In any event, once the tinkling is done, we return to the unlikely soundstage to find Sam and Dean still flailing about atop their mattress, after which the camera sneaks over to the bank of monitors arrayed in front of the director and his assistants, and here's my main problem with tonight's hijinks: In case you haven't figured it out by now, Belthazor hurled Our Intrepid Heroes into an alternate reality of his making to protect them from Raphael's ravening hordes. That's fine -- I mean, after all, the boys have been flung into alternate realities of various creatures' making since the second season, so this premise is nothing we haven't dealt with before. However, in each of those previous instances, the narrative never strayed from events the boys themselves were experiencing -- in other words, we never heard or saw anything Sam and Dean didn't hear or see for themselves.. Hell, even when they ascended into Heaven last season, we never got a glimpse of anything outside of their direct experience of the place. So, why are the idiots responsible for this mess fucking with well-established precedent by shuttling the camera over to the director's chair for the in-jokey conversation between Brian Doyle-Murray and his underlings that follows? For that matter, why does the camera linger on "Misha Collins" farting around with his Twitter feed later in the episode, long after Sam and Dean have wandered out of earshot of the guy? And why do we then witness "Misha's" kidnapping and murder? And "Eric Kripke" going down in a hail of bullets?
Whatever. I've already wasted more time thinking about it than they apparently did, and besides: Season Six, right? Oh, oops. They haven't gotten to that "joke" yet, have they?
So, the camera sneaks over to the bank of monitors arrayed in front of the director and his assistants, and the assembled gentlemen are quite dismayed to realize that some bizarre interference with the signal has basically rendered the latest shot unusable. "Well," one of the disappointed assistants sighs, running through their options for a fix, "we can clean up, reset the window -- takes about 95 minutes, basically, so we'd have to blow off the scene where they sit on the Impala and talk about their feelings." "Right!" Brian Doyle-Murray scoffs, anticipating the response of the show's batshit fangirls. "You answer the hate mail." "Or," the assistant testily continues, "we could have them fly at the window, then freeze-frame, then cut to black for the act-out." "Freeze-frame?" Brian Doyle-Murray eyebrows, his distaste obvious. "Serviceable," the other, Quebecois assistant decides, and despite his aversion to relying on so cheap and tawdry an effect to make up for the ruined take, Brian Doyle-Murray shrugs, "Fine!" "Whatever," he grumps before rolling his eyes heavenwards and heavily sighing, "Season Six," his tone indicating it's been as much of a joyless chore to film as it has been to watch. "Moving on!" he barks, and with that, the soundstage lights brighten as the first assistant announces to all and sundry, "That's a wrap on Jared and Jensen!" And now that the show is forcing me to think about it, it occurs to me that "Jared" and "Jensen" are awfully wimpy names for these two guys, aren't they?