Fringe

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M. Giant: A | 1 USERS: A+
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Newton's Melon

Back in the house, Walter peers sadly into the jars. "My brain tissue, Peter. It's dying. Whatever was in there... memories I'll never get back." That actually kind of smarts. All this time, I at least have been assuming that what was wrong with Walter might someday be cured, even if it's all the way down the line to the series finale (which, admittedly, might be as soon as May). But now it's been dangled in front of him, almost literally, and then taken away for good. I've never felt worse for him. Peter assures Walter he doesn't need them, which seems rather glib of him, but Walter smiles, "Hello, son." Then he repeats it, more seriously, and collapses to the floor. Hello, carpet.

"I think there's something you should know," Newton tells Olivia. "It's about Walter Bishop. He's going to die unless you do exactly as I say." Newton claims to have injected Walter with a neurotoxin -- remember that shot we saw him give Walter before leaving? -- and now he's got four minutes to live unless he gets the antidote. "Call it my fail-safe to ensure my escape." Now that's some precise timing. Olivia whips Newton around so he can look down the barrel of her gun, and accuses him of bluffing. But she whips out her cell phone to make sure. "Hey, it's me," she says into her phone as soon as Peter answers, which seems a little casual under the circumstances, although she still never takes her gaze or her gun off Newton. In a panic, Peter tells her he thinks Walter's been poisoned. "Ask him if he sees the medical kit I left behind," Newton says, his hands still spread. Peter begs Olivia to come back and help, and confirms that there is a medical kit. Newton explains to Olivia that injecting the three vials in the correct order will save Walter. But he's not about to tell her what that order is now. Checking his watch, he says, "You have about two minutes until Walter Bishop dies. At a flat run, I estimate about forty seconds until you get back to him. Now hand me your phone. When I hear you go back into the house from Peter's phone, I'll tell you what to do." Olivia's not going for it, but in the phone still at her ear, Peter keeps begging for her help. "The choice is yours," Newton smirks. "You can have me or Walter Bishop." Oh, and he seemed so nice up until now.

Nothing has changed after the ads, except that she only has one minute and 45 seconds. Newton restates her choice, somehow seeming both impatient and smug at the same time. "Me or Walter Bishop?" "Go to hell," Olivia spits, then tosses her phone to Newton and sprints back to the house. Once inside, she demands Peter's phone (lucky Peter didn't hang up) and says into it, "Okay, you son of a bitch!" Peter starts chest compressions, and walking along though the neighborhood like an ordinary dude on the phone, Newton tells her, "Blue, yellow, red." Olivia relays that, Peter starts the injections, and before signing off, Newton says, "And Olivia? Now I know how weak you are." Ouch. I wouldn't mind seeing him toss the phone away after that, but I think we can assume he does. Olivia's face goes cold as he hangs up. I really don't give Anna Torv enough credit for how good she is, you know? John Noble gets to do all these mad-scientist theatrics, showing off his plummy voice and multi-octave dynamic range, while she's stuck trying to keep her straight-man role interesting. Which she's more than up to, while still keeping her performances subtle and vanity-free. Or maybe I'm just getting maudlin because this is probably my last recap of this show. Anyway, Peter finishes the injections, and they wait for Walter to wake up, or at least notice the trail of drool coming from the corner of his mouth. Finally he gasps awake. His first words? "Peter. I have a terrible headache. And a sudden craving for chicken wings." Yep, he's back. Peter pulls him up into a sitting position, and they all sit there, completely wrecked. And I know it would be futile, but couldn't Olivia at least try to have trace put on her phone, or start canvassing the neighborhood, or something? Or would that just ruin the mood?

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Fringe

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