Shouts out to owen, Goober, and Wing.
After Michelle Williams in her tight shiny black top welcomes us to an all-new "Dawson's Creek," and after the customary barrage of last-week-in-Clichéville-scenes, fade up on Sanctum Dawsonorum. Taming Of The Shrew is on the TV (no comment), and as Liz Taylor snarls, "If I may have leave to speak," the camera pans over a table littered with videotapes, including Terms of Endearment, as if any self-respecting sixteen-year-old boy would sit through so much as ten minutes of that film. Cut to Dawson "Captain Crunch" Leery, blathering on about Shakespeare and saying that his plays reached their apotheosis in the tragedies, as Gale "Estranged" Leery reclines on a pillow on Dawson's bed sniffling and not really listening to him. Dawson remarks bitterly that "like all great romantics, he finally realized that life is a lot more likely to end up with a bunch of dead Danish people on stage than with a kiss." Dawson shuts off the TV as Gale reaches for more Kleenex and says, "What a sad movie." Dawson points out that she cried during the commercials; Gale says, "Only that cotton commercial," and blows her nose. Dawson mistakes condescension for compassion: "You've got to do something about your perpetual state of melancholy -- I'm concerned about you." Buck up, little camper! Gale -- whose hair-stylist seems to have heard viewer pleas for a deep-conditioning treatment -- points out that, since Dawson broke up with Joey, he hasn't said anything about it. "You haven't even wallowed," she says. Dawson doesn't see the point of wallowing because "all the wallowing in the world isn't going to bring somebody back." Gale explains, "Wallowing isn't about getting them back. It isn't about them at all. It's about you," as if Dawson didn't already think everything is about him. Gale then extols the "advantages of being the dumpee" and all the things it gives you an excuse to do, including "stuffing your face with a lifetime supply of red licorice and donuts," and as she bites into her bouquet of product-placed Twizzlers, Gale also recommends country music and writing "bad bitter poetry," and Dawson contributes a few items to the list. After scraping the very bottom of that particular barrel, Gale tries to comfort Dawson: "Every inch of pain that touches you makes you a deeper, more real individual, whether you're sixteen or -- slightly older." Dawson asks, "So it doesn't get any easier?" and Gale says ruefully, "Nope. You just go to bed earlier," and thank you, Gale, for that depressingly accurate insight into the true nature of adult life. Gale bids Dawson good night and hopes she "was an acceptable substitute for movie night," and Dawson tells her she was "great," and Gale and her nosegay o' Twizzlers go downstairs. Dawson throws in another video and settles down on the bed which Gale so thoughtfully left littered with used Kleenex, and he looks mournfully out from under his Sam-The-Eagle forelock at the window (open. In Cape Cod. In November) which totally doesn't have Joey coming through it, and the curtains blow forlornly in the breeze, and Dawson sadly eats a Twizzler. Buck up, little camper!