Jason Street's still in the hospital, Lyla is still somehow surgically-attached to his (paralyzed) (yes, really) side, Coach Taylor is still furrowing, and Tami breaks out of the gates as one hell of a good wife. Tim Riggins is getting drunker and drunker, and wearing more and more eyeliner, which makes me flush and flush, while Tyra sashays her way onto Smash's couch, somehow nearly losing her pants in the process, and Matt Saracen continues to break everyone's heart until the very end when his eyes get the flint, and he assures Coach Taylor that last week's play was no fluke.
In plot-development land, Lyla looks like she's got a one-way ticket to crazytown, refusing to believe that Street will remain paralyzed, and Coach Taylor hits bottom (doubting himself and Saracen and having difficulty dealing with Street's tragedy) before soaring like an effing eagle (bringing Matt out to the football field at midnight for some dramatically-lit life-coaching).
Also, Landry tells Saracen to work the media, reminding him that "Right now, the bitches can't even get your name right." This detail is not integral to the plot, it's just awesome which is why I had to include it here. Thank you, the end.
Previously on Friday Night Lights: hubris ("We feel fully prepared") and crying ("That's a gigantic hit on Street").
Sunday. The camera drives through town, zipping first past the football field, then the uninspiring 1970s brick church built in the non-denominational style ubiquitous in Texas suburbs, then past those tracks to the squat wooden shack of a church, white paint sloughing off its sides. Inside, the African-Americans of Dillon have gathered to listen to the preacher pray for Jason Street. The congregation sits, close and hot in the un-air-conditioned space, fanning themselves with church bulletins. The preacher's claims to know of "a doctor greater than any doctor" are punctuated by the yowling of an organ and interjections of "Amen!" from the worshippers.
Cut back over to the brick church, literally on the other side of the tracks, where the balance of the white folks we met last week sit inside the dim, cool space, beamed and arched ceiling soaring overhead. The congregation sits quietly, absorbing the pastor's sermon on Jason Street, but not interacting. Shots of the Streets, the Garritys, the Taylors, and then the pastor, who happens to look like a cross between Johnny Cash (black pants, black shirt, black tie) and Ricky Jay. Different setting but same sentiment: prayer and God can make Jason walk again.
Quick cut to Tim Riggins outside, in extreme profile, looking away from the camera, the barrel of the gun he holds slashing across the right corner of the frame. Damn, I just randomly paused here, and this is a nicely composed shot. Especially so because, as the camera pulls back, you realize it's handheld. Tim Riggins is riding in the back of a pick-up truck, his brother Billy driving and yelling back to him through the back window. Billy shouts over the engine that he saw the tackle, and he thinks Street isn't ever going to walk again, let alone play football. Tim listens in silence, scowl on his face, cocks his gun (!), and shoots into the field.
Cut back to Church of the Whiteys, where Lyla Garrity plays the role of Insipid Woman In Training, holding court in the middle of a group of other sixteen-year-old Insipid Women In Training, telling them all that "We know he's going to walk again." The camera cuts around the various groups of people gathering outside the church, murmuring and hugging. Matt Saracen, in an adorably untucked white shirt (like a dressed-up toddler at the end of a family wedding) throws the football around with some kids. Buddy Garrity incites my immediate wrath by being a slightly sweaty overweight older man, with "cool" hair and "cool" sunglasses, standing with his suit jacket open and thrusted back at the waist, his hands on his hips. It's just so very I Am (Contemporary) White Man Hear Me Roar...ugh.