Lone Gunmen
Tango De Los Pistoleros

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Tango De Los Pistoleros

Lights up on a spotlight, shining right into our eyes. Yves busts out with a voice-over, and can I just say that I think voice-overs are a quite often-misused device? Wonder Boys probably used it best, using it not as exposition or a weak dialogue substitute; plus it was used sparingly. When Winona Rider was on Friends last week I was so waiting for her to bust out with the voice-over; it's in every single movie she's in. Quit it. Anyway, inside the circle of light that the spotlight provides, two dancers dance the tango: Jimmy, and a lady. A Spanish guitar plays madly, desperately. I barf as Yves says something about what looks like love really being sadness. I guess a dance isn't just a dance when it comes to the tango. Is that the lesson we learn this week? The Tango Is a Dialogue Between a Man and a Woman, Not of Love, but of Loneliness? Can I stop now? No? Dammit. The spotlight fades out and comes up on Byers and another woman, dancing -- expressing not love, but loneliness, as the voice-over helpfully tells me. Uh doy, we can all tell Byers is lonely. Tell him to stop by our boards; he's sure to find some lovin' arms there. Then Langly, in the van, removes his earpiece and de-vans, in slow-mo. Then, lights up on Frohike -- dancing sadly, madly, so lonely -- as he holds a beautiful woman that Yves tells us has all the power in this dance we call tango. Suddenly, a switchblade opens. The light gleams on the blade -- madly, desperately. The dancers dance. The blade, held by an invisible foe, advances forward. The dancers dance some more. Langly -- wearing what could be a Slade shirt, or is that the Alice Cooper band? -- checks his watch. Then, horror! The blade finds a home. Langly's face becomes a horrible death mask. He falls, into his own spotlight, a puddle of blood seeping slowly beneath him. The camera pulls up and I see he's wearing a Korn shirt. Dammit. I don't know how to make a backwards "r" on my Compaq laptop. The dancers circle him, oblivious to his pain, since they are so madly, desperately lonely. The spotlights fade and we go to the opening credits.

Lights up on a wharf. The blip tells me its Miami, 2:55 AM. Some goon in a suit is keeping watch, then makes a horrible grimace and collapses, only to be replaced by an identical goon. Wacky! The goon removes his dental voice device thing and says, in Yves's voice, "that wasn't very sporting of me." He retracts the taser from the first goon's back. Frohike watches all of this on the van cam, and starts popping a tiny boner for Yves and her killin' expertise, moaning and groaning about how beautiful she is -- the "black widow and her prey," and all that. Except Yves is in a goon suit now. Okay. Inside the van, Jimmy says that he "doesn't feel good about this." Frohike and Byers say they have a right to set Yves up since she's used them so many times, beside which they have "a right to this story." Frohike says it must be a good one to make him "set foot in Miami." Oh wow, is Frohike and Miami like B.A. Barracus and planes? If so, we may have a wacky situation on our hands. Or, a really lame trivia question to be saved for future use. Another goon drives up in a boat, parks it, and stalks up to Yves-à-la-goon-suit. They speak in Spanish. Jimmy contacts Langly via earpiece; Langly is swimming in the water with a garbage headdress on, like some cult Esther Williams picture that never got released. He creeps onto the boat and looks for something...could it be in the cooler? Could it be in the "six-pack of German beer"? Could it be that I'm craving a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon right about now? Langly pops open a can to investigate; the spray of beer blinds him, makes him squeal, and causes him to fall back onto the accelerator. The boat roars off, busting loose from its moorings, and Langly does a backwards somersault, falling back into the water. The boat-goon stares at the departing boat, giving Yves enough time to shed her goon suit and split. And she would have gotten away with it, too, if it weren't for those meddling...you know. Kids. No, gunmen.

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