In any event, the boys review the facts of Ole Grizzly Frank's violent and untimely demise, and there's nothing we don't already know, aside from the fact that The Wide Wide World Of Web's already running rampant with rumors of similarly violent and untimely deaths on the same soundstage in the past. Dean goes on at length explaining the supposed Poltergeist curse -- because, as he puts it, Sam "know[s] nothing of [his] cultural heritage" -- before wondering if Sam managed to snag a copy of "Frank Jaffe's" death certificate. Sam admits he hasn't but dismisses the whole thing, nattering something about people never using their real names in Hollywood. He does note, however, that someone on the set claims to have spotted something unnatural in the moments before she found Frank's corpse, and if El Deano was inordinately thrilled to spot the supposed Matt Damon earlier, his reaction then is nothing compared to the spasms of joy that twitch across his face when he learns that the witness in question is "Tara Benchley." "Tara Benchley?" he repeats, halting dead in his tracks in initial disbelief. "From-Fear-Dot-Com-and-Ghost-Ship Tara Benchley? Dude, why didn't you say so?" As Dean breaks out a thousand-watt grin of fan-boyish glee, Sam blinks. "So, now you're suddenly on board?" Sam snits, referring to Dean's earlier reluctance to get to work immediately. "I, just, uh," Dean stammers, struggling to suppress the grin before LYING, "I mean, I'm a fan of her work." And by "work," he means "boobs." I'm sure. El Deano wilts a bit under Darling Sammy's stern gaze, and he drops his head prior to continuing, "It's very good." Hee.
"Don't get me wrong," the supremely awesome Gary Cole begins once the camera's shot over to land upon him somewhere deep inside Stage Nine, "everyone at the studio loves the dailies -- myself included -- we were just wondering if it could be...you know, a little brighter." I don't know if Kripke & Ko. are lampooning the actual suits at the network who have made this complaint about Supernatural in the past, or if they're targeting the LiveJournal fangirls who have bitched in a similar manner because the darkness is ruining their screenshots, or if the true object of The Kripkeeper's snide affections is your faithful recapper himself, but any way you slice it, it is almost as awesome as Gary Cole. By the way, the camera's been skittering around during all that to note both that Gary Cole's blathering at the unctuous director and a gentleman we'll soon learn is the flick's producer, and that Our Intrepid Heroes have somehow managed to evade soundstage security to gain access to the set. In any event, "Jay" the producer repeats incredulously, "'Brighter'?" "More color!" Gary Cole smarms back before turning to the unctuous director with, "McG, you know what I'm saying -- you're the master at that stuff!" The unctuous director is supposed to be McG? Suddenly, it all makes sense. Though the idea of applying the word "master" to McG without appending various appropriate suffixes to those two syllables is far too much for my puny little brain to comprehend, so let's just gloss over that to note that Gary Cole is here playing a guy named "Brad," and that neither the unctuous director nor the hacky producer appreciate the studio's attempts to interfere with their collective creative process, or whatever. Gary Cole ignores them completely to continue, "Who says horror has to be dark? I mean, it's just sort of...depressing." No, Gary Cole, what's depressing is when something as low-budget as this actually does turn up the lights, because then we can see how shoddily constructed everything is. Ooops. Did I just type that out loud? "You did indeed!" shrieks Raoul. I'm sorry! Ignore me, Supernatural! I wasn't talking about you! Mostly.