Augustus Hill: "Music is the brandy of the damned." -- George Bernard Shaw, Man and Superman
Aaron: "Shoot me in the chest!" -- Benito Mussolini. Firing squad, April 28, 1945.
Dobbins continues playing a serene melody over a long, well-executed scene of Cyril being prepped for and then receiving his electroshock treatment. It's not as good as the one in Requiem for a Dream, but in this case that's a compliment, because trying to rip off Darren Aronofsky is a quintessential first-year-of-film-school mistake. On the other hand, why the hell hasn't this show cast Ellen Burstyn yet? With all The Exorcist references and Tom Fontana's diva fetish, she seems like she'd be a natural. Maybe she could play George Michael's mother.
Later, Ryan and Betty Buckley come to visit Cyril in his cell. He's drooling and in pain, but he does seem to be a bit more lucid than normal, so maybe progress actually is being made. Betty holds him tenderly in her arms and gently sings him to sleep, as Ryan stands by and cries a single, solitary tear at the knowledge that his brother will probably always get laid more than he does after the show is over, because girls in bars always want to take pity on the poor retarded guy. ["I'd like to thank my family for loving me and taking care of me. And the rest of the world can kiss my ass." -- Johnny Frank Garrett (lethal injection, February 11, 1992)]
Unfortunately, things just keep getting worse for Ryan and Cyril, as Pete comes to Ryan's pod and informs him that not only has Cyril's appeal been denied, but his execution has actually been scheduled to take place in less than a month. Ryan refuses to accept that his brother might die, because doing so would be tantamount to giving up, and also because playing the loving sibling will help him pick up Scott's sloppy seconds later in life. He then holds up Father Salty Shitpants's old Bible, and says that for the first time in his life he actually has faith. And he's not even talking about George Michael. At least I don't think he is. Fade to black.
Fade up on the black inmates, gathered in a classroom while Crackhead Cosby explains his grand telemarketing scheme. Sadly, no one says the words "pudding pops," although everyone does complain when Redding says they're not going to be selling drugs anymore. Cosby next heads off to meet with Business Barbie and her smarmy new client, who just so happens to be the campaign manager for a right-wing senator who'll surely factor into some future plot point or another. Oh, and I'm not sure whether it's the tight sweater or the fact that she keeps tossing around words like "call volume" and "contact numbers," but Business Barbie is suddenly starting to look really hot to me. That girl can call me during dinner anytime.