William Sadler directed this episode. And he wanted you to know.
A passel of Military Guys takes pictures at the crime scene and listens to an audio recording of things breaking and one woman screaming. A "sir" asks, "So we lost all sixteen?" Another uniformed man, who I believe was in last week's episode, confirms that they have, but conveniently shows the first military man that "an automated security camera snapped this as it was leaving the building." Other man demands, "I want Roswell locked down and searched until this thing is found and destroyed. Do you understand me?" Shutting down Roswell until it's destroyed? He wouldn't be the first one to suggest it. Maybe this whole episode is an allegory for the show's cancellation, where the military men are the greedy network execs and the trapped aliens are the poor disenfranchised viewers. Fuck. I have got to stop reading Animal Farm right before I go to bed. I hear that the pigs represent indentured migrant sweatshop workers and that everybody else is supposed to be the French. Or something.
Den Of Porno under the stars. Jim "Porno" Valenti and Kyle "What's Vishnu, Pussycat?" Valenti enter through the front door, each carrying one brimming shopping bag, midway through a conversation that finds Kyle blah-blah-ing, " the way home tonight," and Porno responding, "Yeah, but " They're talking about how they're the only actors on this show who are ever going to work again. I just know it somehow. But hark! Their house is destroyed. Everything's broken, overturned, or stolen, and there appears to be blood smeared on the wall. Porno reaches into what must be some kind of gun tote on the wall and pulls out a gun. He rounds a corner just as the door to Kyle's room slams shut. Pause. Pause. Pause. Porno opens the bedroom door to a flash of light, and then there's a giant hole in the wall of the house and no one to account for it. Great. Structural damage. Why not just use a five-second mindwarp and walk out the front freaking door, if you're on the run and trying to avoid arousing any suspicion? Good God. No wonder none of these idiots can't fly to earth without crashing the damn thing.
The enterprising production assistant that found a copy of Now That's What I Call Sound Effects on eBay hits play on "Helicopters Hovering." The track is the exact length of the remainder of this episode. A shot of a helicopter against a pitch-black night sky cuts to Monopoly Nazi looking through his window, assumedly at a helicopter. It's broad daylight. He's looking at helicopters in the future, I guess. Helicopters hover above Fortress Evans, but no national security is strong enough to bar the stilted dialogue that creeps in despite their best efforts to contain it. Here's some now. Max waits until everyone in the room has hit his or her masking-taped marks before inauthentically launching into The Reason We're Here: "So, Mom. What's for dinner." Bangs informs the living room assemblage of Jesse, Isabel, and Max that she's not cooking tonight, and also that it's not delivery, it's not DiGiorno, it's not diddly frapping anything. She wants to talk. Jesse's TV dinner, all wasted for nothing. Monopoly Nazi leans forward and picks the remote up off the table, hitting play to show Isabel's centrifugal display from last week. Bangs turns off the tape. Then she appears to turn it off again. Old people never know how to program the VCR. Isabel pauses a moment and then rises in a huff, all incredulous that her parents were spying on her. They argue that she left them with no choice, and Monopoly Nazi asks, "Can you please just tell us what this means? Who are you?" Max stands up and valiantly offers, "We're your kids," before hearing a noise in the kitchen and getting the hell out of the living room before he has to explain more than just a few spinning items in a bedroom. Like his current hairstyle, for instance, and why muttonchops can't be molecularly manipulated.