Opening credits: Shut up, bitch.
Our long-lost epistolary convention of "cheesy voice-over narration" finally gets a fucking pen pal, and we return to find Max "Dugan Returns, And Returns And Returns And Returns" Evans sitting on the dock of the landlocked state of New Mexico, reading a letter. Liz "P.S. I Hate You, You You You" Parker's voice is everywhere, which is all places too many: "Dear Max: It's so horrible and so unjust to pass you in the school and have to wonder whether some teacher's gonna call my father." Boo hoo, Liz. You had me until "it's so horrible to see you." And then you lost me. Let's go see if she can get us back: "But no matter how hard my parents try, nothing can keep us apart." This would all probably be a lot more touching and gay were Liz narrating this sequence with an emotional investment slightly higher than that akin to "reading stereo instructions that have been translated from English to Japanese and then back to English again." Like, "Dear Max: Me like preset stations long time" or some such equally well-written thing. She goes for the jugular: "I love you." Max smiles ever so imperceptibly, and the pier on which he sits threatens to tear loose from its moorings and float itself back to an actual state with some goddamn water. "Even when I can't see you in the day, I see you at night. In my dreams. And I have been. Dreaming about you." Because every time she's telling secrets, she remembers how it used to be. And she realized how much she missed him. And she realized how it feels to be free.
The voice-over continues as we jet over to the Crashdown, Liz dreamily wiping off the counter and watching as Max walks up to the front door, stares in mournfully all, "But it's the only place to eeeeeeeeeat," and moving swiftly away before Slackjaw has a chance to swoop down and enact some of that just-add-third-season-necessity-and-stir Instant Vigilant Justice we've come to know so well. And here is what the voice-over says: "Over and over, it's you and me holding hands and flying through the night. I know it sounds cornball, but it isn't. It's amazink! Like Superman and Lois Lane in the first movie. Y'know, the good one." Thus splitting the audience into the two polarizing camps of the ones that screams, "If your version of 'the good one' is The Quest for Peace, where Gene Hackman is all bloated and cashing his paycheck in the middle every scene so he can pay for his replacement colostomy bags, damn geezer" and the one that smacks its collective forehead, yells, "Oh, shit! Smallville premiere!" and lunges thankfully for the remote.