, and the promise she made earlier, to provide the home for this girl that no other person on earth is capable or interested in giving her. To reach across the line and affirm the family of orphans. And, of course, to leverage this dangerous new element; to be a friend to Jessica in a way Bill can't, and nip in the bud the idea of Jessica and Bill somehow teaming up on her. Bill's the vampire father; she must be the human mother. She can teach this girl how to live in both worlds, the way Sookie must, and if she does it right Jessica will love her forever. They'll be on equal footing, the three of them. And she'll be safe, and she-and-Bill will be safe, and their family will work. This is the chance. "Okay."
Jessica does a little dance. "But we're just driving by and that's it. And we should swing by my place first and get you a change of clothes, because I am not taking you out in public dressed like that." She stands gawkily, looking at Sookie like she's an adult, which she barely is, but suddenly seeing her as so much older. Learning to love her. "Well, thank you, Sookie," she says, awkwardly adult and gracious, trying to be good. "Thank you so, so, much." Sookie tells her not to mention it, and then turns hilariously at the door: "To Bill. Ever." Jessica nods, sweet and conspiring. Somewhere between best babysitter and best big sister; sometimes that's all a stepmother can ask for. It won't last.
Bill is lost in Forever 21. Which is funny because that place is funny -- last time I walked by one they were playing "As The World Falls Down" from Labyrinth super loud in there, and I wanted to buy something just in appreciation, but like that store carries my size -- but also because the name itself, and the philosophy behind it, is: entirely vampiric. In a way that approaches Amanda Jane as a limit.
A scary MILF approaches him, looking like the sum total of all single mother barflies, and gets toothy with him. "I do feel a little... At sea," he admits, his usual cordial and charming self, and her bangles clashing: "I can help you pick something out, if you'd like. You're looking for your daughter?" Yes. He tries it on, the shape in his mouth, the way we walk in the daytime world: "My daughter. Jessica." She calls it a pretty name and shows him a super-short denim skirt, impressively bedazzled. He pronounces it "very nice," but is thrown by the distinct lack of laces or crinoline. He needs to get his ass to the Blair Waldorf store, those are the only things he's going to like.
"We are conservative, aren't we?" she laughs, which is funny because the thing was totally slutty anyway, but he demurs: "Just old-fashioned." She laughs uproariously and of course Bill has no idea what's going on. Her eyes travel his body: "You don't look old enough to be old-fashioned, not by a long shot." His eyes glitter briefly with that particularly Bill humor: "You'd be surprised." She says he's funny and touches his arm: he's also cold. Her reaction is beautiful, I can't really describe it in words but it's like she turns transparent: "Whuuh. Well...? You're not..." he gauges her look, wondering if she's going to blow a racist whistle on him: "I am vampire. [DRINK!] Yes."
She looks around furtively and you immediately know things are going to get so trashy and weird that he's not going to know what to do. And when Bill Compton doesn't know what to do, he really does not know what to do. (This is a man who sat across a booth from Denise and Mac Rattray openly touching his cock for like an hour and somehow never noticed they were total V addicts. He's not worldly, he's old-worldly. Thinking about the myriad vulnerabilities of Bill Compton gives me the heebies for some reason.) Her breath is coming fast enough to give you a headache. "Tell you what. Why don't you come with me to the dressing room and I could model this for you?" He tries to put her off, but she won't be: he is a fetish object. It's going to take more than a polite refusal, because eventually she is going to start screaming, out of pique if nothing else, and then he'll have to glamour a cop and it'll be this whole thing. We need a superhero...
Eric Northman! Why, hello, with your new haircut and your cute little track suit and the Viking horn around your neck. "Good evening, old sport," he says behind Bill, who almost does a handstand. "Eric?" Never quite so happy to see him. "It's the new me," Eric says, grinning and sexy suddenly: "You like?" Bill nods, more than just relieved: "I do, very much." It's not gay exactly, but try explaining their whole deal to F21 lady, when they don't even have words for it yet. Bill's not even really conscious of the thing that happens around Eric; not even Lafayette can handle the ambiguity Eric's packing, and he was born for it. She laughs, embarrassed, and waves them away with a bunch of hoo! and heh! Bill's totally confused, of course, and Eric eats it right up, of course. And then it gets serious, because Eric needs to talk.
With Buddy Jesus behind him, and Old Glory, Jason tries his hand at playacting. "Listen, lady, if you're gonna give them all the rights that normal people have, then how am I supposed to protect my sweet little girl from any vampire who wants to just fly on in and marry her?" (Got there pretty quick, didn't you? Maybe Rene's not as far behind us as we thought.) Sarah's like, "You have a daughter?" and he plays outrageously to the crowd, who loves it: "Well, I was a pretty bad boy -- up until the Light Of Day Leadership Conference! -- so yeah, it's entirely possible that I could." She nods, waits a beat, and returns the serve: "Huh. Well, I don't give a hoot about your daughter. In fact, nothing you say about vampire rights is gonna change my mind. Because..." she turns around and puts in upside-down vampire teeth, mumbling around them hilariously: I am a vampire!
Anybody else would laugh and struggle to stay in character, at this gorgeous sight, but all of this is too close to reality for old Jason, considering how broken and post-traumatic he is. Something safe that turned out deadly. Sarah, Steven, the Conference, the stage: they all fade away. He screams, terrified to be so close to it -- to still want it, so badly, this beautiful, sexy, unattainable woman, now complete with the fangs -- and wigs impressively. He grabs the flag, screaming, smashes it over one knee, and rushes her. She drops onto her back on the stage, caught off-guard by this sudden new twist, and in the audience Luke leaps to his feet, grateful Jason's finally cracked.
Sarah's scared to death, hips moving like the ocean; Steve's eyes travel Jason's body in slow-motion, the stake in his hands, the muscles under his shirt: as though he is Jason and Jason's the vampire, for a moment, everything he wants and everything he wants to be. As though he could be Jason or fuck Jason or somehow both at once, blurring across state lines. Jason, standing over his wife with a wooden stake, screaming wordlessly. He is Amy and he is Eddie, for a moment, endlessly murdering and being murdered. Steve's the first to applaud.
The crowd goes wild: that's how you do it. That's where we're heading. Can't say it yet, can't see it yet, but that's where Steve's leading them. It's the reason Jason is the favorite, and precisely opposes the obvious reasons Luke knows they shouldn't love him. Inside the FOL is another Fellowship, an Army of the Light. And this is its first lieutenant, wrought on a spindle like Maryann's: desire and hatred and passion and love, fear and disgust, twisted together like the spectrum of visible light. Steve ejaculates while Jason falls back, through time: Amy drives the stake into Eddie's heart, and he is gone, and Jason's falling back like Sarah now, onto his back, face twisted in fear and sadness and betrayal. But on her face, none of these: it's a mirror of her husband's, in this moment. Where Jason's face is a mask of grief and loss, she sees only passion. "I'm so sorry," Jason says, tears rising in his throat, and she assures him she's okay. Honeycomb, he wasn't talking to you.
Terry loads the counter with meal after meal, plate after plate; he can no longer guarantee they're cooked through, there are so many. Arlene comes to the counter and checks him out: he's "sweating like a ice-water pitcher." He manages to look her in the eye: "I'm feeling the pressure, Arlene. I don't like feeling the pressure." They both know, what he means. She tells him to take a break and he says he can't, so she takes off her apron and heads back, shouting for Daphne. He burns himself and throws something down, yelping. "Give me your tongs," she says, and when he protests there's something hilarious in her voice, imperious, mothering: "Give me your toooooongs. Take a break." She sends Daphne out with the platters for table four, which of course Daphne can't identify (Remember how easily Amy learned it? She understood abandon.) but one withering, exasperated look from Arlene sends her out onto the floor anyway. They agree she's not working out, Terry and Arlene, and he notes that it's all going to table four: "What the hell's going on at table four?" he whispers, but we already know.
Daphne stands in the whirl of a Merlotte's gone quietly exciting; there's a bit more movement, a bit more noise, than usual. She stares at them, wondering which table the food is for, and Maryann calls her over, smiling cruelly. "Miss! Miss? I think you're looking for me." We all are, sometimes. "I'd have stood there all night if you hadn't noticed me!" She asks Maryann, ironically, how she could tell Daphne's new, and Maryann gives her the full treatment: "Because you care about doing a good job. Now you just keep on caring, and one day you'll be the best at what you do. That's my advice." Wonderful. Pitch perfect. Daphne falls in love with her a bit and leaves; Maryann grins privately, deliciously, and bites into an onion ring, wriggling in her chair with the music.
Sam notes the sheer amount of beer at Andy's table, and counsels moderation, but eventually Andy admits that whatever usual level of pathetic he's laboring under, the actuality is bad enough that his nine years of sobriety are worth giving up. Sam sits down, warily and distractedly concerned, the way people always are with Andy: "Lots of people in this town don't need to see you this way." Sam's such a good boy. Andy spent the entire last season up his ass for no reason, but now that it's down to it he's telling Andy what a symbol of goodness and justice he is. How people deserve to see that.
"The people in this town don't see me. Not for what I really am." Sam tells him another option would be to suck it up and respect himself first by not being such a HUGE BABY, but I'm so sure Andy's hearing that. "Bud took me off a case, Sam. I don't know about you, but in my book that's a capital D-motion." Sam gets it, and changes his tune, apologizing; Andy promises he'll pull it together tomorrow, get back on the right path, but tonight he needs to lose it. Tonight, of all nights, with Maryann on table four, how could he not? Sam gets it, and nods, looking around at the rising chaos, anxious to give something back for Andy's honesty. "One of the things I set out to do here when I opened up here was have a place where you could come, get a drink, nobody would bother you to dance."
Andy agrees vociferously, and tenders up another story. It's kinda funny, I guess, but mostly interesting because it obviously means something huge to Andy but not to Sam, or us. "I hate to dance. This one time I was in a club in Shreveport, and I actually had a woman tell me I looked like a epileptic on meth." Sam is sad for him, and a bit touched by the way this story is related. Also weirded out. "Never again, Sam. Never again." He takes a pull off his beer and Sam heads back, into the dancing, taking away Andy's empties. I love much about this show, you might have noticed, but I really do love the way everybody remembers to love Andy. He's just the worst, and they give as good as they get, but when it's time to take care of Andy Bellefleur, no matter how bad he'll make you pay for it later, they all do it. He's used so well, because he never gets tamed no matter how many times it plays out. He's the
Michelle Forbes joined Sciorra and Russo on the ranks of my "It's Not Even Worth Questioning My Sexuality About This" list a long time ago, so this scene came as no surprise, but dang. She was a dancer, she comes to us from dancing, which should no longer be surprising at this point: Maryann stands up, all spooky, and begins to dance in earnest. First alone, then with a young guy; her arms go up, over her head, like a goddess. She wraps herself around him like a vine. A couple is hit with waves of it, and she dances toward them, drinking up their passion and their adoration. This tribute. She takes the man in her arms, and passes the wave to a couple of ho barflies in the corner, and spins into the center again. The men take hold of the women. A cowboy kisses his girl. She dances, uninhibited, alone. She is the only real thing here. It whirls around her. This tribute.
"The Sheriff of Area Nine, in Texas, has gone missing. Have you heard about that?" Bill squints at him in the harsh F21 light. "I hadn't, but I... I know the vampire of whom you speak. His name is Godric, correct?" Indeed. Eric goes internal, for a moment, and speaks more quietly when he returns. "Now, it goes without saying he needs to be found. Which is where Sookie comes in..." Bill protests, but Eric reminds him that it's a formality: he's asking Bill to take his human to Dallas -- "across state lines," again -- but not because Bill has a say. Even if he weren't Eric, he still has a deal with Sookie that has nothing to do with Bill. She works for him. Of course, last time she worked for him, we got Jessica, so Bill's understandably irked over and above, but he stands his ground, staring up (up, up, up) at Eric's face like an obstinate hound. "Is No your final answer?" Bill growls in the affirmative, and Eric leaves him stewing and afraid: "Poorly played, Bill." He knows that.
Sookie parks at Jessica's behest, and they look across the street. "My Daddy won't be home yet. But my Mama and sister should be there." Two different statements, with two very different meanings, but Sookie doesn't know that yet. She watches, yearning, and behind her Sookie begins to cry. I think this is just straight-up bad writing, to get us from this place to the next place, but it does make Sookie seem even dumber than usual: she uses this moment as a pretext to start crying and apologizing for causing Jessica to get turned into a vampire. Which she barely did, it's not like she asked Longshadow to eat her face. But on the other hand: when you've survived so many people, when your mourning becomes so constant, maybe survivor guilt is just part of the wallpaper. Maybe it's because Jessica's the only dead person she can apologize to... Ooops, doesn't matter. There goes Jessica!
Zooming to the door, banging on it, screaming for her mother and her sister. When the door opens, a voice says quietly, "Fault: Front door." Can you imagine growing up in that? Before vampires, the Hambys lingered at the threshold, every coming and going measured, heartbeat racing, afraid to leave, afraid to let anybody in. Keeping the home and hearth as pure and untouched as he could.
Mom grabs her in a hug, and she says hello to Eden behind her. "Where were you?" she asks, and Mom assures her it doesn't matter: "Just call your father." Jessica doesn't like this, and falters for a moment before introducing her to Sookie. "My ... Friend." Sookie's eyes are, of course, bugging the fuck out because she just screwed the pooch and knows it, and the whole time she's like, DO NOT CRY, even as the mom is wigging out; she stares at the mom and tries to figure out a way out of this mess, trying to distract them before the mom... "Honey, your arm's like ice. Come on in and I'll make you some tea." And it's done. Jessica looks over at Sookie with a wild look, joyful almost and afraid, crossing a threshold, a state line, into the house: they're bad girls, on a wild night. Breaking the first rule. Begging her to be the big sister just a minute more.
That sweet old racist drunk that Tara yelled at that time, Jane, notices Eggs coming in through the front door, and takes notice. Tara, who just today basically dumped him before they even got started, is not overjoyed. Possession, selling, armed robbery, assault, overpass. He's trouble. "Eggs, I'm working," she says, and he apologizes and asks her to hear him out. Jane stares at him, hungry and forward: "I'll hear you out!" Tara's appalled. "Jane Bodenhouse! You are a crazy-ass drunk, but normally you wait for some loser to hit on you. What the hell has gotten into you?" Jane's wearing a ridiculous side-pony and looks twice as nuts as usual. She admits she doesn't actually know, and wanders away. Welcome to Jacob on two shots of tequila, side-pony included, depending on the last time I saw Pam.
"Okay," Tara barks at him. "What?" Out on the floor, Maryann blesses Jane Bodenhouse. One hand lightly on her head, and Jane twirls underneath it, squeaking with joy. Confidence and sensuality. Behind Eggs, two men dance with a woman between them. Their bodies want to touch, touch everywhere.
"All right, listen," he says. "My dad left us when I was a little kid. So I don't remember shit about him, except this. He used to always say, 'You can't get what you want in life, so in order to get it, you're prepared not to want it.'" She laughs: that's her experience too. The opposite of all Maryann can teach us. "Well, I say fuck that. I wanna be with you, Tara, and I refuse to pretend I don't." She's touched, good opening, and the waves of abandon hitting her at once. We move from state to state.
Maryann whirls out of the dancing and grabs hold of Andy, blessing him. Momentary purpose, worship of the moment. "Detective Bellefleur, you come dance with me!" She's adorable, sexy, drinking him in. He stumbles with his words, after two many beers, but becoming sharper; he says he doesn't dance and she laughs. "With me you do!" We all do. She drags him into it, grinning and wild. It's his last night drinking, after all. Abandon, then moderation.
Jason's flossing, in pajama pants, when Luke surprises him. "Think you walk on water, don't you?" Jason's been through this, the jealous, and his stance is cool: "Pretty sure that was Moses?" Luke's disgusted by this complete lack of anything, and Jason shrugs when he explains it. "And what the hell was the deal with you snapping the American flag in half? Like you're some Muslim Buffy with a dick! That's all kinds of messed up." It's also totally awesome. Jason rolls his eyes and fakely apologizes that everybody else liked it so much more than Luke did, but Luke's not buying. Jason's smile falls: "Your being here is a joke, Stackhouse. They may not see it now, but they will. Day one might have went to you? Day two belongs to the Lukinator." He points at Jason's sad face, and then his own, and disappears.
Jason's tickled, and a little irked, as he turns back to the mirror. He was flossing that morning, that beautiful morning in the bathroom when Amy smiled at him and told him they could be a family, travel the world: Jason, Amy and Eddie. Like a pet, she said. And killed him. Voices claw up as he looks: "Die, Fanger!" and protestations that he is the tool of Satan, that he's a traitor. Eddie barely conscious as he brought the TruBlood to his lips, begging him to drink. To live. He shakes his head, eyes shut tight, vowing not to cry.
Sam wheels a keg out into the storeroom, struck by the intensity of the bar outside: the dancing, the laughter and shouting, the driving beat. Outside, they're serving themselves from the taps, dancing harder and faster. Jane, blessed, holds her arms up, like a goddess. What's gotten into her is everything. Everybody smiling, drinking in abundance, in their abandon. Andy Bellefleur dances, and when he dances he does indeed resemble an epileptic on meth; what makes him beautiful is that he doesn't care, anymore. Maryann dances about, crouching and beckoning; across the floor, smiling at her, Tara rides him. The women ride the men, against tables and stools. Jane's arms rise toward the ceiling, her body like a knife. Jane is gone, blessed with abandon; her eyes are black as night.
Maryann comes meekly, laughing, into Sam's office. He growls. "What the fuck is going on out there?" She shrugs. "I'm talking about the dancing and the gyrating and the people nearly having sex on the pool table?" She offers the theory that people returned from the rodeo in a good mood, and he pushes it too far. "Damn it, Maryann, this is my bar. These are my people. This is my town!" Too loud, and not the right words. This is tribute. They're not his. She stalks toward him, vibrating; changing state. He begins to whimper, as the air grows thick and quiet, throbbing. He begs her to stop. "Don't do that. I've seen you do that before..." Maryann's eyes close, rolling up to heaven, and Sam Merlotte begins to weep, begging her to stop. She pulls him in with her, and the world changes. He falls.
Maryann Forrester crouches and looks into his dog's eyes, smiling nastily. Offended and laughing. "Abracadabra, Sam. What I just did to you, I can do anytime, anywhere." To anyone, to them out there: to bless them, to bring the animals out, to live eternally. His eyes are scared, and so sad; he can't move. "So unless you want your customers to know your little secret, you better think twice before you threaten me ever again. Do we understand each other?" Never, and always.
"I don't normally cuss," Sookie whispers in the Hamby's living room, "But you have completely fucked me." Jessica apologizes, seeming honestly appalled: "I know. And I'm sorry, but I swear it was like it wasn't even me doing it." Her tone gets arch, a little teenager bit: "It must be those new vampire impulse control issues." Sookie stares her down: "Fuck your impulse control issues," she hisses, as Eden enters with sandwiches. Sookie thanks her kindly, and mom's voice echoes from the kitchen, demanding stasis and purity: "You already had dinner. Don't touch those sandwiches." Eden doesn't even react, just tells Sookie she's pretty. Sookie's delighted, and tells Eden she's very pretty herself. She is, but the resigned sigh tells a longer, older story: "No, I'm not. Got a problem with hair." Fault: Front door.
Jessica runs to her father, and holds onto him so tightly, for a moment. Mom hugs herself, happy to have the world back. Regardless of the quality of the world, we all want this. Almost regretfully, he pulls back and begins to shake her, voice rising and rising as Sookie stands. "How could you do this? Do you have any idea what you put your mother through? Why, Jessica? You tell me why?" She protests weakly, calls him Daddy, even as Sookie shouts "Mr. Hamby!" in a warning voice. But once he threatens her, Jessica's back goes straight and she nearly smiles: "Go ahead, Daddy. Get your belt," she suggests, shoving him back. And then the fangs: "But this time I'll be ready for you."
Fangtasia!'s banging outside Eric's office, where gunshot Lafayette rolls around on the couch in pain, with the collar still around his neck. Chow laments the blood he's losing and already lost, hates to let it go to waste, waiting for Eric. Pam crooks an eyebrow: "Yeah, maybe one day you'll be Sheriff and you can make the rules." They agree this is doubtful, and smile, distracted by the blood in the air. When Eric enters, Pam does this amazing move, composing herself against a keg or something as though she were just hanging out, not salivating over all that blood. It's adorable and fucking scary, which: welcome to Pam.
"Sorry to keep you waiting for so long," Eric says, grabbing some paperwork and looking over it easily. "How's the leg?" The leg is shitty, but thanks for asking. "After all your proclamations about what a model prisoner you were going to be, you had to try to escape," Eric says exhaustedly. Lafayette points out the odds of him getting killed anyway, and Eric's like, "Well now we'll never know." He asks Lafayette if he'd like to die from the gunshot, or from getting eaten right now, and Lafayette chooses Plan C. Eric's intrigued for a second, doesn't hide it: "There's a Plan C?" Make him a vampire, obviously.
Eric tamps down on his emotion and begs Lafayette's pardon, but he's clearly been thinking about this. Probably long before the dungeon, even. "And you can put me to work in the bar. I'm a good dancer, you seen it on my site." Eric doesn't agree exactly, but he does move closer, and Lafayette lays on the sexy voice: "Shit, I get up there and move earth and heaven, gogo style..." Eric's tickled and playful, reminding Lafayette of the gaping hole in his leg -- "You're damaged goods!" he says, with pretend innocence -- but Lafayette knows more than he thinks: Not if you turn me. I'll be good as ever." Eric's surprised, again enough to show it.
"Look, I'm already a person of poor moral character. So I'll hit the ground running. And I damn near glamour people already. Give me what y'all got and it's on me, cracker." As much as I love the idea, I still have to admit that Lafayette is building a damn fine case here, logically. These are all true things. On the other hand, selling V is about as gross as anything considering it's not really a "drug" in the classic sense where you can at least pretend you're not linked to horrible shit and people dying all the time. V, the person actually dies. Even Amy admitted that part of it. And though Eddie was a special case, you're still involved. A wise poster on the forums compared V addiction and sales to kiddie porn: you're directly involved no matter what. If you did it, you've done it.
Pam's intrigued too, because she appreciates variety in all its forms, and looks to Eric. "Not only will I be a badass vampire, but I'll be your badass vampire." Whatever level of sexy and intrigued Eric was repping before now, it doubles. "Interesting," he says. Because it only took Lafayette this long to become Bill's opposite: the most vampire human of all. Lafayette's surprised, thinking it's a reprieve, but then it's not. Then it's chowtime. Eric gives the word and takes his arm, Pam the chest, and Chow on the leg. And Lafayette begins to howl.
"How could you let some bloodsucker bite you like that?" Jessica's dad asks, comparing his daughter for a second to Lafayette, and Sookie reacts to the epithet but Jessica reacts to something much deeper, much more insistent and vital and angry: "I didn't let anybody do anything to me. But oh, am I glad he did! Because now I get to homeschool you, in what it's like to be scared." Fault this.
Sookie's fast; Jessica's faster. She zooms at her father, holding him, and shoves Sookie away and down, gently almost: "Jesus Christ, Sookie. Would you shut the fuck up?" Eden worries at Sookie while Mom begs Jessica to chill: "This isn't you!" Jessica could laugh. "You don't know the first thing about me. You're too dumb to know anything." Sookie's offended on mom's behalf, like a good girl, but Jessica's serious. "Oh, what? She is dumb. She's dumber than a sack full of hammers, and he's as mean as a snake. And that's the way it's always gonna be around here." She looks down at Eden, crying, afraid. Doesn't really matter whose fault it is, this time: it's ending. "Right here, right now. And I am doing it with your belt." She goes for it, and he grabs at her hands; she's offended, disgusted: the belt stays on? After all this time? Eden's scared and he comforts her, before Jessica hurls him across the room, crucified, her hands at his wrists. She breathes, then loops the belt around his neck. (Why? No reason vampires could explain. This is all for her. This is her liberation, the shape it takes. Cheer her on.) "Don't worry," she whispers. "This will only hurt for a minute." He went there first.
Jessica goes for his neck just as their front door crashes open -- "Fault" -- and Bill stands there, unable to enter, called there by Sookie's fall and Jessica's uproar. Jessica resists, but as her maker Bill commands her, and she stops moving. He summons Eden to the door, against Daddy's protest, and glamours her: "Now, you listen to me. I'm here to protect you. You and your mother and your father. I am your friend. So you just invite me in and I can make everything stop." He's so sexy, with the rattler going. "You can?" she asks, justifiably suspicious of grownups, and he smiles beautifully at her. "Yes." She doesn't pause. "Won't you please come in, sir?"
He zooms to Sookie, pushing her toward the door as she babbles her apologies: "SHUT UP." It's angry and mean, and stops her in her tracks. She stands outside the door, and he bends to clean up her mess, snarling into black.
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