Over at The Brotherfucking Boudoir (or, as E-Mail Dave suggested I call it, Billydelphia -- The House of Brotherly Love), Brenda and Billy are just waking up. Be sure to note, incidentally, the very clever way in which this scene makes it appear that Billy is the normal and well-adjusted one, while Brenda seems to be regressing back to childhood and hiding from all her emotional problems. That'll be important later. Billy is fully dressed and reading the newspaper here, whereas Brenda is huddled under a blanket with her nose buried in a Nathaniel & Isabel tome. "I don't remember these books being so dark," she announces. "These kids in the orphanage are being tortured." "That's the best part," replies Billy. There's some more of the de rigueur Chenowith psychobabble about "dark fantasy," and then Brenda comes across a particularly nasty section and exclaims, "Oh, Jesus!" Billy responds to this with a "Hmm?" that seems to say, "Are you talking to me?" Oh, yeah, that's a shout-out! Woo-hoo! Creepy Jesus has returned at last! Thanks, Scott Buck. Just for that, I'm going to pay to see Tremors 4: This Time They Finally Eat That "Family Ties" Guy. The disturbing section in question involves the Evil Nurse making Nathaniel and Isabel cane each other as punishment, and Billy wants Brenda to read that part out loud. Yeah. Of course he does. "You're sick," she mutters. "If by that you mean suffering from bipolar disorder with occasional psychotic episodes," he replies, "then yes, I am." Heh. And you don't even know the half of it just yet.
LAC Arts. Olivier makes a big production out of praising one of Claire's photographs as the rest of the class slaves away in the background on their own projects. God, this guy even sounds smarmy when he's trying to be nice. Which, technically, he really isn't doing here, but we'll get to his real agenda in a minute. Claire is all jazzed up by her professor's compliments, and she even makes a cute little art joke about Magritte and the size of his apples. Russell, meanwhile, is busy playing with knives and valiantly trying to use his hair to help make up for OPEC's shortfall in international crude oil production until the sanctions can be lifted on Iraq. Then he suddenly has a complete and utter freak-out, screaming, "I hate it! I hate everything! I hate this shit! It's all shit!" Now, see? Right there is when I knew this relationship was doomed. Russell is obviously a "shit" person, and we all know that the Fishers are "fuck" aficionados, so I really don't see what he and Claire have in common. The rest of the class just stares at this meltdown in silence, but Olivier decides to use it as a teaching opportunity. "You hate your work because you secretly hate yourself," he smarms. "Which means that you're still only thinking about and looking at yourself." Then he tells a faintly ludicrous story about putting some of his work in a car, which he then lit on fire and sent careening through the streets of Montmarte. Oh, whatever, Euro-Boy. We're totally going to find out one of these days that Olivier's real name is Oliver Castriale and he's actually from some hick Cajun town in Louisiana or something. He's probably never even left the country. "Tell me something, Olivier," snarls Russell from between the few strands of hair that he hasn't already plugged into the Trans-Alaskan pipeline. "If you know so much about art and life, how come you ended up being such a pathetic poser who needs people half his age to prop him up and make him feel good about himself?" Ooh, burn! Or at least it would have been a burn if Russell didn't do such a prissy job of storming out of the room. "He could have at least made an effort to slam the door," chides Olivier. "Young people have absolutely no commitment today." Sigh. You know what I hate? When the closed captioning has better comedic timing than the actor. It happened on that last line, and to be honest, it's a surprisingly common problem. I guess there probably aren't that many non-hearing-impaired people who use the captions enough to notice, though.