Roswell
Control (2)

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Out of control

Isabel is now out walking in the night air. We can tell she's pissed because she keeps touching the lampposts along the path and blowing out the bulbs at the top; if she can't see what she's doing, then nobody else can, dammit. What a little rebel. Problem is, the night's not getting any darker. Pesky stage lighting. Michael races up on his motorcycle and starts bantering with Isabel, who's clearly in no mood for jollity. Poof! Another light out. He asks what's up with Eunice, and Isabel tells him she's getting married in two weeks and that her own mother wants nothing to do with it. She's all alone in this. Except that she's got a fiancé, who has completely disappeared, leaving her to cope solo, which is a pretty low thing to do. Yet another thing that does not bode well for this couple, but of course Isabel can't see this, since she's doused the lights and all. She tells Michael that Max found out and was unsupportive, which is why she needed Michael to congratulate her. Michael says that Isabel doesn't care what he thinks, because if she did, she wouldn't have had Maria break the news. Busted. Isabel apologizes, promises to keep Jesse safe, and tells Michael that his opinion matters as much as Max's, that she thinks of him as a brother. Apparently mollified, Michael raises his right arm and blows out a light several feet away in a shower of sparks, to show Isabel how a real man does it. She argues for feminine delicacy. Michael confirms that the wedding will happen in two weeks (whoops, no, a little less) and then congratulates Isabel, who rewards him with a big smile and a hug. A little begrudging (and presumably hollow) support goes a long way for her.

As Liz sweeps the floor in her Crashdown uniform, emotive music (complete with throaty male vocals) swells, warning me that Max will soon be back to wallow and beg for forgiveness. And there he is, looking sheepish in green. She asks when he got back, which was just now, and then reminds him that he didn't call. He claims all-night driving to see her prevented him from dialing. He slowly approaches her, says he's sorry, and then starts this weird, robotic, uncomfortable looking arm motion designed to convey emphasis, emotion, and feeling that he must have learned at K-mart acting classes, but which only makes him look like one of those jet-molded plastic dolls whose arms move when you press a button in their back. Liz tells Max that she can't do this -- that she loves him, but that she hasn't really been feeling it back. He keeps apologizing, apparently having taken Cal's advice somewhat to heart, and she keeps resisting. She asks what happened, and he says that he messed everything up, that he failed, that his son is still "up there," and then the sob story breaks down her defenses, and she goes to him, enfolding him in her arms and telling him that it's okay, and he's crying and apologizing and promising never to leave her. Not so for me; I'm thrilled as the credits roll, signaling that it's time for me to claw my way out of the abyss of mediocre programming and return to regular life. Thank you, and goodnight. Thus ends my Roswell odyssey, and none to soon. If you need me, I'll be fleeing as fast as I can in the other direction.

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Roswell

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