Roswell
Control (2)

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Out of control

Max coughs again, politely, and Langley calls for his boys -- two beefy security types, who must have been lurking outside the door, listening to the whole film-endangering fracas. So they must know that Langley is an alien. So he must be about to kill them. Good. More death. Alas, it is not to be, as Langley tells Max to scoot his butt out of town -- or die -- and directs the bouncers to escort him "to my airplane," emphasizing the "my" so we know it belongs to him, and that he's a very powerful man. In case we hadn't caught that before. It hurts to be hit with a board like that, and we haven't even made it to the credits. A long, torturous experience spreads itself before me. The boys drag Max from the room, who protests like he's just swallowed five Vicodins.

Thank God that's over. Or maybe not, since Isabel's on the screen. At a wedding-to-be. Having a conversation about her desire for a country wedding -- something simple, just like her -- with a wedding planner. Ewww -- a very scary wedding planner, who looks like the spawn of Reese Witherspoon and a conehead. This woman is all about pointy angles, which probably well equips her for wedding planning. She uses the word "brainstorming," and refers to Isabel's mother as "Mom," without any pronouns, like that's her actual name, both of which immediately mark her for elimination in the universe where I reside. Isabel's mother pops in to deny that she's has any part in planting the country wedding notion in Isabel's addled mind, adding that she can hardly get used to the idea of Isabel getting hitched. Isabel takes umbrage, reminding Mom that she promised to be supportive. Her mother replies with a shrug and a throwaway line that says, "Like hell I did," and the wedding planner delivers some prim, patronizing response that I'm sure they include in the training manual, before spouting some hooey about languishing lilies and galloping off to be officious elsewhere.

Isabel stays pissy with "Mom," scolding her for being too negative. Her mother (let's call her Eunice, just for kicks) replies that she's still in shock, as she can barely get used to the idea of Isabel graduating from high school, even though she's clearly pushing thirty. Sad -- a decade in high school with nothing learned. Isabel reminds Eunice that they "have been discussing this for forty-eight hours straight," and that she was the one who hired the annoying wedding planner. Right on about the wedding planner, Isabel, but you're smoking some serious crack if you think that forty-eight hours of marathon sharing is nearly enough to assuage a mother who had no idea you were even dating Jesse, let alone planning to marry the guy. Grow up, Miss Snivel. On another note, Eunice is so not flattered by my VCR's pause button. She's definitely a woman who has been through the wringer. Anyhooch, Eunice defends the decision to retain the Wedding Freak because "if" Isabel is planning to go through with this, she needs to have a plan -- and because clearly neither Isabel nor Eunice is capable of making anything happen smoothly. Isabel gets upset about the "if," and WF reappears, apparently after delanguishing her lilies. Isabel starts yammering about her country wedding again -- freshly mown field, pond, barn, blah blah blah -- and WF systematically dismantles Martha's -- er, Isabel's cutesy-poo idea. There's insects and stuff out there in the country. She recommends the lobby of the Springfield Inn (great -- so Marge and Homer can attend), saying she's done a whole bushel of great weddings there, but Isabel gets huffy (her apparent specialty -- the whole, entire, mean and ugly world just hates you, Isabel, don't they?), and says she wants her own wedding, not someone else's. I suppose she has a point -- I wouldn't want to get hitched in a hotel lobby either. But then again, I don't want to get hitched, period.

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Roswell

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