In Which We Meet Mr. Jones

Episode Report Card
Daniel: B- | 1 USERS: A+
Mr. Jones Wishes He Was Someone Just a Little More Funky
ay not have to," says Peter.

So, presumably without too much bureaucratic difficulty, this dead guy is being wheeled into the Harvard lab, to go with the FBI agent with his chest ripped open to reveal the parasite wrapped around his heart. Not to mention the cow. Walter, in his own scatterbrained way, gives instructions to the Fringe team. Astrid's putting salt water in the trough: "Ninety kilograms, not a drop more," Walter reminds her. Then he unzips the bodybag and is quite chagrined to see that Smith has been shot in the head. Peter asks if that's a problem. "Of course it's a problem! A bullet in the head would normally indicate significant brain trauma!" says Walter. Peter snaps that he's never had a conversation with a dead guy before: "Forgive me if I don't know the rules!" Astrid asks if this is going to work. I think I can answer that question: It seems unlikely, and you guys will run into some problems, and Walter will correct on the fly, and then it'll work! But for now, Walter merely says he'll have to alter the procedure.

So while Astrid dumps more ice on the corpse, Walter and Peter fiddle with wires attached to the top of Smith's head. Walter explains that a brain is like a computer: it just needs electricity to function, which the body stops producing after death. They're keeping the body cold to slow down degeneration.

Walter stares at Smith's bald scalp for a moment, and says, "It's astonishing how this man's scalp resembles --" and he's interrupted by Astrid, who says, "-- Peter's bare bottom when he was a baby?" Walter's surprised that she knew that, until she points out he's already told them that twice. "What did I say next?" he asks. "That we're going to kickstart his brain," says Peter. Walter finds this excellent, and gives Peter some conductive gel to prevent the electrical current from setting him on fire. "Spread it evenly. And don't forget his nipples." Amazingly, no one busts out a "that's what she said!" Walter then startles Peter by taking a picture with a Polaroid. Probably compiling a scrapbook, and who wouldn't want a picture of his son spreading conductive gel on a dead guy's nipples?

Walter readies the equipment and reminisces about a time in the '70s when the FBI asked him to use this technique on some dead guy named James or Jimmy, who'd been murdered; they wanted to find out who his assassin was, says Walter. "Union leader, I think," says Walter. Peter's all, "Jimmy Hoffa?" Yes, of course that's it. Walter blithely explains that he had a "shockingly low electro-sensitivity," so when he turned on the machine, it fried his brain like an egg.

Then he goes on about how everyone has a unique tolerance to electrical stimulation. "Mine, for instance, is remarkably high. Yours, Peter, unusually low." As Walter continues to ramble, Peter interrupts. "You used to do this to me," he says, as though it's just coming back to him. "You attached wires to car batteries and then you would shock me." Walter calls it "accumulating data." "No, you were experimenting on me," says Peter.

Walter, discomfited, ignores him and says they need to test a computer to see if it'll register any brain activity. Walter's got the wires hooked up to a light bulb, which he says will indicate if he's transmitting any thoughts to Peter. "Since he's dead, Peter, you'll obviously have to be his ears and mouth," says Walter. Peter stands there looking like he'd rather be anywhere else at the moment. Walter slaps the Polaroid of Peter onto the machine with the lightbulb. "Eventually, we'll connect this to your head," says Walter. Peter looks thrilled.

So Astrid cranks up the apparatus to two-hundred microvolts, which makes the dead body start shaking. The light bulb starts to glow. "Oh, look, Peter. He's talking to you," says Walter, smiling, at least until the light bulb pops and smoke curls upwards. "I suppose it's a good thing it wasn't attached to your head," he says. Well, that depends on who you ask, I imagine.

We join Olivia and Lucas in mid-conversation, with Olivia saying she doesn't believe him, and Lucas saying he looked into it, and we never find out what they're talking about. Instead, Lucas asks who it was who broke her heart. "Or am I misreading you?" he says.

Olivia thinks about it a moment before saying that he was her partner at the Bureau. "And you of all people should know that I've always been a little inept at this. But he was straightforward, decisive, charming, and it was wonderful. Except it was all a lie, and he betrayed me. Betrayed the job. Then he died. That's the end." Well, she's succinct, I'll give her that. He waits a moment, then says, "That's the end for him." And then comes the moment when he starts lamenting losing her, how he screwed up. Olivia says the timing wasn't right for either of them, and he starts blathering about how it was, but he was scared, and he thinks about her, but he doesn't call, and he's ashamed of how he treated her ... and I'm not quite sure, because I was busy punching myself in the face just for something to do instead of listening to this nonsense for another second, and then they start making out.

But the making out only continues until just after the commercial break, when Olivia's cellphone starts ringing. Olivia's the one who breaks the clinch. "I have to get this," she says. "I hate whoever that is," says Lucas. Oh, just head to the bathroom with some Kleenex, you big baby. Once again, it's Peter, telling her that she's not really going to believe this, but he thinks it might work. I find it hard to believe, especially since when last we saw the gang, they were blowing up light bulbs. Peter says there are some limits, and some issues and problems. "But Walter seems to think we can get the dead guy to answer some questions." Olivia says she'll call from the prison, eight a.m. her time. Peter apparently feels no need to complain that that's going to be 2 a.m. Boston time. After she gets off the phone, she turns to Lucas, gives an annoying smile and says she's going to head back to the hotel. "Grateful to you, to the incredible cooking, and your sweet words," she says, like what kind of thank you is that? She kisses him on the cheek, and he doesn't even say anything, just sits there with his blue balls.

So the next morning, Lennox takes Olivia through the security checkpoint, while back at Harvard, Peter's all hooked up and ready to go. Walter wants the machine, and he tells Astrid, whom he calls "Astro," to ask Peter a question when he says go. "I will flip the switch, which will stimulate our naked friend's brain, and Peter, you will hear his response." Astrid has no idea what to ask him. Walter says to ask anything she likes, since it's only a dry run. "And son, I should apologize in advance. I'm afraid this .... Well, I shouldn't frighten you." Peter agrees. I think Peter has extra pants here just in case.

Walter gives the signal. Astrid says, "What's your favorite flavour of ice cream?" Walter cranks the dial, and the electricity crackles, making both bodies convulse. Peter groans. "Anything?" asks Walter. Yeah, that's NO, says Peter. So Walter tries again, with Astrid asking what Smith's favorite colour is. More convulsing. "Nope, still nothing. Just extreme discomfort." Shouldn't the electricity be cranked before the question is asked so Smith can hear it? Wait a minute, what the hell am I even asking questions for?

Astrid's cellphone rings. It's Olivia, saying she's going in to see Jones now. Both the Bishops holler that they need her to stall, and Olivia says she'll do what she can, but she's only got fourteen minutes, starting now.

She goes in, and Jones is sitting at a table, looking appropriately evil. She strolls across the floor and sits down. "What a pleasure this is," he says. She puts a cellphone on the table and says they have Smith in custody. "You will not speak with him directly. You will ask me one question that you want answered. I will relay that question to an agent back in the States, who will talk to Mr. Smith. I wi

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