We return from a short (okay, six minutes. God, I love recapping MTV shows) commercial break, to find Jason and Timber still outside the bar, Jason screaming, "I'm not gonna work anything out with you right there!" Why not, she asks? He word-poems, "Because of the way you acted tonight, because of the way you treated, because of the way you fronted!" Hmmm. I know most of those words. Just not in that order. He tells her that he can't handle talking to her when she is "this hammered," and Timber trips over a particular vexatious patch of, well, air, that happened to get in her way on the sidewalk right in the middle of an already unconvincing lecture about how not hammered she is. Uh. Huh. He tells her, "I love you but I hate you right now." He tells us, "My mom used to drink," driving home the next in a long string of comparisons between the women he dates and, apparently, the only woman he'll ever really love. He also tells us that Timber's father left her when she was five, because, well, wah. Cut to Jason dropping her back off at the airport (man, the remaining six and a half unaired days of that visit must really have made for some riveting television. Guess we'll have to wait for the DVD version to know for sure), the hopeless romantic in all of us feeling for the following words of sincerity and trust. Like, ha ha. Not. Let's listen in! "I could always be there and always reassure her that I'm gonna stay with her, that I'm gonna stick with her. But that could be a lie."
I, um, don't even know if I can recap this same exact conversation for the sixtieth time in the last twenty-seven minutes (minus eighteen or so minutes of promos for the MTV Movie Awards). I really, really don't. You can practically hear the director yelling, "And, action!" before Syrus barely stops himself from yelling "Yeah, but we've said all these words already," and instead reads from the provided script: "Back to what we were talking about, Sean. Your views on this whole black and white thing." They walk down an endless stretch of pavement doubtlessly known as The Longest Street in Boston, while Syrus speeches the masses about "little subtle things as a kid. Even looking at pictures of Jesus Christ as a white man." The soundtrack takes a turn for the dramatic, with scary strings ahoy, in a frighteningly calculated attempt to prove to the ten remaining viewers that Syrus and Sean's conversation has taken a profound turn for the theological. Which it hasn't. Sean Minnesotas (is that an adept enough active verb description of his speech patterns?), "You should be able to take responsibility for what you do yourself." And then his confessional lets us know, in all his ultra-left wing liberated glory: "I don't think the black people's issues are that intense at this point in our society." Sean tells Syrus that he thinks "it's all relative," that Sean can be assaulted in a black neighborhood just as easily as Syrus would be mugged or otherwise compromised in a white neighborhood. There's even a quick shot of children's center, in which Sean and Syrus are predictably in the process of doing anything besides watching any children today, arguing over -- get this -- what color the construction paper background of a project they're working on should be. Syrus cracks up. Because he made a funny.