"Goshdarnit," you can hear the "writers" moan before this next scene, "We forgot to write the next scene. We must have been far too busy learning how to read first!" And so Bangs and Isabel are completely on their own this time, as they walk back into Isabel's mysteriously furniture-less living room and plop down on the couch. Isabel's tight pink turtleneck clashes with the wall behind her so badly it makes my teeth hurt. And yet it still isn't the most jarring part of the scene. Bangs: "Have you ever seen discounts like that? You'd think the whole town was having a fire sale!" Isabel: "Yeah." Bangs: "How's Max, Isabel?" For those of you keeping score, it's now people who care about Max: 1, elegantly constructed dialogue: 0.
And we're back at The International House Of Hemingway Collection, where Monopoly Nazi demands of Jesse, "Forget I'm your father-in-law for a second." Jesse offers, "Yes, Dad." Failure in life, thirsty for Naya.
Bangs looks at a wedding picture of herself, her husband, Isabel, Jesse, and…who the hell is that last one? Bangs goads, "Nothing worse than being in a house without the one you love, is there?" I have a keen sense that this scene is once again coming to an end. Looks like some clever "writer" or another figured out the intercutting tab on his Final Draft. Well done, "writer!"
Monopoly Nazi just wants to know that everything is okay.
Isabel notes that Jesse "won't be gone forever." But Bangs hates being alone in the house when her husband is away, because girls can't do anything including math and eek, a mouse! Jeez, woman. Be a woman.
Jesse is glad that Monopoly Nazi is concerned. Monopoly Nazi wants Jesse to talk about Isabel with him. But not if he's not going to let the scene contin…
Bangs tells Isabel to come stay at home with her. She'll even make "double fudge brownies." Isabel thinks that "sounds great." Now STOP CUTTING. Good God, man. Next thing you know it will be a split screen and Harvey Johnson asking Mrs. Henkel if he can speak to Penelope Sue.
Dusty Outpost Location Containing Cars. BoyTess meets a "sir" in full military regalia and confronts him with the Griffin helmet. He asks, "Where'd you get this?" She offers merely, "Through a friendly, sir." Is that what she says? What's a "friendly"? That's an adjective, not a noun. Someone needs to brush up on her Mad Libs or she's going to end up chair. If you know what I mean. But the ambiguous "sir" in question turns things around, asking of BoyTess, "Has your father been depressed lately?" BoyTess asks incredulously if she thinks her father killed himself, and he snarks, "We can't find him. We have reason to believe he might have gone over with information pertaining to the raptor." The what? What's going on? Is this JAG? BoyTess assures "Sir" that her father is not a traitor, getting back in her Government-Issue Bland Gray Car and driving off in a huff. The radio in that car only plays Paul Anka. Pause. Pause. Pause. Out from between two trailers walks London Fog, who informs Sir, "That was quite a yarn." Sir demands that London Fog "find the friendly that gave her the helmet. I'll meet with you later." London Fog unctuously replies, "Sure. Maybe we can split a malt or something." A malt? Even London Fog doesn't think it's the '50s. He thinks it's 1984. At the height of the London Fog empire.