Dawson's Creek
Eastern Standard Time

Episode Report Card
Sars: C | Grade It Now!
To live and die in Capeside

A "beach," which looks more like an alcoholic set designer's conception of the surface of the moon than like any beach I've ever seen, but I'll just roll with it. Dawson and Gretchen canoodle in front of a fire, and there's banter about Dawson making said fire and Boy Scouting and Gretchen's "impressed" and blah dee bloo. In the back of the shot, waves crash, so I guess it's actually a beach after all and not artfully arranged chunks of painted Styrofoam. Anyway, Gretchen deems Dawson's outdoorsy acumen "extremely sexy," a line that's bad enough, but then Dawson has to stomp it flat by goobering, "How sexy?" Gretchen gives him an almost-cross-eyed come-hither look. Dawson moves in for the kiss. Van Der Beek's left eyebrow is so thick and tangly that it seriously has mini-dreadlocks in it. Gross. If you refuse to tweeze, at least get a brow comb, James. That's really nasty. Speaking of nasty, they mack for a couple of seconds before Gretchen stops him, wanting to know "what's going on with" him. Dawson thinks that over for a second before saying that "today is a perfect example" of how their visions for their lives "conflict with reality's." "Reality's"? Shut up, Dawson. Gretchen adopts a confused mien as Dawson blabbers on about "distortions" and "delusions," and still thinking that "everything should be perfect," and that "Joey and [he] should have slept together for the first time," and after he chooses to say that out loud instead of quietly whispering it into a hole, or writing it on a piece of paper and burning the paper, or any of about a thousand ways of dealing with the situation that could have avoided hurting Gretchen's feelings, Gretchen absorbs the blow by blinking and looking ill, like, welcome to the club, honey. Dawson adds that he's realized he has to "let go," and Gretchen looks down, presumably thinking to herself that she's got his letting go RIGHT HERE, but as usual Dawson pays her no mind, continuing that "it's time" and that "there's so much ahead of him," like college and his parents' new baby -- and Gretchen. "So what are you saying?" Gretchen says. Oh, Gretchen, you poor thing. He's saying that he sees you as second best. Hear that, please, and run away. Dawson cheeses that he's in love with her, and he no longer remembers "what [we're] waiting for." Gretchen, hypnotized by the Rastafarian eyebrow mere inches from her own, murmurs, "Neither do I," and Dawson leans in to kiss her again. Fortunately, we cut away…

…to Jen's old apartment, where she stands in the foyer, brow resolutely furrowed, and looks around. She sees herself in the mirror and stares at her reflection for a moment, then squares her shoulders and moves away, padding through the hall of a well-appointed duplex towards a study with a fire blazing in the fireplace. In April. In New York. Whatever. Her face begins to crumple. Cut to a glass of cognac; pan up to Mr. L passed out in a chair beside the glass, and as Jen walks almost silently behind his chair, he stirs and half opens his eyes: "Jennifer?" "I took a cab here," Jen chokes out. "What?" Mr. L snaps, coming out of it. Jen says she had "these visions" of coming in and announcing that she "wasn't going to Capeside," and Mr. L blinks the crust from his eyes and interrupts to ask what she's talking about. "You'd smile, and we'd -- we'd go for a walk," Jen quavers, and Mr. L interrupts again to tell her that "it's really late," like, it's your daughter, not the Fuller Brush man, you jackass. Mr. L angrily sips from the cognac snifter; Jen says she came up the stairs and unlocked the door, but she didn't hear anything, so she thought maybe he wasn't there. Mr. L, not getting that she's talking about five years ago, grouses that he "was just resting," but he's awake now. Jen stammers over him that then she heard "a voice, a…whimper," and it sounded far away, and then she heard it again. Oh, no. Mr. L stares at her; he's going for uncomprehending, but it looks like he's started to figure out what Jen's on about. Jen "recognized" the whimper, and she knew "that it was Annie." Mr. L closes his eyes tightly all "busted" but recovers with a sharp, "Who?" Annie Sawyer, who lived downstairs, and who "was probably the age [Jen is] right now" at the time. Mr. L just stares at Jen; Jen stares at him, half furious and half pleading, and tells him, "She was my favorite person in the whole world." Mr. L again tries to play the who-in-the-what-now card with, "And…she was in our apartment?" "You were having sex with her," Jen half sobs. Oh, come on. That's it? That's the big secret? That's really, really feeble, writers. Not that I looked forward to an incest storyline by any means, but -- really. That's just weak.

Previous 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12Next

Dawson's Creek




Get the most of your experience.
Share the Snark!

See content relevant to you based on what your friends are reading and watching.

Share your activity with your friends to Facebook's News Feed, Timeline and Ticker.

Stay in Control: Delete any item from your activity that you choose not to share.

The Latest Activity On TwOP