We little fang hags have had some good news over the past week. The CW ordered the back nine scripts of Dawson's Teeth. Now, scripts so are not episodes, as any self-respecting Firefly fan will tell you, but unlike that great What-Could-Have-Been, this show is on the CW, rather than FOX, in its Friday Night Deathslot. Excuse me while I channel Bonnie, but I can see the CW's lawyers and Kevin Williamson's lawyers hammering out the details over (domestic) champagne and caviar as I type. We already knew The Vampire Diaries was the CW's best premiering drama, EVA, but its performance in those coveted demos that make the advertisers faces go all vein-y and turn their eyes red is quite strong for the little netlet that still might. So and without further ado, let's see what all the fuss is about.
Previously, on The Vampire Diaries: For over a century, Stefan Salvatore has hidden in the shadows, but now takes a flying leap off the roof of Mossy Manse and into sunshine of Elena Gilbert's love. Stefan and Elena meet. Elena and Damon meet. Damon and Stefan have already met, since they're brothers, so what's left for Damon, but to taunt Stefan about his desire to feel alive? Elena asks Stefan about his ex, Katherine, who -- unbeknownst to Elena -- was last alive around 1864 and is Elena's doppelganger. Bonnie, Elena's personal psychic friend network, touches Stefan's hand and gets a wiggins. Stefan asks Damon what he's up to, and Damon says the goofiest-ass thing anyone has ever said (even on the CW). "That's for me to know, and you to dot dot dot." No. Really. Caroline, who has a bit of a Marsha Marsha Marsha complex where Elena's popularity is concerned, meets up with Damon. They hit it off and hit the sheets. But once she arches her back and thrusts her bright pink bra north to give the camera a clear shot, Damon vamps out. Fangs bared, Damon lunges at her. Caroline's screams carry us into the black.
Now: Over pretty shots of the early morning sky, I wonder who's in the Victim of the Week slot. We close in on a bedroom. A young, female figure, dressed in a grey negligee with red piping, lies in repose. Oh, I figured we'd see Caroline, but who can forget the bright pink bra? We pan up over the VotW's savaged and bloodstained neck to her face. It is Caroline. Goodbye, Caroline. No, wait! She's alive or... something. She wakes with a start, sits up, and stares in the mirror as her hand goes to her neck. And I'm annoyed, because although I might see the fang marks in the shot (they'd be on our left, here -- because -- mirror) her hair is in the way, the shot isn't crystal clear and frankly -- something distracting is going on with her breasts. Do you see that? Now I'm not picking on Candice Accola. Believe me, I'd take trade my bod in for hers, any day. But someone on the set should have seen that and adjusted things, or put her back the pink bra. Even once the cameraman is done playing with mirrors, we still don't get an unambiguous look at her neck. Caroline examines her fingers, but we can't see if they've picked up blood from a wound. Oh, wait. I think I see the wound. Or it could be a shadow and hair. Or the wound. I need HD TV. Please send me all your money at CynthiaMcLennan[at]gmail.com.