The Pop Culture Closet

Julie, Julia and K: A Recipe to Cure Pop Culture Ennui

2009-09-13T03:13:00.001-06:00

As I have mentioned a few times in this blog, I sometimes get discouraged with pop culture. And, as you have seen, I can ignore my blog for months at a time. The death of Michael Jackson has left me decidedly un-entertained by the shennanigans of Heidi and Spencer, Lindsay Lohan or even my old throwback, Justin Timberlake, who seems content doing everything but making music (Congrats to him for snagging and Emmy for Best Actor in a Comedy Series—the first for an “SNL” host). I don’t care about Kourtney Kardashian’s baby or who’s bonin’ whom on the latest edition of “The Real World.” I’m not even excited for this year’s trainwreck award show, the VMAs. Yes, bloggers, I have been suffering from the worst case pop culture ennui I’ve ever had, and “G.I. Joe: The Rise of the Cobra” or “Patron Tequila” by the Paradiso Girls isn’t curing it.

But today, in a small theater in Nowhere, Midwest, my ennui was cured, the love of all things entertainment reborn after seeing the delicious little film called “Julie and Julia.” Starring the always scrumptious Meryl Strep (having a ball as always) and the adorable Amy Adams, the movie follows the lives of Julia Child and Julie Powell, two women, one in the 1950s, one in the new millenium, who found their joy and accomplishment in food.

In the first twenty minutes, I was rapt by Julie’s disgust at the daily drudgery of a job she hates, having little money (thankfully, I don’t live above a pizza joint) and edging closer to the big 3-0 miles away from the goals and successes you’d thought you’d have by that terrifying milestone.
My struggles have been briefly mentioned in this blog as well: finding a job that I can remotely enjoy, trying to get my book published, trying to make something of myself and not be jealous of my more successful friends. In college, I discovered a love of and a talent for cooking so much that I have contemplated enrolling in culinary school. Yes, while my peers were doing kegstands and playing beer pong, I was roasting chickens and saving a for a pasta maker. Watching the film felt like being rejuvenated, being heard, being understood just like Julie did when she cooked Juila’s recipes. While I don’t anticipate plowing through all 524 recipes in “Mastering the Art of French Cooking,” I definitely search the book for inspriation of my own, and hopefully, it’s in the Boeuf Bourguignon or the Pear Tarte.

Michael Jackson: Eternally Cool

2009-07-14T12:28:00.001-06:00

On June 25th, the impossible happened: the world got smaller and darker when Michael Jackson, the King of Pop, died. Fans across the globe gathered to build shrines, to dance, to celebrate the life of a remarkable, unimaginable talent who soared to unfathomable highs and debilitating lows.

This fateful blogger listened to Michael Jackson’s music in waves since I could remember, but had just deleted “Invincible” off my crowded mp3 player because I ached for new music. From the moment People.com announced his death to John Mayer performing at his public funeral, covered in flowers and prayers, I have asked myself how do you grieve for a stranger who felt like that coolest brother you ever had? How do you mourn for the slick gangster who taught you to “Jam,” begged for you to “Smile” and wanted to “Heal the World”? How do you accept that the life of the man provided you with your first memories of music and haled for your home state is no longer living?

My answer: I can’t. And more importantly, I don’t want to. To do so, it is to really accept the undoubtedly bleak reality that was Michael Jackson’s s life, the man behind the moonwalk and behind the scenes. The exhausting and isolating existence of the ultimate the child star with the ambitious (and abusive) father with a dream; the boy who never had a childhood, and according to ABC’s Martin Bashir, had never done the mundane tasks like go to the grocery store. To grieve for Michael Jackson is to realize that he was as haunted as he was talented, as flawed as he was a perfectionist. To do so, is to understand that Michael Jackson was just human, and not slightly more or a little better.

The child inside of me, who convinced herself she could do the “Smooth Criminal” lean if she just practiced enough who was always wowed by the musical superhero, petulantly refuses to accept it. But the adult I am now, who is finally able to comprehend just how extraordinarily gifted and troubled he was, has to. Until I put one of my many favorite songs—“Remember the Time,” “Thriller,” “The Way You Make Me Feel,” “Man in the Mirror,” “Jam,” “Heaven Can Wait,” “Smile”—and hear Michael, more alive and more free than most of us will ever know.

So headlines may say the King of Pop is dead, but I never will. Instead, I’ll press play and say, Long Live the King.

Conan O'Brien: The Comedic Supernova Takes Over "Tonight."

2009-06-02T03:14:00.007-06:00

Last night, as the stars brightened the summer sky, a miracle occurred. It wasn’t Halley’s Comet or a rare meteor-shower. It was something far more entertaining and awe-inspiring. I, your lover of all things pop cult, full-on belly-laughed during “The Tonight Show…” now helmed by the brilliantly zany (and dare I say handsome and a little more buff) Conan O’Brien. And the most amazing thing is that it happened through-out the fantastically fun debut of “Tonight’s” new host and gorgeous new set. I had an assortment of laughs: a hearty chuckle in the beginning skit of the show as my beloved Conan, preparing for the debut of his show, forgot to move to Los Angeles and literally ran over the Brooklyn bridge, through Wrigley Field, past the St. Louis Arch, the Rocky Moutains, Las Vegas, Death Valley and crashed through the gates at the Universal lot. I giggled ‘til I nearly cried as Conan took over the tram tour at the movie lot, doing everything from critiquing the actor playing Norman Bates’ attire in a way that would make Tim Gunn smile to taking the tram out onto the streets of L.A. to buy the tourists gifts at the 99 Cent Store! I fell over, whooping, at Will Ferrell as he declared that his fellow Tony Award nominee, Liza Minelli, is a communist and a “red menance” and that Conan’s projected success on the show is a “crapshoot.”

If you're a fan, you already know that Conan didn't dumb-down or dilute his trademark screwball humor for the more mainstream timeslot. He is still the same, NBC-bashing, stupid, lunatic he was in New York at 12:35am, and that is a wholehearted compliment. There are certain stars that you want to shine brighter than the rest because of they are unique, intelligent and talented. And Conan O’Brien is definitely one that should supernova. I gladly admit I carried the transcript of his the speech he delivered at the Harvard Commencement in 2000 in my purse for years, because it was as inspiring as it was ridiculous. He is unabashedly self-deprecating and incredibly quick-witted, and most importantly, a hell-of-a lot funnier than Jay Leno (who is still airing before O'Brien in a bizarre programming move by NBC execs).Last night, Conan hit the ground running with his own brand of pompadour-flopping humor with guest Will Ferrill and music act, Pearl Jam. I can’t wait to see him sincerely flirt with Hollywood’s A-listers. Judging by the enthusiastic audience's cheers, screams and chants, and Conan's hilarious first show, it won’t take a miracle for Conan to thrive in his shiny new digs.

Bravo, Conan, bravo!

Mirror, Mirror on the Wall, Why Am I Hotter than All? Jessica Biel Bravely Shares Her Plight

2009-05-29T12:41:00.003-06:00

While most people are embattled in horrific situations stemming from the recession, skyrockteing unemployment, foreclosure, swine flu, wildfires and even the casualties of war, one brave actress is speaking out, courageously sharing her personal pain for the betterment of others. No, I’m not referring to Farrah Fawcett’s sobering cancer documentary. Or even Brooke Shields’ struggle with thinning eyelashes (Thank God for Latisse!). It’s none other than the extremely healthy Jessica Biel. In the June issue of “Allure,” she details her frustration and pain about the tribulations of…hotness. Yes, you read that correctly. But it doesn’t end there, Ms. Biel if you’re nasty, thinks that her white-hot beauty hinders her career. Please grab your Kleenex (read: barf bag) and read on if you can:

Jessica Biel says her good looks are hurting her career.
"Yeah, it really is a problem."
The actress -- whose latest film, Powder Blue, (in which she plays a stripper) is going to straight to DVD -- isn't handed plum roles.
"I'm in there with everybody else, fighting for the good parts. Yes, The Illusionist has made a difference -- but a huge, massive difference, so I can pick and choose what I want? No."
Biel, 27, covets the careers of Scarlett Johansson and Natalie Portman.
"I just want an opportunity. If you don't like the audition, don't hire me!" she says. "But if you don't want to even see me -- that's hurtful. And why? You know nothing about me!"

If you aren’t emotional over that then you are DEAD INSIDE!

In all honesty, celebrities should understand that with half of the country in foreclosure, no one wants to hear about the difficulties of making millions of dollars. With CEOs working entry-level jobs to just make ends meet, the reading public and even the CASTING public doesn’t want to know how one’s perceived hotness is a detriment to one’s career, especially when it is a major job requirement. I guarantee the viewing public would not pay $10 per ticket to see Ron, the IT Supervisor, make whoopie with the Edna, a Wal-Mart salescleark, on a 20 foot screen.

Biel is not a terrible actress, but up until now, she has gleefully cashed in her wiles in the heinous action movie (co-starring Nic Cage) “Next,” the terrible “I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry,” and unforgivable fighter pilot crapfest, “Stealth.” If you depend on your looks for a paycheck—even if you’re paying your dues— you shouldn’t you be upset when Sorsese isn’t calling.

My mama taught me that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I’ll leave my faithful readers to debate Biel’s hotness or lackthereof. But countless other exquisite actresses have struggled to garner critical cred and have managed to do so by, yes, paying their dues, but working tirelessly to cultivate their talents by taking risks. For example, Ben Affleck and Matt Damon wrote “Good Will Hunting” to create starring roles for themselves and their friends—and won an Oscar for Best Original Screenplay. Charlize Theron, the South African stunner and former model, has her very own Oscar for her fantastic and chilling turn in “Monster.” The lovely Halle Berry became the first black woman to win the Best Actress Oscar in 2002. Now that is a career obstacle to complain about. She also has two Emmys for her work in “Introducing Dorothy Dandridge.”

I cannot sit here and condone Jessica’s use of a national magazine to complain about a seemingly trivial problem nor can I walk a mile in her Jimmy Choos. As I go to a job I don’t remotely like, I wish I could! I also wish that the beleaguered Ms. Biel will step away from the mirror, count her blessings, and work on her craft and maybe, just maybe, Sorsese will finally call.

The Great K Has Returned; DVR Pulled Me Back In!

2009-04-15T11:46:00.003-06:00

If you’ve spent even a moment browsing this blog, it’s fairly obvious that I’m a carding-carrying, in-need-of a-12-step-program (and eventually a “Sober House” with Dr. Drew Pinsky) pop culture addict. But even I—the girl who cursed the life of the postman who delivered her beloved “Entertainment Weekly” waterlogged from the current snowstorm—can sometimes be appalled by the ridiculousness of the media. From Jessica Simpson’s audacity to gain eleven pounds, to the inflammatory “she probably deserved it” comments surrounding the anything-but-funny Rihanna/Chris Brown Scandal, to the Kim Kardashian on “Larry King Live” talking about the worsening economy, I sometimes have to take a break from the fuckery.

And there is no better time to take a break than in the beginning of the year when celebrities are too busy patting themselves on the back with Oscars and Grammys and Golden Globes (oh my!) than to actually work. So I took a step back and tried to live life as a normal member of society who didn’t check EONLINE.Com five times a day to see if Britney/Lindsay/Miley Cyrus had any kind of dramatic kerfuffle. But in the midst of the economic crisis and the realization that our shiny new President, even with all of that swagger, common sense and intelligence, can’t fix the country in 85 days, we have embraced all of the ridiculous, petty and ugliness about Hollywood. I’d much rather pay attention to the weed-induced hilarity of Joaquin Phoenix than rant about how the economy is affecting my career (or lackthereof).

So I got DVR.

Normally, I’m a technology-phobe. I didn’t get a cell phone until I was 24 just because I wanted to be different (and didn’t want brain cancer).

I didn’t even want an MP3 player and only got one because my father bought it for me.

I didn’t “get” internet when it was first unveiled in the early 90s.

And now, of course, I can’t imagine my life without those wonderful, beautiful, fantastic toys. My purse has more electronics and adapters in it than makeup and lipgloss.

However, I always wanted DVR, but could never afford it. Now, I have a job working 3pm to midnight, and it became a necessity for K to stay in the pop cult loop and not miss “Supernatural,” “Ugly Betty,” etc. And DVR is officially the best thing that ever happened to me. It, like the perfect man in a romantic comedy, has pulled back the velvet curtains and revealed a world I could only imagine in my sad, loveless, pre-DVR life. I have discovered new shows and have had exquisite rendezvous’ with old friends like…

“Bones”
The delightful fun, fascinatingly disgusting show about Temperance Brennan, a foresensic anthropologist, and her disarmingly attractive FBI partner, Seely Booth (Emily Deschanel and David Boreanaz, respectively) is one I missed up until now. I watched this show when it first debuted in 2005, but college and impending graduation got in the way of regular viewership. Now, I DVR the show in syndication on TNT, and come home to the classic and oddly romantic “will they/won’t they” sexual tension between Bones and Booth. They make eyes at each other over purreed corpses and pulverized bones. The writing is as weird and gross as it is sentimental and sweet and intelligent. It’s the “Grey’s Anatomy” of cop procedurals (and I’m talking about ‘Pick me. Choose me. Love Me’ Grey’s, not the Izzie’s-sexing-a-ghost Grey’s.) and has magically avoided the behind-the-scenes drama. Bravo!

“Hell’s Kitchen”
The cooking show that makes the entire process of running a restaurant look like a complete clusterfuck is an absolutely can’t miss. Not because I’m dazzled by chefs chiffanodding skillz, but because of Gordon Ramsay’s storied shitfits and the chefs blatant incompetence. This current season has produced a particularly (or purposely) bad crop of wanna-be executive chefs, two of whom Ramsay has eliminated during service. Because they cook the same things every service and always managed to supremely fuck something up. He squeals and shrieks and cusses like a hysterical housewife on a tear, and I LOVE it. “Top Chef” is it not, but it is delectable all the same!

“For the Love of Ray J”
I will admit, when I first saw previews of this hip hop version of “Rock of Love,” I rolled my eyes and swore I wouldn’t watch (just like I did with “ROL” but I watch it like it’s going out of style). Ray J is more famous for his sextape with Kim Kardashian, his “relationship” with Whitney Houston, and being Brandy’s little brother than his musical abilities (which include an annoyingly catchy song called ‘Sexy Can I’ and…um…that’s it). But I was sucked in, and I LOVE it. The girls are classier than the barhags and strippers they scraped off the shallow end of America’s intelligence pool, but the show is just as salacious. Ray J is smarter than he looks, and uses his experience as an entertainer to heighten moments with his (scripted?) confessional recaps of the competition for his heart. From literally falling off the chair when a girl made herself into a human banana split (by rubbing herself in ice cream and nuts and deep-throating a banana in the splits no less) to hilariously wincing when a bikini-clad drunk contestant poked in him the chest with a fork, pure guilty pleasure entertainment. And with the aide of DVR, I can fastfoward through the commercials and the repetitive champagne ceremonies, and get straight to the good stuff.

“Kings”
I anticipate this mid-season new show will be canceled before the weather turns warm, but my prediction is a compliment. I love this show about the imaginary country of Shiloh and the politics of its power-hungry king and the inevitable ugliness behind the polished propriety of the royal family. Chris Egan plays David, a soft-spoken, but intelligent and brave soldier who literally slays Goliath to save the king’s son, and becomes the country’s hero. Naturally, young David, who was raised on a farm, stumbles as he traverses the high society. With fantastically nuanced performances, swift and slick plotlines and the wonderful cast, the series is better off for the more sophisticated HBO viewer and is wasted on a flailing network like NBC.
DVR has changed my entertainment viewing life for the better, and has pulled me back into the industry I love so much. Just in time for “Fast and Furious” and the onslaught of frothy summer movies and TV shows! Thank you, DVR!

Snarky Supernatural Recap: After School Special

2009-02-04T15:28:00.003-06:00

While the Supernatural fandom mourns the seemingly unexpected death of beloved Supernatural director and producer, Kim Manners, this week’s installment of the show provided fans with a (rare) Sam-centric storyline, Dean in some fetching red shorts, and some patented Supernatural angst as an escape. Thank you, show, for proving that no matter how bad our lives get, Sam and Dean’s will always be worse.

The “THEN” previews are from all the way back in the first season, touching on Sam’s rocky relationship with his shitty father, his need to live a normal life, Dean’s inherit need to protect Sammy, and their collective miserable childhood. “NOW.” In the cafeteria of Truman High School in the fictional Fairfax, Indiana, a group of cheerleaders and jocks gossip about another, approaching cheerleader. She’s a “slut” who apparently had sex with another popular guy and gave him the “reverse cowgirl and everything!” Now, in my high school, gossip as salacious as that would make mighty popular. Go figure! Anyway, the head cheerleader, who is blonde, of course, declares their table is a “skeeve-free” zone and Skinny, Skanky Taylor needs to take her arse somewhere else. The table then starts a very obnoxious cough-into-the-hand chant of “slut, slut, slut” which predictably embarrasses Taylor in front of the entire school, and sends her running to another table to sit with a girl who isn’t a size two and is therefore obese! Jessica Simpson tells her that her friends are jerks and that she’s “sorry” about the way they treated her. Taylor, angry and humiliated, snarls back, “Don’t you feel sorry for me, you fat ugly pig!” and thus pays forward the social torture. She immediately regrets it when Jessica Simpson darts out of the cafeteria, feeling just as miserable and lost and alone as poor Taylor. Ah, high school, the supposed best years of our lives!

The next day, in the girl’s bathroom, Taylor comes out of the stall, tears falling freely and she tries to make herself presentable for her next class. Jessica Simpson is abruptly standing behind her, leering with dead eyes. “You think I’m ugly?” she asks in an eerie monotone. Taylor, whose coifed brunette hair belongs in a Pantene commercial, apologizes and promises she didn’t mean it. Jessica Simpson just stares at her blankly before snatching a handful of Taylor’s silky tresses and ramming her pretty little face into the mirror, breaking the glass. She then thunks her chin on the hard porcelain of the sink. Blood splatters from Taylor’s mouth, because that’s never NOT disgusting. Jessica Simpson bodily yanks a writhing Taylor across the bathroom and into the stall. Without hesitation, she pushes the cheerleader’s head into the toilet and flushes. “I’m not ugly,” Jessica Simpson declares as she drowns the poor girl, who is putting up one hell of a fight. But, of course, Taylor dies after inhaling putrid public high school toilet water, and Jessica Simpson throws her body onto the tiled floor, and still stares with a stony gaze. A nasty, black tear dribbles down her cheek as she announces to the soggy corpse, “you’re ugly.” I think killing her was a good enough come back, Jess.

Awesome! This almost makes me forget about the last two episodes. Hee!

Pimp title card! A beautiful, vertical shot of an old, classic building morphs into an orderly’s familiarly broad back. Jessica Simpson, who has recovered from whatever supernatural force overtook her body, is looking out the window of yet another insane asylum. “I’m not talking about it anymore,” she says. “I already told the cops and the doctors, no one believes me. They think I’m crazy!” “I’m a little more open-minded than most,” Sammy’s deep voice rumbles off-screen. Shocker, y’all, he’s the orderly! And wow, his voice has gotten octaves deeper since season one. Proving for the millionth time that our Darling Sammy is ALL man now! Apparently, Jessica Simpson’s real name is April, and she told the police she was possessed. And now we know why Sammy is talking to the witness and not Dean, because he has personal experience with demonic possession. April won’t tell Sammy why she thought she was possessed, but Sammy just twitches his magically sensitive eyes at her, and she relents. She’s a Sam-girl! Like me! (HEY!) Sorry, Dean! “When I hurt Taylor, I was there in my head but I couldn’t control my body. I could see what I was doing, but I couldn’t stop. I just wanted to stop.” And I now know that she’s a Canadian actress, by the way she pronounces the word “stop.” Haha! To make a long scene short, after Sammy asks if she smelled sulfur or happened to notice any black smoke trying to jam its way into her body, April is convinced HE’S crazy.

In the Metallicar, Sammy relays the information to Dean, who thinks that “maybe it wasn’t a demon, I mean, kids can be vicious.” Sammy concedes, but he thinks they should check out the school since they are in the area. Dean is reluctant, “Truman High, home of the Bombers,” he says with faux nostalgia. “We went there for like a month a million years ago, why are you so jazzed to go back?” Dean wonders. Sammy promises he’s not, that he just wants to be a thorough hunter. We know that’s a damn lie because he already has their covers picked out. Hilarity is about to ensue!

Dean cranks the Metallicar’s engine and the beginning drums of Foreigner’s, “Long, Long Way From Home,” plays on the soundtrack as the flashbacks begin! Truman High School, 1997. I have no idea what it is about this scene, be it the bright, happy, normal colors of a suburban high school, the blatant car porn as the Metallicar ambles up to the school in lurid slow motion with young Dean (played competently by Brock Kelley) in the passenger seat (and damn if that’s not a weird sight. Dean drives with GUNSHOT WOUNDS!), or the kinetic electric guitar of the song, but I squeal and scream and giggle like a true fangirl that I am. Young Dean, with full model face, licks his lips and ambles out of the car in Dean’s vintage leather jacket, collar turned up of course. These few seconds are enough to convince me that Brock Kelly knows just how hot he is in real life and as this character. And I’ll be damned if he doesn’t look like he could be related to Jensen Ackles. Great bit of casting!

Wee Sammy is small. Really small. I mean, he’s like four-foot-seven. But I recognize him immediately, because he’s broody and angsty and carrying a backpack that’s almost as big as he is! (Young Sammy is also being played by the same amazing little Colin Ford, who played him in “A Very Superatural Christmas.”) After he thanks his shitty father for a ride (who we never actually see, because he’s too busy playing a ghost on Grey’s Anatomy. Wrong show, Jeff, wrong fucking show!), he asks Sammy if he has his “Lunch? Books? Butterfly Knife?” Sammy glums a “yeah, Dean.” Dean steps in front of Wee Sam, asking him if he’s okay. Some things never change. Wee Sam is frustrated, “look this is the third school we’ve been to this year, and it’s only November. I’m just sick of always being the new kid.” “Anybody gives you any trouble, you just let me know?” Dean says, flexing his big brother muscle. “Relax, Dad said this hunt will take two weeks, tops. Soon as he gets back, we’re outta here!” “To another school,” Wee Sam sulks, “awesome.”

The next scene beautifully illustrates just how different yet alike Sam and Dean are in a way that only siblings can be by intercutting between the two Winchesters being introduced to their respective homerooms. Sam is crestfallen and sick of the entire process, while Dean calls the teacher “sweetheart” and “sugar” and is literally too cool for school. Sam slinks to this seat, head down, while Dean ambles down the aisle and charismatically spins into his desk in a way that would make The Fonz and AC Slater very, very proud. Both boys draw the attention of student. For Sam, it’s a freckle-faced geek in thick glasses who is impressed when Wee Sammy’s butterfly knife falls out of his backpack. For Dean, it’s a pixie-faced blonde in a pink sweater. The icing on an already delectable and ingenious scene piece of film is that Wee Sam’s class is reading “The Outsiders” as indicated on the board behind the teacher. I am falling in love with this show all over again.

Dean’s craggly-faced teacher asks him where his books are, and he smiles, “Don’t need them, sugar. Not gonna be here long enough anyway.” And the entire class, including Tinkerbell, thinks he’s just so dreamy and badass. I just might, too, because this Dean hasn’t been to Hell, doesn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders, and is just a mouthy, teenage spitfire who knows his way around a sawed-off.

As Wee Sam’s class gets an essay assignment on “their most memorable family experience,” the geek, who more like an adorable Paul Pfeiffer from “The Wonder Years” introduces himself as Barry just before a burly bully starts repeatedly flicking the poor kid’s ear in an attempt to beat his previous record. Poor Barry winces, but takes the abuse. Sammy, bred to protect people who cannot protect themselves from bullies or…banshees, tells the bully to leave him alone. “You wanna take his place, midget?” Burly Bully asks. Wee Sam pivots in his seat, “yeah, sure,” he says, and stares the bully down with Giant Sammy’s unnerving confidence and a little smirk that makes him seem dangerous. Wow, Wee Sammy is a badass! Burly Bully is shocked by such a turn of events because little freshman midgets should be terrified of him, and this does not compute.

Wee Sammy continues to stare him down, and the screen morphs into Giant Sammy’s prominent mug as he walks the same halls in a janitor’s uniform. The bell rings and the same teacher who introduced Wee Sammy steps out of the classroom just as Sam passes it.

Gym. A whistle blows as the camera moves from one net of balls to…well Dean’s balls. That’s right, folks, our beloved Scrappy Doo is rocking a pair of supertight shorts, a Truman High Polo, high knee socks, and a red sweatband in a cute, sexy, hot, wrong, bow-legged way that only Dean can. Wow. Um, seriously, thank you, Supernatural! Next stop: SPEEDO! Dean is subbing as a gym teacher, and he walks up and down the line of Truman High School students, praising the game of Dodgeball like it’s an ancient, sacred art. If you’ve ever played Dodgeball in middle school with boys, you know how lethal it can be. And Dean was definitely the kind of kid that would injure and maim as many dorks as humanly possible with those painful rubber balls. “You will have the honor of playing one of the greatest games every invented. A game a skill, agility and cunning. A game with one simple rule: DODGE!” And with that he takes a ball and whips it full throttle at a poor little kid, who doesn’t catch on and dodge, and gets nailed in the gut for his short bus brand of specialness. That will definitely leave a mark. I’m ignoring the little comments about “Ms. B being in Massachusetts getting married,” because hello, the lesbian gym teacher joke has been done a five gazillion times. Dean forces the kid who dare defile the game of Dodgeball to take a lap, and I’ll be damned if we don’t have our Deano back! He just used the Dean voice. The real, non-pyscho Christian-Bale-as-Batman one! He’s gruff and embracing another role with Dean’s trademark reckless abandon. We haven’t seen Silly!Dean since before he admitted that he remembered his time in Hades waaaay back in an episode I refused to admit exists because it’s was as bad as “Route 66” and “Bugs” COMBINED!

Janitor Sammy steps into the gym, and literally fills up the entire doorway with his gigantic, manly frame. Jesus, I need to meet Jared Padalecki just so I can climb him like a Great Oak. Dean tosses the net of balls up in the air, and tells the kids to “go nuts” while he gets an update from Sammy. Sam hasn’t found any sulfur, and Dean quickly concludes, “No sulfur, no demon; no demon, no case” and he is itching to get on the road, but after lunch because it’s Sloppy Joe day. Aww, Dean’s appetite is back! Sammy winces as a kid predictably get beaned in the face with a ball off-screen and runs through the shot with a hand covering his mouth and nose. “Good hustle, Colby! WALK IT OFF!” Dean growls in a way his dad probably told him after he stabbed him with a pick-axe or something equally brutal. Then he licks his lips and smirks at Sam in a way that is so adorkable and hot, and why, why, why don’t I work on this show?! Oh, that’s right, the restraining orders. Moving on. Dean officially wins the Battle of the Pretty for this Episode. Just for that! Good job, Winchester!

Home Ec. The camera pans across a food processor as three finger-sized pieces of are tossed in, and the whirring blades chop, dice and mince it finely in mere seconds. After four seasons of watching this show, I already know where this is heading, and I’m simultaneously excited and nauseous for the impending gore. The same jock from the late Taylor’s table is bugging a poor skinny kid with emo hair. “I need to copy your algebra homework again!” Emo McGee ignores him, spacing out. Jock shoves him roughly and repeats his demand. Emo McGee looks at him menacingly. “Why, because you’re a stupid brain-dead dick?” He seethes, and then turns on the food processor, prepping it for the assignment. Just as surprised as Burly Bully was at Wee Sam’s defiance, Jock is momentarily stunned by the refusal. Then, of course, he amps up the aggression to threaten, “I’m going to shove my first down your throat, you freak!” “That fist?” Emo McGee evilly inquires. “Yeah!” Grinning, Emo McGee shoves the aforementioned fist into the appliance of doom! I highly doubt Bobby Flay will be serving THAT up for dinner. Jock screams and howls as Emo McGee laughs and laughs. Blood splatters all over them, and the camera even zooms in for a shadowy glimpse of the hand being julienned in a bowl full of blood and flesh. Tasty. I may have been screaming in a psychotic combination of glee and visceral disgust during this whole awesome display of gore, but you cannot prove it. The show hasn’t been that gory in a while, and it definitely beats out the hand-down-the-garbage-disposal from “Home” in Season One. The students, raised in the post-Columbine generation, scatter, duck and bolt as the teacher rushes poor screaming, bloody Jock and his mangled hand pass Janitor Sammy—who has quite a mess to clean up now— and down the hall. Guess what? Jock ain’t a jock anymore. It’s a tragedy. Emo McGee, who is splattered in Jock’s blood, passes out. Sammy rushes over to him and notices an icky black substance oozes from his ear, and THAT seriously skeeves me out, maybe more than the hand in the food processor. Ick. Emo McGee is disoriented and woozily asks Janitor Sammy what happened. Sammy just frowns and has nothing good to say.

In the deserted hallway, Sammy is using his trusty EMF monitor to check for any readings, when Dean finds him, wearing an absolutely fetching Truman High tracksuit. And I haven’t been this happy with the guys’ wardrobes since “In My Time of Dying” when Dean ran around for the whole hour in a tee shirt and thin cotton pants. He looks loose and comfortable and gorgeous. Red is definitely his color. Sammy asks how the “Non-Violence Assembly” is going. “Apparently shoving a kid’s arm into a Cuisinart is not a healthy display of anger.” No, but it makes great TV. Ha! Sam tells Dean that he saw ectoplasm leaking out of his ear, and figures they are dealing with a ghost possession from a very angry spirit. Sammy does admit that they can’t figure out where the ghost is haunting, exactly, as it’s not giving off any readable electromagnetic activity. They need to find record of “someone dying bloody” inside the school. Dean, picking an incredibly odd time to start doing his homework, already found out that “three of the cheerleaders are legal” and “there was only one death on campus back in ’98, some kid named Barry Cook.” Um…quoi? Suddenly Sad Sammy snatches the paper in shock and surprise. Dean says that he “slit his wrists in the first floor girls’ bathroom” which is where poor Taylor was “swirly-ed to death.” Obviously, they figure out that the ghost is possessing nerds and using them to go after bullies. Sam confesses that “Barry had a hard time” in school.

In another seamless transition, the camera zooms tight on Wee Sam’s face and then curls around to show the busy hallways Truman in 1997. Barry, the kid Sam met on his first day, walks down the hall when an older jock swipes his books and sends them flying down the hallway. Students in the hall laugh as Barry scrambles to gather up his textbooks and pencil case. As Sam dutifully helps him, we learn that Barry is counting the days until he’s free from high school and he can go to Michigan State and becoming a veterinarian, because “animals are a lot nicer than people.”

Janitor’s Closet. Young Dean is making out with Tinkerbell, and describing his perfect date night to her: “you. Me. A bucket of popcorn extra butter. And a midnight screening of ‘I Spit on Your Grave’ at the Cinedome.” He says between kisses. Tinkerbell can’t because she has an eleven o’clock curfew. Dean, having a terrible father, who rather fight demons and train his sons like warriors than be a good parent, and a crispified mother, doesn’t understand. “So if I break it, my folks will ground me for a month,” she explains. “Yeah, parents terrifying,” Dean buhs. I guess the threat of eternal grounding isn’t exactly scary when you were raised to battle evil. Tinkerbell is shocked to learn that Dean’s father has left him to his own devices for two weeks while he’s “on a job.” Dean claims he has a “pretty sweet set-up at The Pines [Motel]. HBO, Magic Fingers, free ice, it’s great.” I definitely agree with him on the free ice, but apparently, he’s never swiped Citrus-Infused Water from Marriott lobby in downtown Chicago. It is fantastic! Dean and I are both incredibly cheap dates. Back to the show. “I do whatever I want, when I want, it’s perfect.” Dean admits. When Tinkerbell asks him if he misses his dad, Dean becomes uncharacteristically quiet, because his bravado is hiding the fact that he is more than likely petrified that his father will never come back and exhausted from the responsibility of taking care of a 14-year-old while he’s gone. Dean ends their make-out session and greets Sammy as he walks through the halls with Barry, who thinks Dean is cool, and even cooler because he was hanging out with Tinkerbell. Sammy and Barry walk directly into the path of Burly Bully, who towers over Wee Sammy and outweighs him by a good 75 pounds. “Hey, tough guy, still want to take [Barry’s] place?” Barry runs to get a teacher, and Wee Brave Sammy places a hand on Barry’s rotund tummy to keep him from following. The whole school gathers around to watch Burly Bully antagonize and then punch poor Sammy. Wee Sammy falls to his hands and knees, and struggles with anger and the fact that he could easily kick this bastard’s ass. Unfortunately, Mr. Wyatt arrives to escort Burly Bully to the principal’s office before Wee Sammy can unleash a smackdown that he deserves. Barry stands behind Sam as he watches him go.

And I want to take a moment to praise the flashbacks. Usually, I hate flashbacks in television shows, especially when they don’t use the same actors. Supernatural has always made the flashbacks fit flawlessly into the plot of the show and it always sheds an enormous amount of light on the characters, painting them as layered, complete, and complicated people in a usually gut-wrenching, heartbreaking manner. Bravo!

We fade into Sad Sammy salting and burning his childhood friend’s bones. “So long Barry Cook,” Dean says, somewhat insensitively. Rain coats the Metallicar’s otherwise pristine windshield as Sammy broods in the passenger seat. “You alright?” Dean asks, and for some reason him saying that feels wonderful. It comforts ME because it’s been months since he was worried about Sam, and not the other way around. Regardless of how big and strong and big Sammy is, he is still Dean’s younger brother, and Dean will always try to protect and worry about him. That’s just the way it is. “Barry was my friend, and I just burned his bones,” Sam responds. And no, he’s definitely not alright. “Well, he’s at peace now, Sam.” Dean offers weakly. “I mean if Dad had let us stay just a little while longer, maybe I could have helped the kid,” Sammy shoulda-coulda-wouldas. Dean, being pragmatic, admits that Barry was on every anti-anxiety and anti-depressant available, and his parents had just gotten divorced. He even admits that “school was hell for that kid”—and we know Dean is sensitive about the use of the word “Hell”—and he “just wanted out.” Sam couldn’t have saved him. Dean skillfully changes the subject, and admits he was glad they left that school because he hated it. Dean wonders why Sam didn’t think it was “that bad” after “what happened to [him].”

Whiteout to Wee Sammy sitting outside on the bleachers, brooding as Dean plots Burly Bully’s death in a way only Dean can. “That kid’s dead! I’m going to rip his LUNGS OUT!” Hee! Brock hasn’t exactly mastered the Dean growl, but neither did Dean until the end of Season One…it’s as close as anyone else can get. Sammy pleads for him to “just shut up” because he doesn’t need Dean’s help. “That’s right, you don’t. You could have torn him apart, why didn’t you?” “Because I don’t want to be the freak for once Dean. I want to be normal.” And the writers just scored majority continuity points, because Giant Sammy hates being considered a freak just as much as Wee Samy. “So taking a beating, that’s normal?” Dean asks. I could easily site the whole Superman-complex to back up Sam’s argument (Superman’s alterego Clark Kent is a bumbling, spineless wimp not because that’s how Kal-el saw mankind, etc) but I won’t. Sammy is smart enough to know that most kids aren’t trained to take down grown men and demons, so he hides it. Sammy asks if Dean’s heard from his father. Dean pouts that they’re going to have to stay another week, and he is weirded out because Tinkerbell wants Dean to meet her parents, and he “doesn’t do parents” as he’s never had a real one.

Wee Sammy gets detained by the teacher by Mr. Wyatt. Sam is worried that he got in trouble about the fight, but Mr. Wyatt wants to talk to Sam about the essay he wrote. His most memorable family experience was killing a werewolf with his dad and brother. Mr. Wyatt gives him an A even though he believes Sam wrote mistakenly wrote a fictional story because he it was a well-written. Being an English teacher, Mr. Wyatt asks if Wee Sam has ever thought about pursuing a career in writing. “I can’t. I have to go into the family business” which is wink-wink car repair. It just occurs to me, and hopefully to the audience Wee Sammy thought about doing anything else but hunting demons. He was born into a world of parent-stealing evil and violence and assumed that he had to stay there. If your heart has broken already, you won’t make it to the end of the episode, so bail now. Mr. Wyatt asks Sam point blank if he wants to follow his dad and brother’s footsteps. “No one’s ever asked me that before,” Sam says. And then? “More than anything, no.” Mr. Wyatt then offers Sam probably the most invaluable piece of advice of his young life: “I don’t want to over step my bounds here, but you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Look, I know what it’s like, I come from a family of surgeons and that wasn’t me. So I traded in the money and prestige of being a doctor for all the glamour you see around you. The point is there may be three or four big choices that shape someone’s whole life, and you need to be the one that makes them. Not anyone else. Just live the life you want to live.” And those are probably the most beautiful, precious words Sammy has ever heard in his entire life.

Everyone has a teacher that touches their lives and makes them feel special. For me, it was my first grade teacher, Ms. Harris, who was Southern and had perfect red hair and was the most glamorous and smart woman I’d ever seen. For Wee Samuel Winchester, it’s Mr. Wyatt. We now know why Sammy was so determined to get back to this school and why he had the strength to leave his family behind for Stanford.

The next morning, Dean drives Sammy back to the school, so he can have his “Oh, Captain, my Captain moment” with his former teacher. In a neat moment of continuity, the camera spirals around Giant Sammy and then morphs into Wee Sammy as he runs his fingers through his hair, then back to Giant Sammy as he does the same thing with that almost-mullet. When Sammy turns into the Antichrist, can he get a makeover? I’m thinking a trendy fauxhawk, some eyeliner and black suits. Yes? No? Before Sammy can even knock on the door, a young, tiny student mysteriously appears out of nowhere to ask for directions. I now know that if I ever get the pleasure of meeting Jared Padalecki, I will come up to about his navel, because this girl and I are about the same size. After Darling Sammy gives her directions, she smiles sweetly and innocently, and says, “Thanks, Sam.” Wait, WHAT?! Sam quirks his head to the side like the confused puppy he is because she thanked him by name. Kung Fu Spice takes this moment to whip out her standard issue tenth grade compass and stab Sammy in on one his finely chiseled pectoral muscles! Possessed or not, this bitch needs to die! How dare she defile the sacred pec! Her voice drops several octaves when she proclaims, “you got tall, Winchester!” And she then does what my father taught me to do to bring guys to bring them down: she kicks him swiftly in the balls. And honestly, I’m more pissed off about the pec-stabbing than the scrotum-kicking, because I know where Lil’ Sammy’s been, and I want none of it. She follows up the nutcracker kick with a roundhouse to the face that sends Sammy (well, his stunt-double) crashing into the lockers and then to the floor. Why is Sam getting his ass kicked by a 15-year-old? I know he knows he could render this possessed girl a vegetable if he actually fought back, but come on, Sam! Man up! Ectoplasm oozes out of Kung-Fu Spice’s mouth as Sammy recovers, takes out his trusty flask, and pours a handful of salt in his palm. Since when does he carry salt in his flask? Mighty convenient, show! Anyway, he rolls to his knees and jams the stuff down her throat. Kung-Fu Spice shakes and wiggles as the salt forces the ghost out of her. The black blob of the ghost bounces down the hall and splatters through the ceiling like demonic flubber. Cool! Sammy saved the girl from the ghost, but she now has high blood pressure from ingesting a year’s worth of salt.

The funniest part about this whole scene is that he cradles the now unconscious Kung Fu Spice the gorgeous chest she stabbed not seconds ago. He caringly hooks his chin over her head even though he’s still on his damn knees. Wow. He’s huge!

Dean has parked the Metallicar near a scenic creek with a bridge used in the pilot as a backdrop. (Another fantastic touch!) Sammy is nursing his ego and his wounds. Dean digs in a cooler and produces a thoroughly chilled bottle of what looks like malt liquor. “Trust me, this’ll help.” At first, I think he means drinking it it’ll help with the pain of his pectoral puncture wound and be a great disinfectant, but Sammy sheepishly takes the bottle and gingerly places it between his legs. Hee! I can hold that there, Sam. “That ghost is dead!” Dean seethes. “I’m going to rips its LUNGS OUT!” Dean growls, providing his character continuity. “Well, you know what I mean,” he amends, because ghosts don’t actually have lungs. And I know this entire scene—Dean worried about Sam’s injured johnson and defending his honor and all—is going to send Wincest fandom into a frenzy.

“It knew my name, Dean, my real name.” Sam declares, “what the hell?” Clearly, he’s bewildered because both Sam and Dean thought that Barry was the ghost and the case was essentially over. Dean figures they missed something and checks out the stolen stats on the three nerds-turned-aggressors, and realizes that all of them ride the same bus. But it’s confusing because as far as Dean knows, “Ghosts are tied to the places that they haunt, they can’t just bail.” But Studious Sammy knows that there is “lore about ghosts possessing people and riding them for miles…when they leave the body, they’re bungeyed back to their usual haunt, but until then the ghosts can go wherever they want.” “Ghosts getting creative, well that’s super,” Dean glums and opens his own bottle of malt liquor while they gameplan.

To make a long recap shorter, it’s time to summarize! Sammy and Dean investigate the bus “a flap of skin, a hangnail” anything that could tie the ghost to the bus. When Dean looks into the glove compartment, he finds that driving permit was issued just two weeks ago—right before attacks started—to a Dirk McGregor, Sr. Sammy, of course, knew Dirk, Jr. “Did you know everybody at this school?” Dean wonders.

Flashback. School is letting out and Sammy steps outside to see Burly Bully once again picking on helpless Barry. He immediately comes to his defense, “Leave him alone, Dirk!” That’s right, folks, Dirk Jr., is the Burly Bully. “You never learn, do you, MIDGET?” Dirk hisses. Sam sighs and tells Barry to get on the bus. When he tries to follow, Dirk pushes Sammy to the ground again and starts to heckle him. “Come on LOSE-chester, let’s see what you got? Come on, FREAK!” Dirk found the magic word, because Wee Sammy springs up from the ground and shoves Dirk, ready to RUUUUMMMMMBBLLLLE!! Dirk swings, and Agile Sammy dodges it, and clobbers him with a punch to the gut. Sammy backs up and lets Dirk take the offensive. Dirk swings and misses again, allowing Sam to nail him in the stomach and knee him chest, and then punch him in the face. Sam continues, punching him with a left and a right, and then kicks him at bend of his knee, taking Dirk to the ground before effectively finishing the fight with a teeth-rattling haymaker! The crowd, of course, cheers Wee Sammy on and so do I, because Wee Sammy is better at the hand-to-hand than Giant Sammy. Wee Sammy gets his first lesson in how to loom and tower over bad guys as he leans over Dirk to inform him, “You’re not tough, you’re just a jerk! Dirk the Jerk.” And now the Burly Bully runs away as the crowd laughs and chants “DIRK THE JERK! DIRK THE JERK!” The tables have been turned.

Are you proud of Sam? Are you glad he put that bully in his place? Just wait, because you’re going to feel like shit in about two minutes.

The guys visit Daddy Dirk claiming to be friends of late son. Dirk’s father is an old man, who looks like a cross between a Santa Claus without the beard and Bilbo Baggins without the hobbit feet. He has white eyelashes, sad eyes, and seems eternally grateful for the company. Dirk apparently passed away when he was 18 from booze and drugs. “He slipped through my fingers. It was my fault.” Daddy Dirk guiltily admits, because because “school was never easy for Dirk” because “they didn’t have much money. Kids picked on him. They called him poor and dirty and stupid. They even had a nickname for him: Dirk the Jerk.” Sammy gulps down his responsibility for that. To make matters even worse, Dirk’s mother suffered for years with cancer before dying when Dirk was thirteen. It fell to Dirk, Jr. to “makes sure Jane got her medicine” and clean up after her, because Dirk, Sr. worked three jobs. Sammy looks at a picture of Dirk, young and clean and smiling like a normal kid. Not the mindless blowhard he remembers. Now, it’s time for Daddy Dirk (the mean, evil writers) to twist the knife a bit deeper. “You watch somebody die slow, waste away to nothing, it does things to a person, horrible things.” Dirk never talked about the mighty, psychological burden his mother’s death took on his son but he knew that he was incredibly angry. And that’s why he bullied kids at school. Dean takes over for Sammy, who looks like he may vomit from the heady realizations that he and Dirk actually had some common ground, and lies to Daddy Dirk about wanting to pay respects to his son. Dirk was cremated. “All of him?” Dean blurts out. HA! Daddy Dirk apparently keeps a lock of his hair in his Bible on his bus.

The dead of night. Papa Dirk’s haunted bus plows through the fog, taking the still unspecified sports team to or from a game or meet. Eddie, a huge dude who looks like a Hell’s Angel with his bald, goatee and sun-weathered skin, is a substitute driver for Daddy Dirk. We know he’s haunted by his devilish smile, but ectoplasm leaks out of his nose for the folks in the back. Coach asks Ectoplasm Eddie to watch his speed, but Ectoplasm Eddie is on the plan for revenge. Fortunately for everyone on the bus not named Ectoplasm Eddie, it is derailed by a row of spikes placed in the middle of the road by Sammy and Dean. The bus rolls over them and blows all of its tires, forcing Ectoplasm Eddie steer the bus to the shoulder of the road running through the Canadian backwoods. Ectoplasm Eddie steps off the bus to smell the air and look evil and isn’t surprised when Sammy pops out of nowhere, a shotgun trained on his back. “Winchester?” he sneers, “what are you going to do? Shoot me?” “Don’t need to!” Dean pops up and ties Eddie up with a length of rope that’s been soaked in salt water to keep the ghost from jumping bodies. Um, okay. Sure. I guess that works. Dean bounds on the bus, and demands everyone to stay where they are in his best hero voice. Someone asks if he’s the gym teacher and he blows his cover. Sort of. “I’m like 21 Jump Street. The busdriver sells pot. Yeah!” Hee! Now I don’t remember the show “21 Jump Street”, but I don’t think Johnny Depp ran around tying people up in ropes soaked in condiments. Dean’s cute enough to make the kids buy it, so they do. But Scrappy Doo can’t find the hair, and Ectoplasm Eddie apparently stashed it somewhere they’ll never find it. Ew. Not there, nasty!

Sammy, desperate, slams him against the side of the bus and demands to know where the hair is. “Sam Winchester, still a bully.” God, this ghost is clueless! Ectoplasm Eddie decides to launch into a tirade about the evils of Sammy the Bully and the jocks who think they’re better than everyone else. “To you I was just Dirk the Jerk, right?” Um, you tortured him from the second you saw him, so yeah, that’s what you were. “Now you evil sons a bitches are going to get what’s coming to you.” “I’m not evil, Dirk!” YES YOU ARE! I KEEP WAITING FOR THAT EVIL TO EMERGE! “I’m not!” Sammy implores. “And neither were you. Trust me, I’ve seen real evil. We were scared and miserable, and we took it out on each other. That’s high school, but you suffer through that, and it gets better. I’m just sorry you didn’t get a chance to see that. You or Barry.” Sammy explains, continuing to break my heart. But this isn’t exactly comforting to Dirk the Ghost. “Things aren’t going to get better for me, not ever!” He screams and gains the strength to snap through those salt-encrusted ropes. Sammy shoots him (and his host body) twice in the chest. Granted it’s rock salt, but OUCH. Dirk the Ghost jumps from Eddie to Plump Stan on the bus, who tackles Sammy and starts pummeling him all about the face and head. Dean shoots the poor possessed bastard in the back, but that has no effect, and Sammy would rather he find the hair and not further injure the teenager. Dean searches and searches, and even pats down a wheezing Eddie and eventually finds the hair in his boot. He immediately torches it, killing the ghost in an impressive display of computer generated sparks and fire. Plump Stanley promptly passes out ontop of Sam, who chokes and coughs beneath his weight, and it’s a lot funnier than it should be because of Jared’s long, long limbs. “Lil’ help!” he hisses as Dean comments about Plump Stanley giving his brother “the full cowgirl!” Hee!

Want to know why Dean hates Truman High School? Here’s why: Dean being Dean decides to sabotage his relationship with Tinkerbell by making out with an unnamed dimpled brunette and gets caught by Tinkerbell. But she’s not mad at him. She feels sorry for him because she thought that “maybe underneath your whole, I-could-give-a-crap bad boy thing that there was something more going on, like the way you are with your brother. But I was wrong. You spend so much time trying to convince people that you’re cool, but it’s just an act. We both know that you’re a sad, lonely little kid, and I feel sorry for you Dean.” And she says this in front of the whole school. Dean’s only response is “Don’t feel sorry for me. I save lives. I’m a hero. A HERO!” to Amanda’s retreating form. Tinkerbell is right, and it reads all over his pretty, pretty face. As this is happening to Dean, Sammy is being congratulated and praised by everyone in school for whooping Dirk the Jerk’s ass. So there Sam learns the rewards of doing the right thing, and eventually decides to dedicate his life to doing the right thing the RIGHT WAY. John soon arrives to collect the boys. Dean trips over himself to get out of that school, and Sam has a newfound confidence, but he has to leave Barry. Without his protector, Barry will be terrorized by Dirk the Jerk until he kills himself just that next year. Dirk will suffer for three more years before dying as well.

Sammy’s “Dead Poet’s Society” moment isn’t exactly a happy one. He admits to Mr. Wyatt that he did indeed go to college, probably because the advice he gave him, but that eventually the real world responsibilities caught up with him and he had to deal with that. Sammy thanks him for “taking an interest in him when no one else did.” Mr. Wyatt, being a teacher, replies, “the only thing that really matters is that you’re happy. Are you happy, Sam?” Jared Padalecki’s face barely moves. His lips tense a tiny bit, but his eyes seem to sink and darken as the camera tracks his face and eventually fades to black. He’s not happy. He only had four years to live his life the way he wanted before he was blindsided by the death of his girlfriend, and then everything he ran away from, and then the fast-approaching apocalypse.

The episode was heavy, not only for the boys, but for anyone who has dealt with bullies and teasing and lives ending far too soon. It was fantastic and sad and smart and very, very real. Sammy and I are the same age and it dealt with a lot of issues I experienced as a youth. Fortunately, my biggest worry is trying to find and keep a job in this economy, and not the safety of the human race. As always, Sam and Dean’s terrible lives put everything in perspective. Thank you, boys.

A Pop Culture Thanksgiving

2008-11-28T02:14:00.003-06:00

By this point in your Thanksgiving holiday, the turkey has been devoured and the pants are unbuttoned and you’re either curled up by the fire watching movies and dozing, or huddled over the Thursday sale papers to gameplan how to get the most Black Friday loot. I’d like to take a brief pause between slices of homemade coconut cake and my mother’s sweet potato pie to list what I am thankful for in pop culture! I know you’re excited! Let’s go!

*Rihanna’s “Rehab” Video featuring Justin Timberlake.
Justin’s Timberlake’s recent surprise “SNL” appearance reminded us why he is a Grammy-winning, Emmy-winning superstar at the ripe ole age of 27. He can do the impossible: upstage Beyonce and look fierce in a leotard and heels. In the music video for a song he wrote and produced, Mr. SexyBack and Sasha Fierce’s biggest competition, Rihanna, combine their uber-hottness in a way that is nothing but scrumptious, sexy candy for the senses. The video has no actual plot, but is a live action work of art. There’s a gulf-stream trailer and leather and tattoos and those weird one-piece fashion suits celebrities have suddenly decided are the new black. All of these pieces add up to three-and-half minutes of visual ambrosia that will leave you very much addicted.

*Pink’s “Funhouse”.
Pop’s baddest bitch discovers her inner singer-songwriter just in time for The Divorce Album. True to Pink form, she’s not crying in the corner. In her most coherent and focused LP, Pink honestly and cathartically presses the bruises and scars left by her split with motocross champ, Carey Hart. The crash-bang fury of “So What”, the party anthem-turned-ex-husband-hate-mail that launched the album, ebbs away to expose the softer side of a rocker chick in beautiful ballads like “Glitter in the Air” and “Crystal Ball.” It saddens me that Pink doesn’t garner the unabashed praise that is erroneously heaped onto her poptastic competition (Katy Perry, Beyonce, even Miley friggin’ Cyrus), because she is a consistent, self-aware and open musician, who wholeheartedly deserves it. I downloaded this disc when it leaked two weeks before the album’s release date, and loved it enough to buy it when it was in stores. A month later, I am suddenly enamored with songs I usually skipped, like “One Foot Wrong” and “Please Don’t Leave Me.” Other tracks, like “Funhouse,” “Ave Mary A” and “Bad Influence”, make you selfishly glad she got divorced.

*“Supernatural”
If you haven’t noticed by my extremely detailed and snarky blogs immediately following this entry, I have been completely obsessed with this show, and have been since early last season. It is the best television show (about two brothers who hunt demons and other “supernatural” monsters) you’ve never heard about, complete with dreamy lead actors in Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles and fantastic writing. I’ve stopped watching the shark-jumping “Grey’s Anatomy” for this show, and you should too! Jeffrey Dean Morgan died on this show before Denny was a even a figment of Shonda Rhimes’ imagination. So it’s odd that he is playing a ghost on a medical drama. It’s just one more reason, you need to watch this show.

Oh and just for laughs, find their Supernatural Convention videos on Youtube. Those two riff off each other and make the most mundane of stories absolutely hilarious. You can also discover how scarily dedicated their fandom is. Hee!

*“Seven Pounds” Trailer.
There is nothing better than a trailer to a new movie. Trailers are an adrenaline-packed promise of what a movie can be or what the producers and directors think it IS. They’re all gleaming and slickly spliced and hit all of the right buttons in order to get butts in those expensive, red velvet seats. The promo for Will Smith’s new movie, “Seven Pounds” is thirty-seconds of mounting drama that leaves me aching for its opening day, Dec. 19th. Will Smith’s character has apparently done something terrible and decides to pay it forward to seven strangers—one of which is Rosario Daweson—before doing something unthinkable to himself? Yes, please!

*Ugly Betty, “When Betty Meets YETI.”
Last week’s installment of “Ugly Betty” reminded me why American Ferrera is nothing but awesome, and why “Ugly Betty” is still a fabulous fun. While I find the show a warm and fuzzy guilty pleasure with its frothy, pop art aesthetic and deliciously eccentric characters, I also have a very real and very sincere appreciation for its entire premise: a big-hearted, hardworking, not Elle’s versions of pretty woman works at the nation’s hottest fashion magazine. She’s no “Gossip Girl” or tarty career woman desperate for a man, she’s a Queens raised daughter of a Mexican immigrant who wants nothing more than to succeed in a cut-throat business while maintaining her innate goodness. “When Betty Met YETI” pits Betty and Marc against each other as they vie for a career-launching slot in the Young Editors Training Initiative. In true Betty form, she has two days to come up with an idea, goes the most logical root, then starts over, compelled to follow her heart. Her application pitch for B Magazine is not a fashion mag, of course, but one that encourages young women to be smart, intelligent, confident and powerful. In short, it’s the anti-“Cosmo”. She is picked over Marc, who spent three months creating an entire magazine that serves as both of a subscriber and critique of the celebrity machine. He nastily points out that it was because of affirmative action, and Betty’s reaction is so viscerally real that I wanted to cry watching her reaction.

“Ugly Betty” uses the backdrop of kitsch and camp to comment on the true uglies of society, and uses the completely wonderful brilliant, undeniable talented American Ferrera as the main source of beauty. As a woman of color who has to put on heels to reach 5’2’’ and hasn’t been skinny since 2004, I can relate to Betty (and America) more than any character on television, and for that I am truly grateful.

*Barack Obama.
After a 20-month president campaign, I constantly have to remind myself that it is over. That we have a winner, and it doesn’t involve the (feminist) nightmare that is Sarah Palin. That when I see Barack Obama speaking with Barbara Walters or Dianne Sawyer, he’s speaking as the President-elect, and not the Democratic National Nominee vying for votes. And every time that happens, I swell with a pride I didn’t think I would feel in my lifetime, and simultaneously breathe a sigh of relief, because not only is he an admirable man who's rejuvenated the American Dream through his smart, no-nonsense politics, swagger and unflappable aplomb, he is this country's first black president. This writer has no way of expressing how she felt during those historic moments on Tuesday, November 4th even though I've tried every day since. I’m awe-stricken and hopeful for the first time in eight years. The icing on a truly wonderful cake? My birthday gift will be watching President-elect Barack Obama become President Barack Obama. That is a present for the entire nation.

Snarky Supernatural Recap: I Know What You Did Last Summer

2008-11-20T01:49:00.005-06:00

Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles are 87 miles away from me at a “Supernatural” Convention. 87 miles. That’s all the preamble you’re getting for this awesome episode, because knowing that fact, I can barely concentrate on anything else. Let’s delve into the angsty goodness, shall we?

The episode opens in the patient’s room in a mental hospital. The décor—the old-fashioned bed with white metal headboards, the windows with antique moldings, even the stark white of the walls—screams, “Girl, Interrupted.” It is a classic mental hospital setting. And our patient is playing classic crazy: slackened mouth, aimless gaze as she listens to the crescendo of voices in her head. A soothing, female rich voice calls the patient’s name, asking her if she knows where she is. She looks as if she has been given the Paula Abdul cocktail of drugs, and isn’t aware of anything really, except the whispers in her mind that immediately cease when the doctor speaks. “You’re at the Connor-Beverly Behavioral Medicine Center.” Against the white of the walls, Anna’s hair looks as if her colorist is three packets Cherry Kool-Aid, and not Ken Paves. Free from her happy place, Cherry fingers the medical bracelet on her wrist as if she’s never seen it before. The unseen doctor asks her if she knows why she is there, and Cherry gives her a groggy shrug as an answer. “You were hysterical. It took four people to restrain you.” “I was trying to warn them…everyone. Forget it. It was stupid,” Cherry begins, but loses her confidence, because she knows they thinks she is “nuts, but it’s all true.” The doctor speaks with an irritatingly slow and melodic cadence that is reserved for crying babies and crazy people. She is a professional woman with her make-up perfectly applied, every curly over-highlighted hair in place. Since this scene is classic, she has her legs crossed in her lap and a pen in her hand—the classic psychiatrist. “You can tell me, I’m here to listen,” Doc says. And I take a moment to realize that this is the first time (in months? Years?) I can remember two women occupying a scene on “Supernatural” in which they weren’t naked, hysterical, or under the Jedi-mindtrick of some pervert. This is groundbreaking television, people. “The end is coming. The apocalypse.” Cherry explains in jilted speech. I can tell the drugs are controlling her terror. “Like in the Bible?” Doc says, and she seems oddly hopeful (because Anna is talking to her) and stupidly unaffected (because she’s thinks this girl is three meatballs short of spaghetti). “Kind of Anna says. Same bottom line. This demon, Lilith is trying to break the 66 seals to free Lucifer from hell. Lucifer will bring the apocalypse. So smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.” Wait, she ain’t crazy?! She’s right on. I am officially rooting for this girl, because if you honestly knew about the apocalypse, wouldn’t you lose your damn mind? I know I would. But this also makes me wonder if schizophrenics are really just people who are somehow receptive to The Truth, and it’s so violently awful that they can’t articulate it and who would believe them if they could? Now, that is a terrifying thought.

The whispers pull Cherry back in a trance-like state, and once again, her head tilts to the side, and her mouth parts. Doc asks her what she was doing once she snaps back to…earth and Anna says she was “just listening.” She recounts more about Lilith’s progress bringing about the apocalypse, but then confesses that Lilith just has to open 66 out of 600 possible seals, so that makes it “nearly impossible to stop her. That’s why the angels are losing. That’s why we’re all gonna die.” Cherry sure is a breath of fresh air, isn’t she?

Outside of Cherry’s room, a ridiculously large orderly wheels a creaky medical cart and enters with her paper cup of pills. Cherry, of course, is rocking back and forth and drawing in a sketchbook, because that’s what classically crazy people do when their not bouncing around padded rooms in straight jackets and listening to angels. Cherry turns around, and is immediately and inexplicably scared of the approaching orderly. “What’s the matter, sweetie?” The orderly in a such a breezy, innocent way that I almost believe he’s not there to kill her, but I’ve watched this show for three years now and I know what’s what. “Your face!?” She gasps and slides backwards on her bed and back to the wall. “What happened to your face?” To the normal, non-supernatural eye, the orderly’s face is perfectly ordinary, but Cherry can see something beneath it. She can see through it like Dean could before he bit it back in “No Rest For The Wicked.” “I know,” Demon Orderly says, letting his eyes flip beetle-black, “I’m downright kissable.” He shushes her in an entirely creepy way and takes his time stepping inside the room and securing the door. Cherry cowers against the wall, but then her eyes grow wide and she stares at bureau a few feet away from the demon like it is some sort of weapon. Like it occurs to her that she can heave it at him in order to protect herself. So she does. WITH HER MIND!111. The enormous bureau careens forward and slams into the demon’s chest. The sheer force knocks him backwards, head shattering glass window, and rendering him unconscious. Cherry darts forward, sidesteps the subdued demon pinned against the door and bodily yanks it open just enough so she can slip through the space and presumably out of the hospital. FREE WINONA!

Awesome title card. Our beautiful heroes are…in a skeevy bar hustling some poor stupid bald biker. Why do I know they are hustling pool? First, they’re playing pool. Second, because Sammy’s “drunk” and we all know he doesn’t drink. Third, Dean runs up to the bar and pleads for his brother to stop, which Dean would never do. He’d beat him with a pool cue and drag him out of the bar by his collar if he actually sloshed enough to loose so much money. Finally, the devious duo shares a conspiratorial eyebrow quirk after Sam pushes the bet up to $500. Part of me wishes Sam was drunk so he can hilariously go off on Dean like he did in the awful “Playthings.” Remember Sam’s fine bod draped in that chair and laughing, all “you’re bossy….[giggles] and short……..stupid”? We like Hammered Sammy! Sorry. Again, 87 miles! My mind is going to wander! Dean stands sentry as Faux-Drunk Sam leans all the way down to take aim and sinks four balls on the break. Bald Biker sighs in disbelief. Sam’s fake-drunk face is hilariously pinched and his eyebrows are primly knitted together. He looks pleased with his break. Man, Sam truly has embraced the life. Sam’s blue eyes swing out and in the negative space of bar patrons, he sees Ruby 2.0 sitting at a distance table. He instantly sobers. “Keep the money.” Dean’s gorgeous eyes fly to Sam in horror. And if that’s not eye porn, I don’t know what is. “Keep the money?!” Dean and I echo, horrified. Sam says as stands all the way up, slides the cue on the table and walks away. Dean is confused until he sees Ruby 2.0 and he too forgets about the cash and remembers his violent disdain for the black-eyed skank whom we haven’t seen since I started my lucrative recapping career with “Metamorphosis.” Sam approaches Ruby 2.0 but can barely weep about how much he missed her before Dean bursts in, “You have a lot of nerve showing up anywhere near me.” AND OMG, I just said that to a disgusting guy at the bar the other day. Hee! “I just have some info and then I’m gone,” Ruby assures him. Yay! Make it snappy, Wildfire! Ruby has updates from the demon grapevine, “a girl named Anna Milton escaped from a locked ward yesterday. The demons seem pretty keen on finding her. Apparently, some real heavyhitters turned out for the Easter Egg Hunt,” she says directly to Sam because Dean steps away to procure some much-needed alcohol. Ruby doesn’t know who this woman is, but assumes she is valuable, because the demons want her ALIVE. She suggests that they “find this girl before the demons do.” Ruby and Dean snipe at each other, because he hates her both on principal—she’s a demon, thus the enemy—and he believes she tricked Sam into using his DEE-monic Telekinesis. I don’t know about you, Dean, but that’s a GOOD thing…for those of us who like Bad Sign Sammy. Ultimately, I don’t care who hates whom for what reason, I just love bitchy Dean. “Well it sure ain’t goose-chasin’ after some chick who for all we know doesn’t exist just because you think she’s important.” He thinks Anna doesn’t even exist and lies about being on a case. Ruby’s all “I told you, I’m done with it.” Sam nearly pleads for the name of the hospital.

Metallicar. Back road. Rainy night. On the phone, Fed-Like Sammy asks to get a copy of the missing person’s report as Dean steeps in his bitchiness at the wheel. When Sammy hangs up, he then relishes in the opportunity to tell Dean that Anna Milton is in fact a real person. “Don’t mean the case is real, and this hospital is a three-day drive,” Dean grumps. Man, I wonder how many miles are on that car. “We’ve driven further for less, Dean.” Sam points out. Silently, Dean shakes his head and steams in unspoken frustration in the exact way my mother does, which drives me absolutely batty, because grown-ups should USE THEIR WORDS. Apparently, that fucking expression has the same effect on Sam and he challenges, “You got somethin’ to say, say it.” And Dean’s all, “oh it’s on now,” but can only come up with “this sucks.” Sammy needlessly points out that Dean’s not mad that they’re following up on the girl; he’s “pissed Ruby threw us the tip.” I think they’ve established that. Pull over, take off your shirts and start throwing punches, please. “As far as you’re concerned that hell-bitch is practically family. Man, something major must have happened on while I was downstairs, because I come back and you’re BFF with a demon.” Sammy is as defensive and guarded as ever, and says that Ruby just helped him go after Lilith. “Thanks for the thumbnail, real vivid.” Dean asks for more information, for more details, because he just can’t wrap his mind around why he trusts Ruby 2.0 so completely. And I need to interject for a moment. Besides the season premiere when Dean thought Sam used some black mojo to bring him back to life, when has Dean ever asked Sam how he coped after he died? He hasn’t, has he? Punk. Back to the action. Now it’s Sammy turn to be a fabulous bitch, “Sure Dean, let’s trade stories! You first, how was hell? Don’t spare the details!” He snarks in scathing sarcasm. Hee! Dean, as we saw last week, refuses to talk about hell, so he says nothing. Sam turns his eyes back to the road, and angrily triumphant because Dean isn’t sharing his the dark traumas that haunt him, so neither is Sam. As the Winchesters settle into yet another long drive, Sam’s face settles in one of stony sadness, because he is remembering his own personal hell.

The screen flashes in a cool and literal transition into a flashback to “Six Months Later” as indicated by the words on the screen. It is dark. Sammy digs a huge hole with his bare hands. When he grabs the rusted tin and sets it in the hole, I know that he is at the crossroads that Dean went to save Sam’s life in “All Hell Breaks Loose Part 2.” Sam claws dirt over the box with one hand and clutches a liquor bottle in the other. The Woeful Orchestra of Woe creates an intense ambiance Sam sloppily stands up and guzzles from the bottle not caring about the burn. He’s self-medicating, but there’s not enough liquor on the planet to staunch the aching loneliness. Swaying, he kicks dirt over the hole with his giant feet. Sammy is truly inebriated, and it’s anything but funny. Sam’s giant shadow looms over the ground as he stumbles and drinks and waits for the Crossroads Demon. When it doesn’t come fast enough, he rages, “COME ON!” and hurls the bottle into the cold night air. “Where the hell are you?” Sammy spins around and squints into the night air. A tight shot reveals that our pristine darling Sammy looks very worse for the wear, all unkempt hair and shadows under dark eyes. “I was wondering whether to come or not, I mean you shot one of my co-workers,” the MALE Crossroads Demon says as he stands a distance away under a light. Remember, folks, the Crossroads Demon that Sammy killed in “Bedtime Stories” was played by none other than his former fiancée, Sandra Not-Padalecki. And that was really mean. I apologize. Her name is Sandra McCoy, and I loved her in the video for NSYNC’s “Pop.” She was quite bubbly and effervescent and adorable.

And wait just a damn minute! Every other Crossroads Demon has been female, so why are they suddenly sending a man? Is there just as much sexism in the demon world as there is in the mortal one? And no, Sarah Palin’s candidacy for Vice-President isn’t a valid argument for progress the women’s movement. Her presence in government and the national spotlight makes Gloria Steinum CRY. Do they think a guy would have been chance against a distraught Sammy Winchester? Or do they just not want to completely obliterate Sammy’s trademark goodness and decency in one episode by having him doing bad things with demons in female meatsuits. But I’m getting way ahead of myself.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Sam, but you don’t look so hot, buddy. I guess burying your brother didn’t agree with you.” XY Crossroads says as his eyes flash red. This flashback takes place in first few days after Sam insisted they bury Dean instead of salting and burning his corpse. And I just had a pain typing that. I hate this show. Stop torturing the pretty. Grief-Striken Sammy spreads his arms out, showing off his impressive wingspan, and is more than ready to get down to business. XY Crossroads wants to see The Knife, so Sammy pulls it out of his magic hoodie (which he was rockin’ in season one!) and slams it ontop of a weathered table. “No Devil’s Traps either. I’m not here to play games,” Sammy snarls. XY Crossroads approaches in a casual manner, hands in the pockets of his dress pants. His unbuttoned collar and loosened tie makes him look like a businessman who just got off work and is on the way to the bar. “Lemme guess, you want to make a deal. And round and round the Winchesters go,” he singsongs as he approaches and (stupidly) puts his hands flat on the table like a lawyer. “Sorry, Sam, that’s not going to happen.” Sam’s face is blank for a second, but Jared Padalecki is doing something indescribably awesome with his eyes, and faster than I’ve ever seen him move, Sammy snatches up the knife and plunges it through the hand of XY Crossroads. Ouch. The demon groans in agony as his hand snap-crackles-pops with supernatural light and he fights to get free, but Devastated Sammy holds it in place and pins his other hand to the table. “I don’t want ten years. I don’t want one year. I don’t want CANDY. I want to trade places with Dean.” DUN! And that DUN was just my heart breaking. I just want to hug him and love him and cut his messy hair.

XY Crossroads shaking with pain offers up a manly…erm, demonly, “No.” Sam rages, “JUST TAKE ME, IT’S A FAIR TRADE!” “NO!” XY counters, relishing Sammy’s torment and desperation. The Last of the Winchesters abandons rage for complete flabbgastedness, because this is his last hope for getting his brother back. You can pinpoint the second he realizes that he will never see Dean again; that Dean will be tortured in hell for eternity because he offered his soul to save Sam in a moment of similar and complete grief; and Sammy actually has to live without him, and it’s so soul-shatteringly wrong that he can’t even fathom it. “Lilith wants me to dead. Just let him go; she can have me.” He pleads, and there’s spit on his chin. XY Crossroads has the upper hand—and the irony of it all isn’t lost on me—because “it’s not about your soul. Dean’s in hell right where we want him. We’ve got everything exactly the way we want it. You want to kill me, go ahead, I’ve made peace with my lord.” Sammy, of course, kills him, and we hear his death echoing in Sam’s mind back in the present. I’m still reeling from it all. And so am I. I just might need a cigarette, because I’m quite satisfied after waiting to see Grief-Striken Sammy since the season premiere. FINALLY, we get ANGSTY GUILT and ANGSTY GRIEF and RAGE WRAPPED IN ANGUISH AND SMOTHERED IN ANGSTY GRAVY. As a viewer and an Equal-Opportunity Winchester-er, it’s cathartic and riveting to watch Jared Padalecki devour some truly terrific material like Jensen has been doing all season. Bravo! He made Sam’s misery palpable. Although the nitpicker in me wonders why this wasn’t at this at the beginning of the season. And WHOA! It seems the demon world is playing divide and conquer with the Winchesters! They figured out that Dean was keeping his brother firmly on the straight-and-narrow as well as protecting him with his life. So once they bought Dean’s soul, they traded the contract up to the higher demons, and waited until he died so Sammy would be unprotected and vulnerable for the advances of the darkside or death. Demons are patient as they are demon-y, I see. Back in the present, Sam and Dean are silent, remembering their awful time apart. We can hear the patter of the rain against the car. We can hear the windshield wipers squeak against the windshield. We can hear the rumble of the engine. But the air between Sammy and Dean is so cluttered with everything they’re not saying to each other, and that is the loudest thing of alll. I say it again, stop torturing the pretty, “Supernatural.”

“Girl, Interrupted” Medical Center. Fed-Like Sammy and Un-Fed-Like Dean are wearing their beautiful black suits in the whitest hospital ever (Random Fact: Something like 82% of hospital rooms are actually mint green, not white). They speak to Doc about Cherry Winona Jolie’s escape. Doc explains that Cherry knocked the orderly unconscious and “he doesn’t even remember coming into her room.” Maybe because he was possessed. Dean points out that subduing the orderly would have to be a mighty feat since the orderly had “eighty pounds on her.” Doc assumes she planned the attack by waiting behind the door and she just punched him. Wait, no one noticed that the bureau was about five feet closer to the door than it should be? Or the orderly’s magically broken ribs? For someone who went to school for 12 years just to become a doctor, she’s pretty stupid. He was pinned to a door by a BUREAU. All of the inaccuracies are making my eye twitch, so I’m going to summarize: No less than two months ago, she was a normal college girl, a Journalism major (HOLLA!). Then, she was overtaken by DEE-monic delusions, because she apparently suffers from television’s favorite mental disorder, Schizophrenia. Doc hands over Cherry’s Sketchbook O’ Crazy and her drawings depict everything that has happened this season in awesome stylized pictures, which Dean calls “Revelations.” We also learn that Cherry’s father was a church deacon, and so it’s not all that shocking that her schizo paranoia took religious overtones, specifically centered on Lucifer’s rising. Sammy and Dean know that Anna knows The Truth, and are very concerned…and pretty.

Cut to a house that is presumably Cherry’s. There are two cars in the driveway, but no one is answering the door. Un-Fed-Like Dean tries the knob—his suit jacket pulling tight across his back, I might add—and walks in. I hate people who are too stupid to lock their front doors. Unfortunately, Cherry’s not there and her parents are dead, throats slit by demons, judging by the sulfur scattered on the floor. Dean finally sees that Ruby 2.0 wasn’t lying, and the demons “want her, and they’re not screwin’ around.” Thankfully, Dean and Sammy didn’t buy the recounting of how Cherry escaped from the asylum. “So I’m Girl, Interrupted, and I know the score of the apocalypse. And I just busted out of the nutbox—possibly using superpowers by the way—where would I go?” Dean thinks aloud as he sorts through their mail. That’s a moot point, because we all know Dean would be at the nearest strip club, regardless. Sammy continues to spread his fingerprints and DNA around the house by picking up a photo from the buffet table. He notices that the beautiful stained glass window that was in the Sketchbook O’ Crazy is that is the picture, it’s her family’s church. So, he continues the roleplaying game, in a completely non-sexy way. Boo! “If you were religious, scared and had demon on your ass, where would you go to feel safe?” Entertainment Weekly’s New York Office, duh! What? That’s MY church.

AWESOME establishing shot of the Milton’s church with the front bumper of the Metallicar in the foreground. Suck it, “Heroes.” This show is everything yours should be, but better! Sammy and Dean, out of their sheriff suits, and in their hunting ensembles, enter the attack of the church with their guns drawn. I would riff about the beautiful detail of church setting is, what with dark wood buttresses and antique light fixtures, but I don’t want to bore anyone with my love of art history. Hee!

Sammy sees the shadow of Cherry crouched behind a stained glass partition, so he puts his gun away and motions for Dean to do the same. Gently, he says that he and his brother are there to help, and specifically gives her their names. That coaxes her out of her hiding place. She asks if Dean is “The Dean,” which I know is going to be his new nickname, and she too is in battle gear—jeans, white cleavage-friendly shirt, and an Army green jacket that’s almost as ugly as Sammy’s. “It’s really you,” Cherry marvels as she stands in front of an enormous white and lavender checkered glass window that is way too modern to fit in with the décor of the church. “The angels talk about you. You were in hell, but Castiel pulled you out and some of them think you can help save us.” She says as she advances towards Dean. Dean is amazed and looks positively gorgeous. She reluctantly talks to Sam, “some of them don’t like you at all.” Hee! “They talk about you all the time. I feel like I know you.” Now that Cherry is free from the hospital and all of the drugs, we can tell that she is timid and shy, despite her cherrylicious red hair. She has big brown eyes that are silvery and jump from beautiful man to beautiful man as she tells them that she can’t speak to the angels, she just overhears their conversations but believes the angels probably don’t know that she even exists. And we all know that will come back to bit her in the bum. “Like right now?” Dean asks lifting his eyebrows in a way that is completely adorable. She isn’t hearing them now, but she can’t ignore the voices, because there are so many of them. “So they lock you up with a case of the crazies when really you were just tuning into angel radio?” Dean sums up with his trademark eloquence. Cherry is finally glad someone believes her. “Yes. Thank You.” Oh, and the first words she heard were on September 18th: “Dean Winchester is saved.” They now understand why the demons want Anna so badly, because she can hear everything they are planning. “You’re 1-900-ANGEL.” Dean jokes to Anna, and she smiles. God, she’s a Deangirl! And Dean does too, softly, pleased that he put her at ease for just a moment. I must note that Dean hasn’t even attempted to look at her rack. Does he LIKE her?

Cherry then asks if her parents are okay, because she was too scared to go home. Um, awkward? Before either of them can share pregnant gazes and avoid the question, Ruby 2.0 bursts in tell the boys that the demons are coming. Cherry recoils, because she can see Ruby 2.0’s true face, her putty face. You’ve heard of a Butter Face (or Butherface), Genevieve is a Putty Face. I think she’s a very attractive girl, her skin is so smooth and she has thick features, and sometimes, it looks like her whole face was molded out of silly putty. Sam tells her that Ruby 2.0 is a good demon (OXYMORON!), but Dean points out the convenience of Ruby popping up with a demon on her tail. And he’s not being adorably bitchy anymore, now he sounds like a broken record. Shut up, Dean! Ruby 2.0 says that the “big time” demon followed them from Cherry’s house. Sam points to the statue of The Virgin Mary, because her EYES ARE BLEEDING! Whoa. “It’s too late. He’s here.” Ruby 2.0 says. Sam stashes Cherry in a closet. Dean stares at the bleeding statue as he’s seen it before, but he can’t remember where or when. And neither can I, because that’s NEVER happened on this show. Sam walks back out, pulling out a tiny flask of holy water, which seems like it would be useless against a demon that can make carved pieces of rock BLEED. “You have to pull him right away,” Ruby 2.0 commands. Dean, of course, is having none of that. And Ruby sets him straight, “Now is not the time to bellyache about Sam going darkside. Sam exorcises that demon or we die.” Dean has no snarky comeback for that, so Sam puts away his flask and turns to the doorway as the soundtrack shakes with an intensifying rumble. The door flies open, revealing a sour faced man with close-cut white hair, who looks like he just left from a polo match in his navy blue blazer and khakis. Calmly, he walks up the stairs. Sammy raises his right hand and thinks real hard. The demon clutches his neck as his eyes flash yellow in a way that looks like he’s blocking Sam’s mojo, and then adjusts his collar and coughs, mildly annoyed. “That tickles.” That was PIMP! Get that dirt off your shoulder, Demon!

I just noticed this, but there is a quick flash to Ruby 2.0’s putty face tinted with guilt, like she knew Sammy couldn’t pull him or that this was a set-up to see if he could. Please tell me this black-eyed skank isn’t pulling the dee-monic wool over Sammy’s eyes. “You don’t have the juice to take me on, Sam,” Pimp D announces and then uses his own DEE-Monic Telekinesis to yank Sammy forward. His feet skid helplessly over the floor and his arms flail before he tumbles through the banister and careens down a flight of stairs. I really hope that was a stuntman, because OUCH. Dean, pissed, wields The Knife and lunges for Pimp D. But the demon easily stops him and instead of hitting him, he sucker-punches the audience with “Hello again, Dean.” MY HEAD IS ALREADY SPINNING! How does Pimp D know Dean?! He slams Scrappy Doo into one of those lovely buttresses I didn’t mention earlier. Meanwhile, Ruby 2.0 snatches a petrified Cherry from the closet and they presumably leave. Pimp D is now pummeling my poor Dean all about the head and face AND HE’S SO NOT PIMP ANYMORE! NOT THE FACE!NOTTHEFACE!NOT THEFACE! The Knife falls to the floor because Dean is getting his ass kicked and bleeding a lot. “Don’t you recognize me? Oh wait, I forgot I’m wearing a pediatrician.” Heee! He’s pimp again. Sorry, Dean. “And we were so close…in hell.” “Alastair.” Dean chokes, blood in his mouth and streaming from his nose. Alastair apparently has demon sense because he doesn’t continue smashing Dean’s head in like a pumpkin, but turns around expecting an incoming attack. This opens him up for Badass Sammy, who plunges The Knife directly into Alastair’s chest, just off of the heart. Go ‘head, Sammy! “You’re going to have to try a whole lot harder than that son,” Pimp Alistair teases, before tossing Sammy aside. The Knife did hurt him however, because he groans as light snap-crackle-pops inside his chest as he pulls it out. Sammy grabs Dean and both know they need to escape and fast. They eye the hideous, checkered window, and then each other before they take off. Tell me they’re not. OH, YES THEY ARE! Sprinting, they hurtle themselves against through the glass, and plummet at least a story to the ground below, because as motherfuckin’ awesome as Winchesters are, they can’t fly. Alastair watches, grimly defeated, but he now has The Knife. Crap.

Bloody, half-stitched gash. Yes, you read that correctly, Sammy (ONLY?!????!!) sustained a five-inch long laceration in his lovely, tanned bicep from their dive through a stained glass window, and onto the pavement some 30 feet below, and he’s now stitching it up himself! And that’s it folks. *stands up, places hand over heart* I officially pledge my allegiance to Sammy Winchester! Sorry again, Dean. He pushes the needle through his own flesh and vocalizes the pain. In the bathroom, Dean spits blood into the sink ands asks if Sam’s almost done. Sammy, who is now pulling the thread through his own flesh, snarks that he’s “going as fast as he can.” Dean walks into the room, “Good, cause I got a dislocated shoulder over here.” Don’t be a wussy, pop it back in yourself, sugartits! I will admit that it’s kind of shitty of Sammy to opt to stitch himself up before tending to Dean’s arm. But judging by the amount of blood on Sammy’s shirt, I’m sure they thought that wound was pretty serious. Dean self-medicates with alcohol as Sammy holds the threat with his teeth and snips it. Breathless with pain, he impatiently motions for Dean to give him the bottle of booze, and uses it to disinfect his freshly stitched wound. Dean completely adds insult to injury, “We lost the magic knife, huh?” “Yeah, saving your ass!” Sammy snaps and he gained a ton of badass points for it too. “Who was the hell was that demon?” “No one good,” Dean cryptically answers. Wow, now that’s specific. Dean is a hypocrite! “We gotta find [Cherry].” “Ruby’s got her, I’m sure she’s okay,” Sammy says, panting. He looks at Dean, remembering that, despite Dean’s uncannily high tolerance for pain, his shoulder is still dangling out of the socket. Sammy gingerly stands up and moves behind Dean as he leans against the bed, bracing himself for what’s to come. He knows it’ll hurt but he’s prepared for the pain, and whatever comes next…and no, I’m not even kidding. I can only write what is on the screen, and that’s exactly what happened. I can hear Wincesters swooning as we speak. Dr. Sammy says that he is going to pop Dean’s shoulder back in on three, but he is an asshole and does it on one. Dean screams and literally walks away gripping his hair in reaction to the pain that is so realistic, it makes my stomach hurt. Shut up! I’m empathizing! They’re in PAIN. “You sure about Ruby? I think it’s just as likely she sent us to find Radio Girl and then sent that demon in to kill us,” Dean says for the 54th time in 17 minutes. Sam insists Ruby will keep Cherry safe and she hasn’t contacted them because “that demon is probably watching us right now, waiting to follow us right back to [Cherry] again, that’s why he let us go.” Sammy has grown quite smart since Dean’s demise, and again, I think he’s faced off against some heinous demons during his Deathwish Phase. He sure does know how they operate. “You call this letting us go,” Dean scoffs, icing his poor mangled shoulder. “Look killing us would have been no problem for that thing, that’s why we just have to lay low and wait for Ruby to contact us.” Sam assures him, but later admits that he doesn’t know how she is going to do that. Tossing the ice pack aside, Dean tells Sam that he needs to know why Sam trusts Ruby so much. Put that back on your shoulder, stupid! He promises he is “not trying to pick a fight,” but he just “deserves to know more.” This is completely valid, since Sam’s entanglement with Ruby puts Dean’s life in jeopardy. A lot. Haunting strings from the Woeful Orchestra of Woe lilts as the camera creeps closer to Sammy’s sad face. He avoids Dean’s gaze and confesses, “because, she saved my life.”

“Six Months Earlier” flashes over the blurry frame that slowly ebbs into focus and tracks a drunken Sam as he wobbles down a hallway. I’m assuming this takes place immediately after The Crossroads Disaster (and no I’m not talking about the 2002 Britney Spears movie, although that was a major clusterfuck). He unlocks the door and shuffles into the hotel room with the balance of a dizzy toddler, holding his arms out and inching woodenly towards the bed, ready to collapse inside of it, and not get up for weeks. A line of light from the window illuminates Sammy’s face, and despite his clean-shaven jaw, my poor Sammy looks absolutely terrible—his eyes are dark, red-rimmed and dead. He senses something in the room and turns to catch a first to the jaw. Deathwish Sammy reels in stupefying pain and surprise, and by the time his booze-drenched mind can comprehend that he is being ambushed, and try to fight back, he is punched again. HARD. At this point, Sammy’s attacker could be a run-of-the-mill human lowlife, because Sammy is downright blitzed he can’t even see straight, and frankly, my dear, Sammy doesn’t give a damn. The attacker actually manages to restrain giant Sammy and a woman in a cheap billowy trenchcoat that screams “Matrix” materializes to knee him in the ribs until his legs collapse. Whoever this is? She needs to be put down now! WE HATE HER and her abdominal-damaging knees! The henchman snatches Sammy up my his hair as the henchwoman reaches in his puffy magic hoodie and retrieves The Knife. “Thanks for keeping this warm for me, Sam.” She singsongs, trying to be nasty. “Ruby.” Sam says almost immediately. Really? So Ruby 2.0 is really Ruby 3.0? Fuck that. From now on, it’s RUBY. Done. I can’t keep track of all the bodies she ruins. “It’s nice to be back. Even for hell, it was pretty nasty. I guess I really pissed Lilith off.” Ruby’s current body is that of a lithe blonde woman with ice blue eyes I’d almost kill for, and dimples that rival The Padalecki’s. While she’s about as threatening as a Carebear, she is a breath of fresh air from Wildfire's stilted interpretation of Ruby. “Imagine my relief when she gave me one last chance to take it topside, and all I had to do was find you and kill you.” New Ruby jabs the knife in a hilarious mime of a lethal stab. She’s so cute! But Sam doesn’t really seem to care about THAT right now, because Ruby’s demon henchman, who is pulling out clumps of his hair, is all of 5’9’’ and he’s bending Jared Padalecki backwards in all sorts of painful shapes. Defiant and suicidal, Sammy slaps henchman’s arm away and extends his neck out to Ruby in a brazen invitation. “Fine. Do it!” He hisses. They share an intense gaze and for the briefest of moments, she looks incredibly sad at what The GRIEF has done to Sammy. She whips her arm back, ready to put Sammy out of his misery. At this point, I’m ready for her to do it, because maybe Sammy can be reborn and rehymenated and rejuvenated like Dean was. I kid, I kid. We all know she’s not going to kill him. I am shocked, however, when she drives the knife into the henchman who has probably left Padalecki in dire need of chiropractor. Score! Sammy’s face flashes with disbelief and then…fucking disappointment as he watches that poor man’s body fall to the floor, dead. “Grab your keys. We gotta go. Now,” Ruby commands. Deathwish Sammy just wishes he was dead.

Sammy is driving the Metallicar. I repeat Drunken Deathwish Sammy Eugene Winchester is driving the Metallicar. I really think Jared and Jensen need to film a drunk driving PSA before the season is over. And Ruby is defiling Sammy’s dead brother’s wheels by sitting in the front seat. Ew! I bet the leather will rot right off the frame when she gets out. But she’s giddy about being topside, and she wants some fries. “I just escaped hell. I deserve a treat.” Yeah, rub it in Ruby. Sammy looks despondent, broken. “You know a ‘thank you’ would be nice.” “Who asked for your help?” Sammy replies wearily. “You have no idea what I’ve been through. When Lilith gets pissed, she gets creative. You want to hear about the corners of hell I’ve seen?” I’m gonna say NO since his brother is there, and Sam is already two minutes away from driving the Metallicar off a cliff. “I’m a fugitive for you, Sam,” She stresses. I see she has pledged her allegiance to Sammy too, but WHY? I really don’t believe this demon could endure centuries of torture and anguish and still cling to her humanity only to throw her support behind a human who was (is?) supposed to play a pivotal role in the approaching Apocalypse. “I took all this risk to get back to you, so yeah, I deserve a damn thank you.” Why does Ruby sound like less of a badass demon and more of like a mopey, clingy ex-girlfriend-turned-stalker? He simply asks if she knows of anything that can save Dean. “Nothing I know of is powerful enough to do that,” Ruby resigns. Sam jerks the wheel to the side of the road, “then I have no use for you. Get out.” She doesn’t leave, of course, so he levels her with this: “Whose body are you riding?” Ruby is flabbergasted, “You’ve never asked me that before.” “Well I’m asking now.” “Some secretary,” she admits, ashamed. “Let her go,” Sam demands, “or I’ll send you straight back to hell.” Do it! Sam, please do it!

Cut to hospital. The body that Ruby started the season with is in the bed currently occupying a bed in the ICU. A label at the foot is labeled Jane Doe. Now isn’t that convenient! Two doctors in scrubs stand over her body. One doctor says, “All right, pull it,” and resident detaches the respirator (that has no tube in it by the way) and all of the monitors scream as Jane Doe dies, because she was probably brain dead for a specified amount of time before the state decided to cut off her lights. As the doctor calmly writes on her chart, Jane Doe melodramatically gasps back to life and shoots ramrod straight breathing even as the monitor still reads a FLATLINE. We never see Ruby’s black cloud of demon smoke enter the body, but Ruby’s got tricks, I guess. Whatever. “Who do I have to kill to get some french fries around here?” I have refrained from riffing on what a terrible actress this girl is, but I’m saying it now. She is awful! I can’t take it anymore. I don’t even believe that she’s breathing hard! I was never crazy about the character, and Genevieve’s Ruby makes me hate her. I miss Kate Cassidy, DUIs, overacting and all. COME BACK KATE!

Abandoned house. Sam has taken to Dean’s favorite hobby of cleaning guns after a meal of crappy take-out pizza and cheap whiskey. Sammy is squatting in a dilapidated cabin previously occupied by the Unabomber judging by the looks of things. One of the walls has completely eroded to studs, allowing lush overgrowth and the sun to stream inside. There is a harsh knock on the door and Sammy grabs his trusty sawed-off, holds the forend to cock the weapon one-handed. Hee! He walks down the hall of rotting walls and warped floors and presses the barrel of the gun to the door before opening it. Um, paranoid much? There stands Ruby with a note from her very confused doctors, proof that her new body is “ 100 percent socially conscious. I recycle. Al Gore would be proud,” she says, entering the house uninvited. Sam seems almost amused that she “grabbed a coma patient.” His voice sounds strange, like he hadn’t spoken since he saw the last time he saw her. “You said you wanted a body with no one in it. Apartment was empty. You happy?” Ruby continues as she surveys Sammy’s new digs. Sam does the same to Ruby. “Why are you here?” He wonders and his mouth moves in an eerie, deliberate way, over-articulating words that still come out slurred. Sam’s drunk. I doubt he’s been sober since Dean died, but he's just functionally drunk right now, which is good since he was playing with guns. But wow, Jared plays drunk quite well. I wonder how much research he did for this episode. “I can’t bring Dean back, but I can get you something else you want.” Sam can’t imagine wanting anything ever again. “Yeah, what’s that?” He inquires, trading the shotgun for the ever-present bottle of booze. “Lilith.” This gets Sam’s attention, “You want me to use my psychic whatever?” Ruby begins her hard-sell and Alcoholic Sammy interrupts. “Skip the speech, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

And I need to interject. Jared Padalecki is absolutely rocking this entire episode, especially this scene. In “Yellow Fever,” Dean’s overwhelming fear turned him into a character I didn’t recognize, and Jensen Ackles’ performance was one for the “Supernatural” history books. Now, I feel the same thing with Sam. Sam’s debilitating grief has turned him into someone I don’t recognize. He isn’t the sweet-faced, well-intentioned, rational nerd who happens to be a fifteen-foot-tall lethal weapon. He is a gigantic, intimidating, embattled alcoholic who is fueled by grief and little else.

“Slow down there, cowboy,” Ruby warns. “Just show me what I have to do.” Ruby finds another bottle, and takes a swig. She raps about her time in the joint and how her cellmate, Lilith, is cookin’ up something that is “apocalyptic big.” She will teach Sam everything she knows but he has to promise her “patience and sobriety.”

Back to the Future. Dean is still hunched over cradling his injured shoulder that he’s still not icing. Now would be a great time to ice your mangled shoulder, moron! “So, what’d she teach you?” He wonders, engrossed in storytime. “That I’m a crappy student.”

Back to the past. Sam stands, sweaty, and painted orange by the light of the fire. He eyes Ruby before he focuses on another being in the room. The camera pulls back to reveal a demon that is riding the body of a balding, thirty-something man who probably works for The Geek Squad. Sammy lifts his hand and thinks real hard. The demon doesn’t really struggle but seems confused when his mouth involuntarily opens and gooey black smoke escapes. Finally, he realizes what is happening, and the demon white-knuckles the arms of the chair he’s lashed to. He’s symbolically clinging to this body and this mortal coil. The smoke stubbornly slides back into its body as Sammy stops and grabs his head. Geek Squad seems tickled by Sam’s pain. Determined, Sam tries again, and pulls the shit-eating grin right off Geek’s face, along with his essence. The demon visibly struggles this time, because Sammy’s fighting so hard and rolls with the pain until his nose starts to bleed, and it intensifies. He bends over with agony, head in his hands. Ruby, in her form-fitting, badass leather jacket, stands sentry with The Knife, overseeing this whole process even though she never says a word. Some Ms. Miyagi you are! Geek Squad laughs demonically at Sam’s inability to perform. So Ruby stands by her man, and kills him by stabbing The Knife through his face so hard that the blade comes out though his neck as the life snap-crackle-pops out of him. “Not funny.” Ruby declares to some poor man’s dead body. Um, Sam still knows the 50 words of Latin. You didn’t have to kill him.

Cut to Cabin. Sammy walks back into his shack with a shovel, and tramps over the devil’s trap with Ruby right behind him. A close up of the pentacle shows that Sammy was kind of enough to scrape the paint off so Ruby wouldn’t get stuck in it, although I think he might regret that move in about three minutes. Sammy, in a form-fitting blue tee shirt, slams the shovel down on the table and digs through Dean’s duffel bag for a bottle of painkillers. “Just give it time, Sam, it’ll get better,” Ruby promises. “What? I need more practice?” He winded from, ya know, burying the poor man Ruby killed. He pops the pills and washes them down with a long, searing of liquor, and I worry about Sammy’s liver. Also I can see the lean wave of his stomach beneath the cotton. O that I were a shirt upon that stomach, that I might touch that stomach! But sadly, Sam sinks to sit on the table and I can’t see it anymore. Boo! And we all know the only reason he sat down is so tiny little Genevieve could talk to Ginormous Sammy without breaking her neck. “I’m not talking about pulling Demons,” she pauses. “I know losing Dean was—“ “HEY!” Sam reflexively snaps, “I don’t want to talk about it.” The camera switches to film over Sam’s head for Ruby’s side, and we get a shot of Sammy’s beautiful back. I hate that tee shirt more than I hate Ruby right now. “You know what? Where do you get off slapping me with that greeting card ‘time heals all’ crap? What the hell do you know?”

Ruby inches closer. “I used to be human, and I remember what it’s like to lose someone.” How? Ruby was human “back when the plague was big,” and tortured in hell for centuries, how could she possibly remember grief and anguish? I don’t buy it. Her character is becoming more human, and the more that happens, the more I suspect her motives. Ruby is softer now and she places her hand on Sammy’s shoulder and seriously says, “I’m sorry.” Sammy recoils, sweeping her arm off like she burned him. He can’t be touched. “Don’t.” The camera switches to his face and his shoulder is literally shaking where she touched him, and he weakly confesses, “I can’t.” And his face twitches like he’s going to cry or completely fall apart, because he is talking about everything, not just Ruby’s sudden need offer demony comfort. “Sam, you’re not alone.” Ruby swoops in to kiss him, off-center and sloppy. Sam doesn’t kiss back or do anything for several agonizing seconds. Finally, he shoves her away in disgust and jumps to his feet. “What are you doing?” He walks across the room and sits on the ratty couch. “Sam, it’s okay!” Ruby says, and her putty face is gone. She looks pretty. Sam wipes his mouth off. “That is ANYTHING but OKAY!” Sam yells. “What’s wrong?” “Where do I start?!” Sam is still rubbing at his lips, leaving his hands over his mouth. Ruby advances, and fluidly strips off her leather jacket and tosses it aside. I bet you wished you kept that devil’s trap intact, huh, Sammy? “Is it because of the body?” She asks and she places her hands on Sam’s knees and kneels down in front of him. “I told you, it’s all me in here.” She puppets his giant hands on her stomach and inches closer. “There’s no one else in here, and it’s nice inside this body, Sam. It’s soft and warm.” She’s SEDUCING him. Her voice gets breathy and porny. Sam valiantly tries to fight it, but it’s a losing battle. Her rubs the soft skin of her stomach. “What are you doing?” Sam duhs. Ruby kisses his forehead and trails her lips along his face, knowing all of the manly buttons to push, “is it because you’re really scared to go there with a demon? Because it’s wrong and it’s bad and we shouldn’t?” She taunts and teases her mouth against his. Sam’s face twists in a valiant effort to push her off or send her back to Hades, but he finally gives in, and kisses her hard. He lifts her up so she is straddling him. Ruby’s shirt comes off and Sam continues, yanking fiercely at her hair and kissing and biting. His shirt flies over his head, and they are officially the beast with two backs. I don’t even realize that Sam is doing the dirty with a demon because I’m identifying all of the muscles in Sam’s magnificent back, and there are some extras that aren’t in my college anatomy book. It’s also amusingly obvious that Jared Padalecki is flexing all those muscles because he knows just how hot he is. Thank you, Padelecki! I wish I could eat sushi and pudding off that back. I wish I would have gone to the “Supernatural” Convention that’s a mere 87 miles away just for that back. I wish I was a putty-faced wildfire who got to this part on “SPN.” And I’m…yeah, sorry.

Even though I’m ready to build shrines to the SexyBack of Padalecki, there is nothing beautiful about this tryst, despite the roaring fire and passion involved. It’s ANGRYGRIEFSex. Sam is in such an ugly state that this is just another kind of release like drinking or fighting or screaming, just with orgasms, hopefully. I know the Samgirls are camped outside of Erik Kripke’s office with torches in a protest against necrophilia or rape, but this is where I would point out that it’s a fictional, and it’s really not that serious. But I don’t think Dean would buy that. We flash to Dean’s horrified face, because remember, Sammy is telling Dean this story in vivid detail. “Um, Sam? Too much information!” He hisses, horrified. “I told you I was coming clean,” Sam says. “Yeah, but now I feel dirty,” Dean shoots back and starts drinking. “So far all you’ve told me about is a manipulative bitch who screwed you, played mind games with you, and did everything in the book to get you to go bad,” he summarizes. Sam promises that he’s not finished with the story. Dean leans forward, still scarred “skip the nudity, please.” “Pretty soon after…that, we put together some signs, omens. Lilith was in town, and I wanted to strike her first.”

Five Months Earlier. Shack of Sin. Sammy’s zips up his fugly brown jacket thing as Ruby tells him he isn’t ready to face Lilith. Sam isn’t listening, because he is trigger-happy and ready to attack. Happy. He’s downright giddy. This is can't end well. Ruby points out that Sam hasn’t been “too successful” with his training (maybe because she sucks as a teacher), but he says that he’ll use The Knife if he needs to. It’s simple. Ruby snatches Sam’s wrist and demands, “stop! You can’t just fly in there reckless, Sam. We need you to take the bitch out.” Sam is overly confident that he will. “You get one shot, and that’s it. You’re the only one who can do it Sam, so if she kills you first…” Sam tears his eyes away. When he looks at her again, there is no fear, no hesitation. “You don’t want to survive this. It’s a kamakaze attack, you want to die fighting Lilith,” Ruby understands now. “That’s stupid!” Sam scoffs, but he’s walking away again, and Ruby is right behind him. “No, it’s the truth, because if you kill her and you survive this, you have to go on without your brother!” Ruby, who barely comes up to Jared’s shoulders, has to run to get in front of him, to get through to him. “This isn’t what Dean would have wanted! This isn’t what he died for!” She throws herself against the door in an effort to stop Deathwish Sammy. “Get out of my way!” Sam fumes, quiet. His jaw is set and he barely controls the rage and the desperation that resides just beneath the surface. “No, Sam, this is suicide!” Sammy explodes, and slams Ruby into a wall, The Knife at her throat. The creepily, wild expression on his face shows us all that he will kill her if he has to. Because the ANGRYGRIEFSex wasn't about love and it didn't fix anything. He opens the door, knife still at her throat and leaves. And that’s her big speech? Please tell me there’s more, because she didn’t starfishing him to get him to stop or tell him how awful death really is. There HAS to be more.

Normal suburb. Sammy walks alone down a street filled with regular people living normal, danger-free lives. Sammy seems so out of place. He searches for something and finds it in through the window of a beautiful home with pink flowering plants hanging from the window: a little girl, sitting motionless at a table that is covered in desserts and candy. The set-up is eerily similar to Lilith’s infamous shore leave in “No Rest For The Wicked.” Deathwish Sammy makes his move. Stupidly, he enters the house through the front door with The Knife at the ready. He clears the front closet before venturing further. The house is dark and silent. There are no guards or dead bodies in foyer. He inches towards the dining room and finds the girl in a blue dress with white bow at the back sitting in a gorgeous black and white upholstered chair. She’s Alice in Demonland. He inches forward with The Knife above his head, ready to dispatch a 12-year-old girl possessed by a demon or die trying. For one horrible minute, I actually think “Supernatural” was going to go THERE. Having Sam kill a child, possessed or otherwise, would be 73 times worse than human-demon sex. Suddenly, she turns around, and sobs, “please I wanna go home!” Shit. It’s a set-up. I think I realized that before Sam does, because a motherfuckin’ giant knocks The Knife out of Sam’s hand another demon henchman materializes. I guess the economy is better in hell than topside, because Lilith has a ton of employees. You think they get a 401k? The leader shoves Sam against the wall. “Lilith sends her regrets. She couldn’t make it!” He laughs with his gravelly voice. Crap. Sammy is trapped. And this time, there is no one to come save him. He’s alone, unarmed and outmanned. He eyes The Knife that he can’t reach, terrified now that death is a certainty. I don’t know why he doesn’t try to exorcise the demons. I also don’t know why these guys aren’t bludgeoning the life out of that wretched Sammy Winchester, who’s probably exorcised most of their friends. While they waste preicious ass-kicking time, a feminine hand scoops up The Knife. Surprise! It’s Ruby! She dispatches one of the lesser henchman with a grand slice of his throat. Tiny Ruby pulls the other guy off of Sam, and commands that he save the girl. Sammy does just that, leaving Ruby to fight a man bigger than Sam. She goes in for kill, but the leader blocks it and holds onto her tiny little wrist. Ruby punches him twice across the face, but that has absolutely no effect on him. He easily disarms by breaking her arm and then flings her into a wall, lifting her off her feet by her neck. There is no special effect needed, because this ox of a man is THAT strong. “Ruby, you’re in so much trouble!” He seethes. He heckles her so more, until he gags and coughs to the side. That’s weird. Ruby frowns until she sees Sam behind him, hand outstretched, thinking real hard. Sammy’s face bends into that almost-evil expression as he rides out the pain that causes a nosebleed, and expels the demon almost instantly. “Thanks.” He says, and finally Deathwish Sammy is no longer.

Back to the Future. “Whatever you have to say, she saved me. More than that, she got through to me. What she said to me, it’s what you would have said. If it wasn’t for her, I wouldn’t be here.” As Sammy shares this, the camera moves in tight on Dean’s battered face as he understands why Sam trusts Ruby with their lives. He doesn’t need to hear anything else, that’s more than enough. While I agree it was noble that Ruby came back for Sam, I think that defining moment in their relationship should have been much more dramatic and dire to drive the point home, because I completely missed the first time I watched it. Sam has been in the very same position hundreds of times and always survived. Ruby has been swoopin’ in to save the fine Winchester asses since last season, so for a dramawhore like myself, it doesn’t feel as big as it should. Maybe it would have if those demons had done their job and kicked Sammy’s arse. Dean doesn’t have to agree with my awesome insight or compliment my beauty, because housekeeping knocks on the door. RATS! Dean tries to get rid of her, but she insists that she has clean towels. He gets up to open the door, and a large black woman on the other side (Media Studies Kira is rolling her eyes!). She pushes the towels in Dean’s arms, closes the curtains and stalks right over to Sam, handing him a piece of paper. “I’m at this address.” She tells him. That’s RUBY! She really is burning through bodies, isn’t she? Sammy’s slow on the uptake. “Go now. Go through the bathroom window, don’t stop, don’t take your car, don’t pass go. There are demons in the hall and in the parking lot,” She rattles off. Finally, Sam understands, and makes an adorably shocked face once he figures it out. “So, I’m possessing this maid for a hot minute!” She sasses. Jane Doe’s body is “slowly rotting on the floor back at the cabin with Anna.” Dean grimaces in disgust as he probably realizes that Sam bumped uglies with a dead chick. Again.

The cabin Ruby stashed Cherry is more of a boathouse or a barn. It’s constructed of bare wood and no insulation with high open ceilings. Cherry promises the boys she’s okay, and then tells that that Ruby “isn’t like other demons. She saved my life.” “I hear she does that,” Dean smiles at Cherry and then pointedly looks at Ruby. “I guess I…ugh…ya know,” Ruby waits, arms folded, as Dean fumbles over an apology. “I guess I owe you…for Sam…I just wanted…ya know.” “Don’t strain yourself,” Ruby snarks, lifting an eyebrow. But I think Dean just pulled every emotional muscle he has. “Is the moment over? Because that was awkward.” Sam smiles at them fondly. Aww! Then they chanage into matching leather outfits and sing, “We Are Family!” Who know that Dean Winchester could tapdance?!

Cherry interrupts the bonding to ask if she can call her parents. Sam and Dean exchange loaded looks. Sam lets out a weary sigh as he sits down beside her. She searches his face. Poor Sammy has just relived visceral aftermath of his brother’s death, and has lost everyone he’s cared about, so can’t even say the words just, “I’m sorry.” Cherry collapses into sobs and rocks back and forth as Dean looks away, feeling it too. Sammy lays his giant hand on her back as she cries. He looks so much older now and a little colder than the Post-Dean’s Death Sam Winchester I knew and loved. He's forever changed. “Why is this happening to me?!” Cherry sobs. “I don’t know,” he answers. Anna continues to cry, head in her ands, until she shoots up, mouth parted, hands frozen on either side of her head, listening. “They’re coming!” She ominously announces. The lights flicker and Sammy hustles Cherry into back room as Dean goes for the weapons. Um…she can her angels, y’all, not demons. Ruby should be scared, but you should be relieved. Sam returns and Dean hands him his trusty sawed-off and Ruby rifles through the gun bag, searching for The Knife. “Where The Knife?” Ruby can’t believe they lost The Knife even though it doesn’t matter because THE ANGELS ARE COMING! NOT DEMONS. Even though Jensen and Jared are only 87 miles away, they still can’t hear me! “Hey, don’t look at me!” Dean yells. “Thanks a lot!” Sammy shots back. Aww, they’re being cute in the face of danger! Dean offers him one of his amazing fake smiles as Ruby berates them for losing the knife even though it DOESN’T MATTER! The wind mounts and the door to the cabin shakes and shutters until it blows off its hinges much like it did when Alastair arrived. Sam, Dean and Ruby wait at the ready, guns blazing. There’s a familiar flapping of wings and then Castiel and Uriel strut into the cabin. Ruby’s putty face melds in fear and her eyes flip beetle black. Angels, prepare to smite! Relieved, Dean hopes the angels are here to protect Cherry, because they’ve “been having demon issues all day.” Uriel nearly snarls at Ruby, “I see that. You want to explain why you have that stain in the room?” Uriel demands. But Castiel doesn’t give them a chance, “We’re here for Anna,” he says, stoically. The Brothers Winchester want to know if they will help her. Castiel proclaims, “She has to die.” Um, crap!

87 miles. God, I’m a fucking dumbass.

Snarky Supernatural Recap: "It's The Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester"

2008-11-07T13:49:00.006-06:00

In the “Supernatural”-verse, everyday is Halloween. The Winchesters seek out the scariest creatures and dispatch them with their trademark style. But what would they do when confronted with the very founder of Halloween, Samhain? That is what “It’s The Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester”, the first Halloween-centric episode since the show’s debut in 2005, poses in a very special episode that takes place on the days surrounding October 31st. Let the slaughterin’ begin!

It’s two days before Halloween in a picturesque, suburban town that clearly loves the holiday. Kids spookify their front yards into haunted cemeteries or and hang homemade ghosts and goblins from trees. Susan Soccer Mom carries a pumpkin and a bucket of Halloween candy into her own festive home furnished by Martha Stewart, judging by the crisp greens and grays of the foyer and kitchen. Inside, Scott Soccer Dad feeds his infant son a vibrantly orange slop that I hope is baby sweet potatoes and not the disgusting strained carrots. They chatter amiably about her trip to the market, and Halloweentown’s mad rush to stockpile candy. Susan tells her husband that he cannot have any of the Halloween candy until after the trick-or-treaters have come and gone. Their conversation is so pathetically boring that I remind myself to never get married and live in the suburbs. She takes her toddler upstairs for a bath. Predictably, the husband sidles over to the enormous bucket of candy and wastes no time eating one. He grunts in satisfaction and grabs a few more pieces. Suddenly, his eyes widen, he puts the candy back in the bucket, and reaches into his mouth, alarmed. For a second, I think I’m watching “CSI: Miami” as the shot switches to a mouth’s…eye view of Scott Soccer Dad’s index finger and thumb tactilely examine the roof of his mouth. His fingers graze a razor blade that was in the candy and has now embedded itself in the roof of his mouth right by his molars. He draws his bloody fingers back before gathering enough courage to it out, which of course, allows blood to flow freely. Immediately, he folds to his knees in pain and spits out another razor blade and splatters the hardwood kitchen floor with crimson. In a series of stylish quick cuts, we see poor Scott Soccer Dad hacking up blood and choking before face-plants on the floor and dies. Susan Soccer Mom must have heard the choking or the thuds for she ventures into the kitchen with the little one, asking her husband what’s wrong. She, of course, finds him dead-eyed on floor and promptly screams while the child she’s holding sucks on his rattle completely unaffected. We fade to black before David Caruso and Sunglasses of Justice arrive.

Kick-ass title card. One day before Halloween. David Caruso and his Sunglasses of Justice have sadly departed, after handing the case over to Fed-Like Sammy and Un-Fed-Like Dean. Sammy’s wonderfully broad shoulders and strong back cut masculine lines in his dark blazer. Dean discreetly canvases the kitchen, searching for any supernatural evidence, while Sammy questions the widow. “So how many razorblades did they find?” He asks. Susan Soccer Mom, despite her customary grieving widow ensemble of dark, shapeless layers, doesn’t seem all that broken up about her husband’s death as she answers Sammy, “two on the floor, one in his stomach, and one was stuck in his throat. He swallowed for of them, how is that even possible?” Fed-Like Sammy makes an adorable face that screams, “if you only knew.” Both Fed-Like Sammy and Susan Soccer Mom turn their heads to gawk at Un-Fed-Like Dean as he noisily examines the oven. “The candy was never in the oven,” Susan snipes. “We just have to be thorough, Ms. [Soccer Mom].” Fed-Like Sammy asks if there were razorblades in the rest of the candy, but Susan says there wasn’t. Un-Fed-Like Dean rummages through the fridge, which the candy definitely wasn’t in, but he’s just looking for some beer tenderloin to swipe for later. The widow continues to not have a nervous breakdown about her husband’s terrible demise and answer Sammy’s questions while Dean sees fresh scuffmarks on the floor, indicating that the fridge had recently been moved. He discovers a hexbag behind it. Behind the widows back, he shows it to Fed-Like Sammy, who immediately adjusts his line of questioning to see if Scott Soccer Dad had any enemies who may be female, because they suspect a witch was responsible for the murder. Susan Soccer Mom, of course, is outraged, and then points out the obvious, “if someone wanted to kill my husband, don’t you think they’d find a better than that a razor in a piece of candy he might eat?” And scene!

Motel room. I have realized with great sadness that “Supernatural” has stopped creating the over-the-top theme motel rooms. In the past, the boys always checked into hotel rooms that were as refreshingly tacky as they were impeccably designed. I still covet the trippy, psychedelic, black and white wallpaper from the ‘70s disco room in “Provenances.” This season has opted to use the same two layouts, even the same table by the window and just change the flooring, bedspreads and walls. I’m sure it saves money for more important things, like Jensen Ackles’ mascara or Jared Padalecki’s big and tall wardrobe, but those tasteless hotel rooms will be missed! This room, however, is still visually offensive with its red and black-checkered floor, green couch and purple crushed velvet bedspreads. But I digress, a lot. Sorry. Dean enters the motel enthusiastically opening Halloween candy. Sammy sits on a vibrantly green couch, engrossed in his research on the contents of the hexbag. “Really, after that guy choked down all those razorblades?” Sammy questions. With his mouth full, Dean shrugs with a groovy, “it’s Halloween, man.” “For us, every day is Halloween.” “Don’t be a downer,” Dean says. Straight-Laced Exposition Sammy proceeds to totally bring the room down by explaining the contents of the hexbag: “Goldthread, an herb that’s been extinct for 200 years; a Celtic coin that’s 600 years old” and “the charred metacarpal bone of a newborn baby,” Sammy says, referring to the small, blackened object that Dean is currently sniffing and touching. Gross! “Witches, man, they’re so freakin’ skeevy,” Dean recoils with a shudder. His hatred for witches was made known in “Malleus Maleficarum,” and that was before the witch tried to kill him with a torture spell that nearly made him cough up his lungs. “It’s a pretty powerful one to put a bag like this together. More juice than we’ve ever dealt with before,” Sammy says. While Sammy was researching, Dean was investigating the late Scott Soccer Dad. The results: “He was so vanilla that he made vanilla seems spicy. I can’t find any reason why somebody would want this guy dead,” Dean laments.

Cut to the most boring basement Halloween party ever. The basement is as festive as the rest of this Halloween-loving town, but there are only about twelve kids at this bash and no one is dancing, making out or smoking weed. In other words, it’s like all the parties I went to in high school. Two girls, a brunette and a blonde, stroll through the lamefest. The brunette is wearing a slut-tastic nurse outfit, complete with red garter and a red patent leather accents. Her friend, who I immediately recognize as a grown up Abby Devreaux from “Days of our Lives” is wearing the cheapest cheerleading uniform I’ve ever seen. It’s nothing more than a tiny blue pleated skirt and a skimpy tight tee-shirt with a WW and a megaphone emblazed across the bust. Go Team Winchester! And the skanky cheerleader stereotype continues to live on. Abby and Slutty Nurse sidle up to Justin, a kid in a clothes and tireprints across his chest and face, and hope he got into his parents liquor cabinet, but it’s triple-locked. He’s a skinny, awkward kid and brags about how he’s going to get “so baked” at the mausoleum party on Halloween night. Instantly, we see the love triangle. Justin stares at Abby as she laughs and Slutty Nurse laughs too hard at while making eyes at him, “Well, it’s gotta be better than this G-rated ass-fest.” Stop with the pseudo-trendy slang, “Supernatural” and kill someone please, preferably Abby. And it suddenly clicks, Slutty Nurse is wearing a SLUTTY NURSE COSTUME very much like the one our poor, flambéed Jessica Moore wore in the series premiere. She’s toast! Boo! I liked her.

Anyway, Abby boasts that this party isn’t that bad, and she struts over to a tub filled with water and apples, and kneels down, inviting Justin to check out assets (which are about as round and supple as a pancake) and skillfully surfaces with a shiny red apple in her mouth. She bites it while making eyes at Justin. Jealous of the attention Justin is giving only Abby, Jessica 2.0 decides to give it a try. The water-cam shows her trying to complete the task in the same way that Abby did, but the apples bounce away when she bites for them. On the third try, she submerges her entire face in the water. There is a magical woosh on the soundtrack and Jessica 2.0 struggles like some force has locked her underwater. Justin compliments her on her ability to hold her breath. Dumbass. Jessica 2.0 (who’s real name is JENNY) starts flailing, her shoes scrape against the basement floor and her hands open and close against the rim of the tub. Abby and Justin call for help, and tug at her shoulders and hands, trying to get her out of the water before she drowns.

Common sense would tell these kids to knock the tub over or at least scoop the water out so she could breathe. They continue to tug at her and scream as The Tragic Re-Embodiment of Sammy’s Girlfriend fights for her life. What happens next is the strangest, wrongest thing I could ever imagine. The water stars BOILING! That’s right, folks, the tub of water launches into a rolling boil, poaching Jessica 2.0’s pretty face until it is golden brown, flaky and a well-done 212 degrees. Yummo! Underwater, Jessica 2.0 is screaming in agony. Above water, Justin wonders what the hell is going on. Mercifully, Jessica’s 2.0’s hands relax and her feet, strapped into some fetching white heels, go slack and flop against the basement floor. Abby cries as Justin pulls Jessica 2.0 out of the tub, and cradles her in a way that she would forever remembered and cherished if, you know, her face hadn’t just been boiled off. God, I thought drowning was the worst way to go. The show spares us a close up of the carnage. I can’t tell if I’m relieved or disappointed.

Fed-Like Sammy and Un-Fed-Like Dean enter the crime scene. Dean takes one look at the petite blonde “Days of our Lives” album, Abby, puts a hand on Sammy’s chest, and says, “I got this one” and then licks his plump lips. Sammy warns his older brother who has now turned into a dirty old man, because he’s thirty-years-old (if it wasn’t so annoying to type, I’d call Deano Milo Ventimiglia for the remainder of this recap), and is about to hit on a high school cheerleader, “Two words: jailbait.” It’s one word, Sammy. One. “I would never!” Dean barely dredges up faux outrage before Sammy shoots him a prim bitchface with pointedly wide eyes. Dean definitely would and probably has. Eagerly, he approaches her for questioning, while Sammy moves around the basement to search for hexbags. And I need to interject. I love the writer’s decision to subtly hint at Sammy’s past by putting Jessica 2.0 in the slutty nurse costume. I imagine that was blatant choice and point of discussion in the writing room and it was made for a very specific reason. Naturally, I was disappointed when there was no trace of the body at the crime scene, and thus, no chance for Fed-Like Sammy to look at the dead girl in an outfit that is painfully similar to one of the last things his girlfriend wore, and be affected by that for a moment, but “Supernatural” isn’t a soap opera. Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives! The melodramatic reunion of the two “Days” alum is everything I ever thought it would be, complete long-winded declarations of how strong their love is and patented John Black facial expressions. Except it’s really not because Jensen Ackles left the soap opera years before Ashley Benson (Abby) was cast (and eventually replaced because she’s not that great of an actress. She just so happens to be blonde and pretty.) All he does is ask if she knew the late Scott Soccer Dad. She vehemently denies it. Sam finds the hexbag in the couch, and they roll out without any lingering looks of betrayal or suspicion.

Motel. Dean finds that “both of these vics are squeaky clean. There is no reason for wicked bitch payback.” Sammy, with his face buried in a book, suggests that maybe the victims aren’t dying because of revenge, but maybe their deaths are a part of a bigger plan. “’Three blood sacrifices over three days. The last before midnight on the final day of the final harvest.” According to the Celtic calendar, the last day of the harvest being…all together, kids, HALLOWEEN! The witch is slaving over her proverbial cauldron to raise “Samhain” or “Sam Hain” as it’s pronounced on this show, which is fine with me, because I have no clue how you pronounce the traditional spelling that has more unpronounceable symbols than consonants. Although I’m disappointed Dean didn’t make a snarky comment about Sam Hain’s name to Sam. But then I guess since Sammy’s about fifteen episodes from turning evil, it wouldn’t be all that funny. Moving on. After Jared does his adorable lip purse, flashes his dimples, and simply looks gorgeous, Straight-Laced Exposition Sammy continues, “Sam Hain is the damn origin of Halloween. The Celts believed that October 31st was the one night of the year when the veil between was thinnest between the living and the dead. Masks put on to hid from him. Sweets left on doorsteps to appease him. Faces carved into pumpkins to worship him. He was exorcised centuries ago.” Breathe, Sammy, breathe. Halloween traditions stuck except now it’s about “kids, candy and costumes.”

Dean still isn’t as impressed or as bright-eyed as our Stanford Grad Sammy, “So some witches want to raise Samhain and ‘Take Back the Night?’” Wet Blanket Sammy to the rescue! “Dean, this is serious. We’re talking heavyweight witchcraft. This ritual can only be performed every six hundred years!” And you all know when the 600th anniversary is, right, kids? HALLOWEEN! Good job! You get a gold star. Apparently, once Sammy Hain “is raised, he can do some raisin’ of his own,” which sounds vaguely dirty. “Raising what exactly?” Dean asks. “Dark evil crap, and lots of it.” This line tickled me for no reason. Sammy isn’t so straight-laced during the mandatory exposition of this episode, and the looseness given to the character (FINALLY) makes the scene more fun and compelling. Kudos to writer Julie Siege. I really love when the show takes something firmly rooted in history and use it in the show, with artistic license, of course. And they do that with more than you could ever imagine. “They follow him around like the friggin’ Pied Pipper.” And now we’re no longer talking about Sam Hain, but R Kelly. Can they go after him instead? Dean quizzes Sammy on all that could be raised, which is pretty much everything, and also bashes leprechauns. “Those little dudes are scary, small hands!” He says, holding up a fist. And I’m definitely not touching that one. Annoyed, Sammy breaks it down for his smart ass of an older brother, “It just starts with ghosts and ghouls. By night’s end, we’re talking about every awful thing we’ve ever seen. Everything, we fight, all in one place.” The gravity of the situation finally sinks in on Dean’s pretty, pretty face, but he isn’t as scared as he is intrigued. He gives me some much-needed eye porn by blinking slowly, and declares, “it’s going to be a slaughterhouse.” Yay! Massacre is the new black! The episode is off to a running start, and so is The Battle of the Pretty!

Metallicar. Halloween afternoon. Alone, Dean stakes out the Widow’s Soccer Mom’s house and apparently passed the time by devouring roughly four pounds of Halloween candy, judging by the wrappers covering the front seat. He pops another piece into his mouth, and then adorably clutches his stomach in discomfort. I’ll rub it for you, Dean! Sammy calls to checks in. “I talked to Mrs. Razorblade again. I’ve been sitting outside of her house for hours, and I’ve got a big steaming pile of nothing,” Dean recaps. Sammy is convinced that there has to be some sort of connection between the victims. “Well, I hope we find them soon because I’m starting to cramp like a…sonofabitch!” Hee! Dean’s period is right on time. “Quit whining!” Sam shoots back. “No, Sam, I mean, Son of a bitch!” He corrects as he watches Abby enter Susan Soccer Mom’s house (and walks right past a life-sized ghoul I honestly thought was real person) and takes the infant from her arms.

Moonlight Motel. Sammy is still researching, stretched out on the bed. And after rewinding this part several times, I can honestly report that for Jared Padalecki to actually lounge on the bed, he has to rest his hips all at the head of the bed in order for the nine feet of his legs stretch out to the foot! I notice stupid, inane things like this because I’m a short freak of nature, and I love tall men. Jared Padalecki, and therefore Sammy Winchester, is the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. Mama like! Dean enters to the hotel to announce that Abby is the Soccer Family’s babysitter. Dean, a man who lies for a living, is apparently outraged that someone would actually lie to him. Hypocrite, much? “Interesting look for a centuries old witch,” Sam notes. Good news is she’s fair game for Deano, right? “Well if you were a 600-year-old hag and you could pick any costume to come back in, wouldn’t you go for a hot cheerleader?” Dean asks rhetorically, and then sinks into his dirty old man daydreams. “I would…mhmm.” He imagines that cheerleader doing all sorts of bendy things until Sam gawks at him with a deeply furrowed brow because he’s imagining sesky time with a murdering, demon-raising witch. Sammy’s research uncovered that Abby wasn’t nearly as vanilla as they first imagined. “Apparently, she got into a violent altercation with one of her teachers, got suspended from school.”

Local High School. Fed-Like Sammy and Un-Fed Like Dean stroll into the impressively outfitted high school art room. A variety of exotic and masks of both human and the supernatural masks hang from the ceiling. Dean studies them. The scariest mask looks as f it was carved in stone with severely hooded eyes and a nose, and no mouth. Gooey blood is caked around its orphises, and upon second glance, it looks like a face-meat is melting off the skull like wax off a candle. The camera alternates between tight shots on Dean’s pretty, pretty face and an equally close shot of the mask accompanied with the jarring combination of people screaming and the growl of some kind of monster. Dean’s eyes are large and they narrow slightly as he stares at the mask. “Brings back memories?” Sammy asks. That’s when I realized our poor Dean was having sensory flashbacks of his time in hell. Poor Deano, he suffers from Supernatural Post-Traumatic Stress Syndrome (SNPTSD). “What do you mean?” He asks, jerkily looking around. He hides whatever horror he was reliving quite well while still conveying distress to the viewer. This is what critics called a “nuanced performance”, I just called it AWESOME. “Being a teenager, all that angst.” Sammy answers as if their lives are completely angst-free, and they make ice cream for a living. I’ll take the angst of not being able to go to prom over stopping the impending Apocalypse. “What did you think I meant?” Sammy wonders, and grins because he has not a clue as what just happened to Dean. Poor stupid, giant Sammy. Dean shakes his head, “nothing.” He watches a skid-mark free Justin trying to fit a pottery bong into one of the kilns. “Now that brings back memories,” he smirks. “Dude,” Justin says to no one in particular, “I’m gonna need a bigger kiln!” The art teacher enters the room, and is immediately pegged as the Generic Cool Teacher who encourages his students to sculpt pottery bongs and call him by his first name. He’s even wearing the Generic Cool Teacher Uniform: button down shirt, blazer and jeans. Don expresses remorse about Abby’s suspension, but says that if another teacher hadn’t walked by Abby would have “clawed his eyes out” because he “just wanted to rap with her about her work. Yeah, he actually said “rap” because in this town, it’s still 1995. “It had gotten inappropriate and disturbing.” Dean scoffs, and points to the rows of scary masks, “more disturbing than those guys?” “She would color page after page of these bizarre Celtic symbols.” This catches Sammy’s attention. “And then were the drawings: detailed images of killings—gory, primitive--and she would depict herself in the middle of them, participating.” This is a double DUN! The symbols were Celtic, matching the engravings on the ancient coins found in the hexbags and he establishes a pattern for “primitive” violence in Abby’s past. We all know demons love dispatchin’ folks old school style. The teacher goes onto to tell our boys that Abby was an “emancipated teen” with her own apartment. Oh, did anyone find it odd that the teacher specifically identified the coins as Celtic? I did. Hmm.

Motel Exterior. The Metallicar rumbles into the empty parking lot of the Moonlight Motel. Sammy and Dean return from trying to find Abby, but no one seems to know where she is. Dean complains, “it’s like the bitch hopped a broomstick.” Sam conveys the importance of finding her, because the third sacrifice could happen anytime. A rather large child in an elaborate astronaut costume approach the Winchesters with a polite “trick-or-treat.” “This is a motel,” Dean says, “We don’t have any candy.” Dean, the greedy, bow-legged heathen who is literally taking candy from a baby, cuts Sammy off when he begins to say they have a ton of it in the Metallicar. “We did but it’s gone,” he snaps. “Sorry, kid, we can’t help ya.” The camera switches to the child’s point of view, shooting through the helmet of his costume as Dean says, “I want candy.” “Well, I think you’ve had enough,” Dean says to the brat. And yes, he probably needs a nutritionist more than a Nestle’s Crunch, but you can’t say that to kids! The kid glares at Dean and actually bumps his shoulder as he angrily waddles off in his cumbersome costume. Dean looks at him and spreads his arms out, hilariously ready to rumble with a nine-year-old.

Sammy enters the dark hotel room and instantly draws his gun on two unseen figures, who have somehow broken into their room. Honestly when are they going to start booby-trapping the door? The camera slides to the right, to the right to reveal…HOLY MOTHER OF MARY WINCHESTER…it’s Castiel perched on the edge of one of the beds. His face is holds an expression of infinite anguish, and his large eyes are a beautiful crystalline blue, but incredible sadness or maybe guilt? Dean runs in, “Sam, wait! That’s Castiel, the angel.” After three seasons of Sammy being a bit wary about using weapons, and being the more sensitive of the two he finally mans up to the trigger-happy plate and ends up drawing down on an angel. Hee! Dean pushes Sam’s gun down and eyes as another figure in the corner. In a simple, but ridiculously stunning shot, a man who challenges Sammy in the Tall, Dark and Handsome competition, stands stoically in front of the white chiffon curtains in a black suit, back to the boys…and angel. “Him, I don’t know.” We know from “Houses of the Holy” that Sammy has a great deal of faith, and eyes the two figures in the room with unabashed slack-mouthed wonderment of a child on Christmas morning. Aww! “Oh, my God!” Sammy gasps, dumbfounded. He quickly stumbles to apologize for using the Lord’s name in vain. Sam steps forward, thrilled. “It’s an honor. I’ve heard a lot about you,” he extends his hand for Castiel to shake. Castiel seems hesitant and regards his hand like it’s coated in angelic kryptonite, but he eventually shakes it. “And I you,” he replies in a voice that is deep and rich and a pleasure to listen to through headphones. Ever since Ruby 2.0 challenged Sam about him not fearing the angels, I wondered if they would ever meet and how such a meeting would go down. Out of the 513 scenarios I concocted, I never thought that Castiel would simply offer polite salutations. “Sam Winchester, the boy with the demon blood,” he announces pointing out the irony of their meeting. There, that’s more like it. Castiel gently shakes his hand and places his left hand ontop of his. After watching this fabulous scene many, many times, I cannot pinpoint why he did it. Is that how angels shake hands? Is he trying to gage Sam’s faith like he did with Dean in the season premiere? Does he see how much Sam believes in him? I honestly have no clue, but it’s an important gesture nonetheless. “Glad to hear you’ve ceased your…extracurricular activities.” “Let’s keep it that way,” Tall, Dark and Rude says his back still facing the group. He has yet to introduce himself. Poor Giant Sammy now feels like more of a freak than he ever has.

Dean frowns, “Who’s your friend?” Castiel ignores him. “This raising of Sam Hain, have you stopped it?” The angel asks Sam. “Why?” Dean asks. “Dean, have you located the witch?” “Yes, we’ve located the witch,” Dean answers, irritably. “And is the witch dead?” “We know who it is,” Dean says, subscribing to the glass-half-full philosophy for the first time in his life…both of them. “Apparently the witch knows who you are too,” he produces a hexbag. “This was inside the wall of your room. If we haven’t found it, surely one or both of you would be dead.” I need to interject for a moment. After Dean’s last encounter with the mostly harmless witches in “Malleus Maleficarum” that involved an extremely well hidden hexbag and Dean in excruciating pain and Sammy almost meeting his maker (again), why on earth do they not take extra precautions to protect themselves? Stupid boys. Back to the action. Dean reiterates that they don’t know where the witch is right now, and Castiel methodically says, “That’s unfortunate.” He announces that the raising of Sam Hain is another one of the sixty-six seals that need to be broken so Lucifer can walk free. “The breaking of the seal must be prevented at all costs,” Castiel says. Dean shrugs, “Okay, great. Why don’t you tell us where the witch is, we’ll gank her and everybody goes home,” Dean simplifies. “We are not omniscient. This witch is very powerful. She’s cloaked even our methods,” Castiel explains. Sammy pipes in that they should work together, and Tall, Dark and Rude finally decides to come out and play. “Enough of this!” He yells. “Who are you and why should I care?” Dean snaps back. “This is Uriel. He’s what you might call…a specialist.” Castiel ominously introduces. Crap, that can’t be good. Uriel turns around, and sadly looks much older than I imagined like a veteran gangster who is desensitized to pretty much everything, except anger. “What are you going to do?” Dean questions. There is underlying fear in his voice and you know that he truly doesn’t want to know the answer. “Both of you need to leave this town immediately,” Castiel advises, “because we’re about to destroy it.” And that, my friends, is a motherfuckin’ DUN!

We return from commercial break, and all four men are standing in the checkered floor like living chess pieces. And I will note that Castiel is huddled with the boys while Uriel is standing on five feet away. “So that’s your plan, you’re going to smite the whole friggin’ town?” “We’re out of time. This witch has to die. The seal must be saved,” Castiel explains. “There are a thousand people here,” Sammy implores. And wow does his hair look really, really good. “One thousand two hundred and fourteen,” Uriel coldly corrects. “And you’re willing to kill them all?” Sammy gasps in horror. Uriel is unfazed by the idea. “This isn’t the first time I’ve…purified a city.” This angel has a unique, almost lyrical cadence to his deep, deep voice that makes him quirkily creepy. I forgot to mention that our new angel is black and bald. The part of me who took that damn Media Studies class in college and simply cannot turned off what I learned, wants to point out that he is doing a fantastic job of reinforcing the Intimidating Black Man stereotype TV loves so much. The part of me that’s a snarky recapper tells the other part to shut the hell up. “I understand this is regrettable. We have to hold the line, too many seals have been broken already,” Castiel says. “It’s the lives of 1,000 versus of lives of 6 billion. There’s a bigger picture here.” Needless to say, the tension in the hotel room steadily rises as decisions are being made that will somehow affect the future of the entire world. Sammy, who has just encountered the angels, currently reels quietly as the weight grows on his ridiculously broad shoulders. “Right, ‘cause you’re bigger picture kinda guys,” Dean snarks, which is dumb, because they really are. Castiel, who is probably all of 5’8’’, steps forward and does the Tough Guy Eskimo Kiss with Dean, and he still has to look up. There’s no way he could pull that crap with Sammy without a step ladder. “Lucifer cannot rise. He does and hell…rises…with him.” Castiel’s face twitches when he utters the word “hell” as if it causes him physical paid to say it. “Is that something you’re willing to risk?” Dean is speechless. But he senses that Castiel could be a contender for The Battle For The Pretty For This Episode, and licks his lips to prevent that from happening. Well played! Sammy cuts in, and he promises that they’ll kill the witch and protect the seal. Uriel is bored and wants to commence with the smiting. “We’re wasting time with these mud-monkeys.” Media Studies Kira and Recapper Kira think it’s effin’ AWESOME that a black man refers to the human race as (mud)monkeys, a known slur for black men, and that it got on network television. Sammy winces at Uriel’s derogatory term for human life. And I pretty much want to kiss his badass bald head.

“I’m sorry, but we have our orders.” Castiel says. Sammy’s is at his wit’s end. “But you can’t do this…y-you’re ANGELS.” Uriel laughs at him. It’s obvious that Sam, like most people, subscribes the homogenized and pasteurized Hallmark school of thought and believes that angels embody mercy and grace, wear shapeless white robes and communicate with humans through grand acts of benevolence. Biblically, angels are God’s Warriors who protect His creations through a mighty smiting, and those are the kind of angel “Supernatural” wisely has decided to use. The power of this storyline lies in the dichotomy between the two vastly different beliefs. So, we understand when Sammy’s divine disappointment morphs into holy indignation. “You’re supposed to show mercy!” “Says who?” Uriel smirks. God, this angel is an asshole. I love him. Castiel, now gazing away from Dean with his beautiful eyes, assures Dean that he has no choice. Dean argues that of course they have a choice, “You never questioned a crap order? What are you, just a couple of hammers?” Castiel’s decidedly un-cherubic face tightens with contained anger. “Even if you can’t understand it, have faith. The plan is just. It comes from Heaven.” Castiel continues to drive his point home and aligns his need to follow orders with Dean’s obedience to Papa Winchester. “Tell me something, Dean. When your father gave you an order, you obey?” Bad move, Castiel. Dean’s hero worship for John Winchester died the second he told him he had to off his baby brother. Dean’s face never flinches or changes, but that question pushes Dean to play a card of his own, and we immediately know it. “Sorry, boys, it looks like the plans have changed.” “You think you can stop us?” Uriel scoffs. “No, but if you’re going to smite this town, then you’re going to have to smite us with it, because we’re not leaving.” Sammy’s all “Um, I want to leave! I’ve died before too, and it kinda sucks.” Well, okay, not really. Dean approaches Uriel, unafraid. “You went to the trouble of busting me out of hell, I figure I’m worth something to the man upstairs. Go ahead, see how he digs that!” “I will drag you out of here myself,” Uriel promises. “Yeah but you’ll have to kill me. I mean, come on, you’re going to wipe out a whole town for one little witch? Sounds like you’re overcompensating for something!” ZING! That’s the Dean Winchester I love…intense, determined, with a popped collar and offering up his life for the greater good. “We can do this!” He says, channeling Notre Dame’s Rudy, because they are extreme underdogs, but they’ve accomplished more with less. “We will find that witch, and we will stop the summoning!” Dean’s brazen disrespect has finally ruffled Uriel’s feathers (HEE!) and he is about to go off on the elder Winchester, but Cas reigns him in. “I suggest you move quickly.” CHECKMATE.

Exterior of motel. The Metallicar has been defiled, streaked with a gloppy white substance that looks more like paint than eggs. Silently, Dean surveys the damage, pauses to keep himself from tearing the hotel apart to throttle a pudgy nine-year-old, and rages, “ASTRONAUT!” through the empty parking lot. And it’s kind of sexy. His jaw is clenched and his nostrils are flared and I really wish this moment last a lot longer, but it doesn’t. Dean, still seething, gets into the car where Sam is fidgeting the hexbag and broodily quiet. Sam confesses that he thought the angels would be different, “righteous,” and Dean’s positively sparkle as he says, “They are…that’s kind of the problem. Of course, there’s nothing more dangerous than an a-hole who thinks he’s on a holy mission,” and we know that that is a pointed statement. Hee! Sammy remains understandably morose, “I mean this is God and heaven? This is what I’ve been praying to?” He wonders pessimistically. And we feel for him, because he’s seen tremendous evil, and needed to believe that angels and heaven were as divinely good as demons and hell are fiendisly bad. And Castiel and Uriel just destroyed that belief, and further grayed Sammy’s black and white philosophies. Ever the big brother, Dean does his best to reaffirm Sam’s faith while establishing a bit of his own. “Look, man, I know you’re into the whole God thing—Jesus on a tortilla and all that—just because there’s two bad apples doesn’t mean the whole barrel’s rotten. Don’t give up on this stuff. Babe Ruth was a dick but baseball’s still a beautiful game,” he argues in a way that is unusually patient for our Deano. But it fails on me because I think baseball is a stupid game. Sammy half-smiles as he plays with the charred infant’s metacarpal bone from the hexbag, but doesn’t say anything, which irritates me. Does Jared Padalecki have a clause in his contract that limits the amount of words he can say per episode? “You gonna find a way to track down this witch or are you just going to sit there fingerin’ your bone?” Dean snarks. Hee! Wet Blanket Sammy again has no smartass reply to that. I grit my teeth. Does Jared Padalecki have a clause in his contract that limits the amount of words he can say per episode? For an episode that’s supposed to center on Sammy’s crisis of faith (which is a very clever first step of Sammy’s step toward Darth Sammy) and the anniversary of his girlfriend’s death, he was written as blandly as he as been in previous episodes. Anyway, he realizes that it would take an extreme amount of heat to char the bone, something hotter than your average oven, something like the kilns in the high school art room.

The next scene is really boring, so I summarize. Straight-Laced Exposition Sammy points out that the hexbag didn’t show up in their room until they spoke with Don, the cool teacher, not after they spoke with Abby, who they first suspected. Sammy finds a locked drawer, breaks it open with a HAMMER and finds a bowl full of uncharred bones of children. Creepy. But it means the witch performing the summoning is a none other than Don, the dude-witch.

In one of many artful and lush shots, we cut to adorable trick-or-treaters moving down a misty path littered with giant trees. Uriel and Castiel sit near a bench, watching the Norman Rockwell-ian image unfold. “The decision’s been made.” Castiel says, indicating that we’re joining them in the middle of a conversation. “By a mud-monkey. What? That’s what they are,” Uriel gripes,” just plumbing on two legs.” Strangely, it’s not that hard to me believe that angels, who were seemingly created to protect humans, don’t exactly love their “savage” charges, especially since they have a bird’s eye view of the wars and the ethnic cleansing and the Republican National Committee. “There’s a reason we were sent to save him. He has potential, he may succeed here.” Castiel says. “Either way, it’s out of our hands.” Castiel suggests that they can go rogue, get Dean to safety and “wipe this insignificant pinprick off the map.” “You know our true orders. Are you prepared to disobey?” Um, DUN? What are their true orders? I hope it’s to smite that heinous beige jacket Sammy wears all the time. THAT thing is pure evil!

Trick-or-treaters flood Halloweentown. A mother-daughter pair of classic witches—pointy hat, stringy hair, and black robes—move by a darkened home that belongs to none other than Don, the dude-witch. Very cute! In the basement, MIA Abby is gagged and bound with her arms above her head. I don’t know if that’s a DUN! or not, but I’d prefer that he killed her as to spare me the torture or recapping her upcoming villain soliloquy. After a “Matrix”-y slide jump-slide that is needless, but cool, we find Dude-witch is performing an incantation over a dark alter. And he’s going to sacrifice recently vindicated Abby in order for Sam Hain to rise. Yay! I have not idea what language it is and I’m not going to waste hours googling to find out. It’s Witch-ease. Another “Matrix”-y slide jump and Dude-witch does the Standardized Evil Knife Torture and gingerly glides the blade around her neck and down her breasts sadistically as she shudders and cringes and cries. That shit’s not even scary because he’s doing it wrong! Get Evil Sammy to show you how to do it! Just as he raises the knife, a bullet blasts through his chest just below his collarbone, followed by another, then another. And you’ll never guess who killed him. Nope, it’s not Sarah Palin who mistook him for a moose or even Dick Cheney who mistook him for a Democrat. It is our very own Trigger-Happy Sammy! Dude-witch faceplants onto the cement floor below, dead. Now it’s time for Abby to show us all why she was booted from “Days of our Lives” and has to settle for throwaway bit parts. Take it away, Abby! She flings off her gag and shrilly faux-rages, “that sick sonofabitch!” Um, sweetie, the Magic Winchester Catchphrase doesn’t work for shitty actors. While I grit my teeth in the effort to fight not to fast forward, she reveals that she is in fact a witch by sneering, “did you hear how sloppy his incantation was?” Jensen Ackles, who was wincing at Abby’s thin, squeaky voice and unflatteringly blonde hair, remembers to react to this moment. Oh yeah, dude-witch was her brother so Don’s attack was nothing more than witch-sibling rivalry. Her speechifying screams of my high school drama club monologue except worse (and I was one of three kids who didn’t make it). Sammy and Dean attempt to unholster their guns, but Abby curses them with the binding spell all men fear: Cruciatius Crampyolis! Our poor heroes are thrown to the floor, unable to move or stop her from raising Sam Hain because they are doubled over with the DEE-MONIC Menstral Cramps of Doom! Hurts, don’t it? Sammy and Dean writhe in agony as Abby monologues hating her brother, but putting up with him for 600 years, blah blah yada yada snore. She collects blood from his corpse in her first edition pimp cup, continues with the incantation. I want to move on with the action so much that I’m not even going to question how a 600 year-old witch would be killed by three bullets or, in a few minutes, a simple neck snap.

Sammy, blinded by cramps and probably hankerin’ for a tub of ice cream, can’t stop her, so he crawls over to the corpse of Dude-witch, places his oversized mit into a pool of his blood and SMEARS IT ALL OVER HIS FACE? Okay, I’ve heard of some exotic facials, especially in Hollywood, but I can’t see that catching on. Dean asks what he’s doing. “Follow my lead,” Sammy deftly and enthusiastically paints Dean’s face in witch blood, and then flops on his back to play possum. The floor begins to rumble as Abby finishes the reverse exorcism and then it cracks, shifting tectonically as the demon-black smoke rises from hell and tornadoes into the corpse of her brother. I don’t really care what happens next because the next sequence is so fucking badass that I will super-summarize. Sam Hain is an ice-blue eyed, eerily quiet demon (that looks nothing like the ram-horned man-beast in the pictures we saw during the initial exposition) who snaps Abby’s neck for no reason. He is also in dire need of a trip to Lenscrafters, because his vision is extremely blurry. He sees the limp bodies of Sammy and Dean, faces covered in a makeshift mask of blood, in a muddled fashion and steps over them. Once he leaves, Sammy recounts Halloween lore, “people used to wear masks to hide from him” and he “gave it a shot.” Dean’s all “you gave it a shot?!” Hee. Done.

Sam Hain evilly walks through the streets of Halloweentown, and perceives the throngs of trick-or-treats as actual demons and other devilish creatures. Sammy and Dean scrub the blood off their now rejuvenated and pore-free faces, and figure out that the best place to start raising nightmare things would be the cemetery. They tear off in the Metallicar, and Sam uses this time to strategize. “So this demon’s pretty powerful,” he bushbeats. “Might take more the usual weapons.” Dean immediately clues in one what he’s suggesting and shuts him down. “Sam, no, you’re not using your psychic whatever. Don’t even think about it. Ruby’s knife is enough.” Dean makes some surprisingly good points about why he shouldn’t use them: the angels warned him not to, and just a few weeks ago, after dispatching our very own human-sushi loving Ruguaru, Sammy admitted that using his powers were like “playing with fire.” Sam argues that the angels don’t seem to be right about anything, even though they just saved their lives by finding the hexbag and resurrected his brother, but Sammy’s struggling with the reality of the angels, so I forgive him for that. Dean tells him to take the knife, and actually says “please.” Sammy, like you and I, can’t fight Dean’s sparkly green eyes, so he begrudgingly takes it. But I can tell by the look on Sammy’s gorgeous face that he has no intention of listening to Dean, but he will at least humor him. Dean’s critical sideways glance tells us the he is aware of the same thing.

Badass Sequence of Badassness. In a pleasing move of continuity, Sam Hain heads to the mausoleum and finds the kick ass Halloween party. The partygoers aren’t actually dressed as scary creatures, but slutty nurses, sailors, aristocrats, and superheroes. And there’s a lesson here: slutty costumes may be fun, but they’ll get you killed, kids! Guest star Don McManus has no actual dialogue, but does a fantastic job of making Sam Hain wickedly skincrawling. He slinks down the stairs and sees Skid Mark Justin and about twenty others in their wack costumes. He wordlessly closes the gate, smirking in a way that cannot be good for the teeagers. Skid Mark Justin recognizes his art teacher’s meat suit and panics. He is confused when he locks them in, and probably thinks he is keeping them there and notifying their parents. Sam Hain quietly away, trailing his fingers along the locked gate of the crypt. Suddenly, the cement lids housing the deceased vibrate and shake. The kids scream and move away from the shaking drawers. Skid Mark Justin backs away from the coffins in front of him. Behind him, an unidentifiable, scary bald creature pushes the cement grate off his grave, whips him inside the grave by his ankles, and juices him like a Florida Orange. An abundance of bloody pulp splatters out of the grave and poor young Skid Mark Justin is reduced to…well, a skid mark? Very clever! The kids now bang and shake the locked gate as Sammy and Dean arrive before the slaughterin’ can truly begin. I hate them! “Help them,” Sammy says, backing up. “Dude, you’re not going off alone!” “Do it,” Sammy orders and he runs off in search of Sam Hain. Dean blows off the lock with his pretty, pearl-handled gun, and orders the kids out. He steps into the crypt as two more cement grates shatter on the ground. Two corpses slither out of their tombs and dumbly stand upright. These are classic zombies, folks, not the rage-happy chick who broke Sam’s wrist from “Children Shouldn’t Play With Dead Things.” They shuffle forward like lemmings searching for braaaaains. And hey, it’s our very own Scott Soccer Dad! He’s back. And decomposing. Dean brandishes a metal stake, and engages, “Bring it on, stinky!” Only Jensen Ackles could make THAT line kick-ass.

Sammy, in that fucking heinous beige jacket, determinedly searches for Sam Hain in the halls of the elaborate mausoleum. Sam Hain is in another room, assumingly trying to raise more hell, which is strangely taking longer than it did before. Sammy narrows his pretty eyes at the back of Sam Hain. This is when I notice Jared Padalecki’s eyebrows are perfectly arched. And it’s weird. Because he’s a dude. After the Witch Blood Facial, did Jared get his eyebrows threaded by a gremlin? Anyway, Sam Hain whirls around and tries to vanquish Sammy with that nuclear burst of white light. The white light gobbles up Sammy, and eventually the entire screen. The light fades, revealing Sammy advancing unarmed and unscathed with a cocky swagger that’s hotter than anything really should be and also lets me know that he’s done this shit before back when Dean was dead. “Yeah, that demon ray gun stuff doesn’t work on me.” Sam Hain charges, enraged. Let the Sam vs. Sam Smackdown BEGIN! From Hain’s garbled point of view, Sammy awesomely launches an uppercut to Sam Hain’s chin and decks him with his left, then right. I LOVE THIS FREAKING SHOW! And Sammy Winchester’s Rating of Badassery just soared to 8.4! I swear I will never tease him for wearing that damn jacket again! Oh wait, Sam Hain blocks Sammy’s next punch and starts wailing on him like one of the drunk bitches from “The Bad Girls’ Club.” And seconds later, Sammy’s Rating of Badassery plummets to a dismal 5.7 because—surprise—Sammy’s getting choked!

Cut to mausoleum. Dean is violently subduing Stinky Scott Soccer Day just out of frame. Seconds later, the dead un-dead thing falls into frame with a metal stake in his belly. Dean expertly shoves it through him, thus pinning to his grave bed. Sort of. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean sees bony feet in some hideous stiletto heels venture towards him. Quickly, he snatches another stake from his knapsack, and jumps up to dispatch her, but she flickers like a malfunctioning hologram, disappears, and pops up behind him. She’s not a zombie. She’s a GHOST! And I understand why! She needs to haunt whoever buried her in those fugly shoes. Before Dean can react, she telepathically flings him into a wall and disappears again. “Zombie-ghost orgy, huh? Well that’s it, I’m torching everybody.” Scrappy Doo decides. He’s such a Pyro. And wait! Hold the phone. Dean promised me a slaughterhouse. So far, we have one human skid mark and a ventilated art teacher. Slaughterhouses require a six-corpse minimum! This is an outrage!

Yawn. Sammy’s still getting choked. He produces The Knife from his jacket pocket. How he managed to fight with it in his packet without shanking himself, I’ll never know. I’ve always thought the Winchesters were like the immortals from “Highlander,” and they have magic coats that store their weapons safely, regardless of the size. One day Sammy will pull a bazooka from his pants. Sammy attempts to stab Sam Hain with it, but the vile demon blocks that too. It does, however, shallowly slice his arm, which electrically pops and flickers with escaping life. Angrily, he bats The Knife away. And even SAM knows he’s about to be chucked across the room like the neighbor’s cat, and has mastered a magnificent “I’m about to hit a wall” expression. Seconds later, he does indeed careen into the stone wall. Now, Sammy is unarmed and overpowered. He scrambles to his feet, anticipating the demon’s next move. Sam Hain doesn’t hesitate to bumrush him. Reflexively and instinctively, Sammy lifts his hand, thinks real hard and stops him in his tracks. Sam Hain hits Sam’s telekinetic force field like an unseen brick wall, and is utterly baffled by it. And I am too, because he’s never done that before! What else can he do?! He dumbly pushes against the invisible thing holding him back as Sam cringes, but keeps his concentration. Sam Hain struggles helplessly as wisps of demonic black smoke seep from the three bullet holds in Dude-witch’s meat suit! And that is so freakin’ cool! Incensed, Sam Hain throws all of his evil power at Sam, whose face is painfully twisted in the mental effort it takes to keep the demon at bay. Both Sam and Sam Hain are digging into their reserves, hitting their opponents with everything they have and more. Sam Hain inches closer, feet sliding against the floor. Sammy holds his ground.

Dean rounds the corner, orange flicker of flames from the fire in the crypt reflecting off the far wall behind him. He deflates with heartbreak and disappointment as he discovers Sam working his mojo on Sam Hain. The brothers share a loaded look before Sam pulls his eyes away to finish the job. Sam Hain animalistically fights, engaged in the weirdest game of supernatural tug o’ war. Sammy’s head bursts with agony as he pushes his power farther than he’s ever taken it before. He grabs his head and the camera moves in tight as Sam’s NOSE STARTS TO BLEED. His face changes from one contorted in agony to superiorly wicked as if he finally gained control of the unadulterated energy pumping out of him, and he likes it. Fans have passionately debated whether Sam’s eyes turn black at this moment, and after dozens of viewings and an embarrassing amount of thought, I’m voting a resounding NO on Proposition Black-Eyed Sammy (like people should have voted for Prop 8). Black eyes would mean that that Sammy would be possessed by a lower-level demon, and not that he’s beginning the transition to the dark side. I also think if he was, it would be much more obvious for the folks in the back. Granted, just last week I realized Jared Padalecki’s eyes are blue, so take my observation for what its worth. Back to the action. At long last, Sam Hain’s demonic essence pours out of him and sizzles back to hell. Dude-witch’s body thuds against the floor, skin powder white and obviously dead and his evil ice-blue eyes snap back to their normal, dark color. Flushed, shaking and exhausted, Sam reluctantly meets Dean’s eyes. He looks ashamed and vulnerable and so young. Dean doesn’t look angry anymore, just worried about Sammy and the power that resides in him. Kudos to Jared Padalecki for doing an amazing job! Bravo!

Motel room. Day After Halloween. A positively ripped Sammy packs in solitude when Uriel abruptly appears on seated on the green couch behind him, and scares Sammy senseless. “Tomorrow, November 2nd, that’s an anniversary for you, right?” Uriel asks, and his tone is noticeably lighter, almost conversational. “That’s the day Azazel killed your mother and twenty-two years later, your girlfriend.” If you want to know how awesome the writers are, google November 2nd. And I know you’re too lazy, so here it is: traditionally, it is known as All Souls’ Day or a day to commemorate lost souls. Jessica’s death tragically honored that of Sammy’s mother. But I digress. Uriel seems almost sympathetic that Sammy is Boy, Interrupted, and has such a heavy “burden to bare,” but seamlessly transitions into an attack on Sam for “brazenly use the power [Azazel’s] given you.” Sammy explains that he had no choice because Sam Hain would have destroyed the entire town. Of course, Uriel doesn’t care, because he’s “been warned twice now.” “My brother was right about you. You are dicks.” Sammy’s upper lip twitches when he says it. Oh snap! Sammy’s Rating of Badassery is now 11.3, and his Rating of Stupidity is 15.7! Uriel cuts his eyes in Sammy’s direction, and we know he’s about to open an angelic can of Whoopass of Sammy that’s far worse than the Cruciatis Crampyolis. Sammy stumbles backwards and his hair flutters as the camera soars closer tight on Sam’s face. Uriel is now an inch away from Sammy, looking him directly in the eyes. In the wickedly cool and minimalist effect, Uriel just FLEW across the room to threaten Sammy’s life, “the only reason you’re still alive Sam Winchester, is because you’re still useful. The second that ceases to be true, one word, and I’ll turn you into dust.” Sammy gulps in fear, and we know it takes a lot to rattle Sammy Winchester’s resolve. Uriel steps back, but he’s not finished. “As for your brother, tell him to climb off that high horse of his. Ask Dean what he remembers from hell.” OH SNAP! Uriel flies away leaving Sammy confused and panicked, because not only are God’s Angels menacing, wingless freaks who want to obliterate towns, they now want him dead. Poor Sammy. And now I need to interject. I’m glad that the Halloween Special referenced Jessica’s death, but I feel that it was completely half-assed, and didn’t add anything to the story. Sammy Winchester never personally wrestled with The Angst that would understandably swirl around the time of her death. Dean never even brought it up when there were perfect places for him to mention it. It wasn’t a plot point until Uriel mentioned it. And damnit, I feel cheated! AGAIN! First, you deny me my slaughterhouse, and then you won’t even give me some Sammy Angst?! Suck it, Supernatural!

Playground. Dean might be risking a visit from Chris Mathews because he is sitting in a park watching the carefree kids play when Castiel abruptly appears. Are the angels playing divide and conquer? Hmm. Apparently, Sam and Dean are taking some time from each other to process everything that happened. I can imagine what transpired on Halloween night (even though I’d much rather SEE IT): Sammy’s head hurt him too much for Dean to punch him in it or scream at him, but Dean was too worried to do either, so they opted to avoid the Supernatural elephant in the room and have barely spoken since. Dean doesn’t want to hear Castiel’s lecture about not stopping the summoning. Castiel confesses, “our orders were not to stop the summoning of Sam Hain. They were to do whatever you told us to do.” Angels ARE dicks! LYING, MANIPULATIVE LITTLE DICKS! The only thing that makes them different from demons is that they’re on our side. “It was a test to see how you might perform in…battlefield conditions, you might say.” Shit. Dean seems insulted, and not terrified that he was plucked from hell to lead a war so big that that Castiel uses the fate of an entire town as a dry run. “It was a witch, not the Tet Offensive,” Dean says. Castiel seems amused, and almost laughs. Aww, they’re bonding. Dean assures Castiel that he would make the same exact decisions if Castiel were to “wave his magical time traveling wand” because “this: the kids, the swings, the trees, are all here because of my brother and me.” “You misunderstand me, Dean,” Castiel begins, “I was praying you would choose to save the town. These people, they’re all my Father’s creations. They’re works of art.” Finally, he says something profound sweet and sounds like the type of angel that will be topping my Christmas tree in two weeks. Regardless of Dean’s intentions, the seal was broken and they’re one step closer to literal “hell on earth. You of all people should appreciate what that means.” And Dean’s face darkens with a flood of hellish memories. Castiel then shares a secret with Dean, confiding in him in a way that makes him seem far more human that we’ve ever seen. He isn’t a hammer as Dean called him, but a being with “questions and doubts” and a serious mancrush on Zac Efron. You and me both, Castiel. You and me both! “I don’t know what is right and what is wrong anymore, whether you passed or failed here.” I think Castiel realized that Sammy’s Sleight of Hand can be useful, and is may be a necessary evil if used for the greater good. But the Captial-I Iimportance of this moment is that Dean and Castiel have found improbable common ground. They sit side-by-side and feel the same smothering uncertainty and trepidation about the future. And because this is “Superntural,” Castiel has to completely ruin the moment with this little ditty: “In the coming months you will have more decisions to make. I don’t envy the weight that’s on your shoulders, Dean.” Dean looks at the children for a source of courage and when he looks back, Castiel is gone.

“It’s The Great Pumpkin, Sam Winchester,” had some hiccups that worked against the story, but never negated the quality of the episode. This installment continues the fervent, dramatic and sophisticated trend the show has taken since the season premiere.

Snarky "Supernatural" Recap: Yellow Fever

2008-10-31T14:07:00.005-06:00

“Supernatural” has always been a hit or miss. The Monster of the Week premise and the show’s mythology can make for some fantastic episodes (“What Is And What Should Never Be, “Born Under A Bad Sign,” “In the Beginning” to name a few) and some horrendous ones (“Ghostfacers,” “Red Sky At Morning,” “Route 66”). Thankfully, this season dove into a new chapter of the mythology with installments that are more intense, powerful and funnier than ever. Spoilers (yes, I read them) pegged this week’s episode, “Yellow Fever,” as one of the funniest installments in the show’s history. Yeah, well, we’ll see about that!

After a lengthy “THEN” montage that lets us know that the show’s mythology should be in play, “Yellow Fever” opens with a purposely familiar sequence: a panicked Dean tearing over shiny, wet asphalt and some unseen creature seems to be right on his heels. Hmm, that’s odd. This has to be a dream sequence, because Dean Winchester doesn’t run from anything that I can remember. Jensen Ackles seems to be exaggerating his stride by over-pumping his arms and it colors the pursuit with subtle comedy even as it conjures up much more horrifying nightmare (and eventual end to his life) that opened “No Rest For The Wicked.” Terrified Dean runs around a corner and careens over a homeless man’s shopping cart as what sounds like hellhounds and growl and snarl from somewhere behind him. Too scared to react to the pain—because damn, that looked like it hurt stunt double or not—Dean warns the bedraggled vagabond picking through the dumpster, “Run, he’ll kill you!” The homeless guy doesn’t seem to be at all afraid or even startled as he turns his head to reveal the hideous and hellish beat making Dean flee like a giant pansy. Is it Lilith in her true form? Sam gone darkside? Paris Hilton? Nope, a teeny, tiny shitzu with perfectly coifed fur and a pink bow lovingly attached to her little head. Ha. Dean bolts, screaming, and it turns into a Halloween-ish howl that comes from those motion-activated ghosts. Tinkerbell makes chase, adorably, of course.

Awesome title card. Metallicar ambles past the industrial landscape of Rock Ridge, Colorado as “43 Hours Earlier” flashes on the screen, indicating that the entire chase scene happens some time in the future. Sammy and normal Dean are Federal Agents Tyler and Perry. I know it is an Aerosmith reference, but it’s more fun to imagine that Sammy is a closeted Tyler Perry fan, “Diary of a Mad Black Woman” is his favorite movie, and he envisions playing Grit Ball with Ruby 2.0 when she does evil, blasphemous things like choking his recently resurrected brother. Sammy and Dean are visiting the county morgue to investigate the death of Frank O’Brien, a police officer and marathon runner who died of a mysterious heart attack. The brothers Winchester apparently have already done research and linked this death with the two others in a town over just yesterday. The coroner isn’t shocked or concerned that a 44-year-old athlete kicked the bucket so suddenly, “Everybody drops dead sooner or later, it’s why I got job security.” Ugh! I honestly can’t watch the rest of this scene, not because I am disgusted by the autopsy they convince the coroner to do, but because it is so inaccurate. The doctor makes a five-inch incision, cuts the ribs and pulls out the heart? Spare me, show! You had a perfect opportunity to show off some awesome gore, and you got lazy and sloppy. One episode of “Dr. G” and you’d know how delightfully gruesome autopsies can get, so I’m downright appalled that a horror show pass up the excuse to use a BONE SAW and a RIB SPREADER?! You could have flayed poor Frank’s torso open ala Claire from “Heros” in season one. So I must gloss over this egregious oversight and summarize or I’ll stop watching. After a lot of squishy, gross sound effects, Sammy and Dean both wish they hadn’t eaten those truck stop taquitos because Dean is forced to hold poor Frank O’Brien’s extremely healthy heart that is oddly free of blockages or malformations and smug Sammy gets nailed in the face with “spleen juice.” Ew. Again, this would mean a ton of paperwork and some bloodwork for Sammy as he was sprayed directly in the mouth and eyes, but they were going for comedy and realism, and it was pretty funny. Sam asks the doctor about the bloody scratches on Frank’s hands and forearms, that is missing his wedding band, but the inept coroner, who probably got his degree from Sally Struthers, attributes that to his heart attack, “When you drop dead, you actually tend to drop.” Unless this poor bastard dropped dead onto a whirring meat grinder, I doubt his fall caused such damage.

After the autopsy, Fed-Like Sammy and Un-Fed-Like Dean head over to the sheriff’s office, where a baby-faced deputy grins at Dean as they wait in the quiet, birds chirping in the background. Deputy Linus knows pretty when he sees it! The sheriff exits his office, reams the deputy for keeping the federal agents (HA!) waiting, and ushers them inside but not before he makes them take off his shoes. They pad into the office in their stocking feet. I immediately assume that Sheriff Al Britton is a lover of Asian culture, and would have an office decorated with ornate dragons and folding screens, novelty buddhas and a litany of satin throw pillows. Fed-Like Sammy and Un-Fed-Like Dean must have expected the same thing, because they survey his normally appointed office in confusion before introductions are made. Al reaches for a family-sized bottle of antibacterial gel, squeezes one-third cup of the stuff into his palm and vigorously rubs it in. It seems the town sheriff has a serious case of OCD, and not the mild, trendy kind made famous by Howie Mandel and Donald Trump. Finally, he sits down, “so what can I do for Uncle Sam?” He asks. Sam answers that they are investigating Frank O’Brien’s death and some of his men found Frank’s body. Frank and Al were friends and “gamecocks.” Dean snorts, because he has the emotional maturity of an eleven-year-old boy. Al levels him with a look of disapproval and explains that they are “majestic animals” and the mascot of their softball team. Al continues. He knew Frank since high school and that he was a “good man.” Dean pipes in, “big heart.” In the sanctity of my bedroom, I perform a fantastic spit-take of iced tea, because that little zinger was as awesome as it was shamefully wrong, and I never saw it coming. That almost makes up for the half-assed autopsy. Fed-Like Sammy nearly kills him with a stealthy bitchface. Then, he asks if Frank was acting strangely before he died. Al says that Frank was “real jumpy” and refused to answer his phone, so finally, he sent some of his men over to check on him, and they discovered his body. Sheriff OCD coughs into his hands and proceeds to shellack them in another hearty coat of antibacterial gel. Dean clearly thinks this man is a germophobic freak, and doesn’t do much to hide it. “So why the feds give a crap?” Sheriff OCD questions. Man, everyone in Rock Ridge is so eloquent and articulate, but this is obviously supposed to be an industrial town, and no one has time for fancy book-learnin’, so even the sheriff and the coroner talk like Joe the Plumber. Dean assures him that it’s probably “just a heart attack.”

And we all know he’s a bow-legged liar because...a second later, Dean shakes his head, “No way that was a heart attack,” Fed-Like Sammy and Un-Fed-Like Dean walking down the street. “Three victims all with strange red scratches, all went from jittery to terrified to dead within 48 hours,” Sammy summarizes. “Something scared them to death,” Dean concludes. But I have decided that I don’t really care what killed Frank or even what is going to happen in this episode. Our boys are doing a simple walk-and-talk scene, but they’re wearing exquisitely tailored suits, and Jared Padalecki’s pecs should be earning residuals because they are workin’ hard beneath his crisply ironed shirt. Jared and his perfectly chiseled pectorals execute a perfect GQ strut complete with one hand in his pocket, his back straight and his long tie billowing the Colorado (Canadian) wind. The Battle of the Pretty For This Episode has officially begun, and we’re only six minutes into it! Dean is facing some seriously hot competition. Back to the action. Dean says there are “a hundred” nightmare things that could scare someone to death with demons, witches and the always mentioned but never seen chupracobra being at the top of the list, so they need to start finding evidence and eliminating suspects. They decide to go visit the last person who saw Frank alive, his neighbor, Mark. Dean suddenly stops mid-stride, and admits that he doesn’t “like the looks of those teenagers down there.” Sammy double-takes at a group of suburban fourteen year-olds who look more like band geeks than badasses. Also, Sammy knows he and Dean could kill them all without even getting winded. I can tell by the pained and confused expression on Dean’s face that he can’t believe he is afraid of them, let alone acting on that fear in front of his giant of a lil’ bro. Dean suggests they walk another way, and leaves Sammy stunned as he crosses the street, putting distance between him and the Band of Badass Band Geeks. Dean gives me a little GQ strut of his own that is quite good even though Dean’s face is pinched with inexplicable anxiety. It almost looks like Tyra Banks’ patented ugly-pretty model face. Jared, you jus’ been served, sucka!

Mark’s house is apparently Rock Ridge’s only reptile sanctuary. The walls are littered with cages containing all kinds of creepy crawly critters, including lizards, a crocodile, frogs, and a fat boa constrictor is draped around Mark’s neck. “Tyler and Perry, just like the Tyler Perry films, right? I love ‘Tyler Perry Presents Family Reunion Written, Directed and Starring Tyler Perry!’” Mark completely doesn’t say. “Yeah,” Sam agrees curtly, surveying the apartment. The dwelling sounds like a noise machine, strumming with the ribbets of frogs and hissing of snakes. Dean is sitting on the couch, and is awfully uncharacteristically twitchy. His pretty, pretty face looks disjointed and odd. When asked, Mark, who is quite rotund with a goatee and a receding hairline, explains that Frank was scared of everything before he died, and specifies “witches,” immediately catching Sam and Dean’s attention. “’Wizard of Oz’ was on TV the other night, right? And he said that green bitch was totally out to get him,” Mark clarifies as he guides the head of his reptilian friend around with his hand. The Wicked Witch is definitely not the kind of witch they had in mind, although how cool would it be to have Sam gank her while Dean fights off the flying monkeys? Mark confesses that Frank was terrified of “Al Queda, ferrets, artificial sweetener, Pez dispensers with their dead little eyes,” while Dean grows increasingly more anxious as he notices more and more furry and scaled critters in the apartment. Sammy, unaware of Dean’s trepidation, forges ahead, asking what type of guy our dearly departed Frank was. And low and behold! Frank was “a dick and a bully” and who “taped half the town’s butt cheeks together.” Dean snorts in approval, and confirms what I have always believed: he was a major punk ass when he was a teenager and probably raised more hell than he exorcised. Deano regains his Un-Fed Like composure, and wonders if Mark believes that anyone would want to get revenge on Frank, the former dick. Mark insists that Frank “got better” and no one would want to hurt him, especially after his wife died twenty years ago.

Dean, who is breathing hard, eyes the snake around Mark’s neck. “Don’t be scared of Donnie,” Mark grins wickedly. “He’s a sweetheart. It’s Marie you gotta look out for. She can smell fear.” And now you get a hint of why Frank tortured this poor loser in high school. He’s a grown man who names his reptiles after Donnie and Marie Osmond and let’s them roam free in his apartment. Marie, true to her talent, follows the scent of fear and slithers up the back of the sofa. She is an Albino Boa Constrictor, and her yellow skin would make a fetching handbag. Sammy watches her, completely fine with it because HE FIGHTS MONSTERS FOR A LIVING! Dean, on the other hand, gasps in pure dread as Marie moves over his shoulder and down the inside of his thigh. Is it sick and wrong that I’m jealous of that fucking snake? Hilariously, Dean manfully gulps it down and tries to smile as the absolutely enormous reptile lithely glides down the length of his body. Dean’s facial expressions are hilarious as he endures the torture of being fondled by a snake. Hee! The fact that Sam doesn’t rattle off at least three Britney Spears/Slave 4 U jokes makes me think that he, once again, has been sidelined to Wet Blanket status. Again, really?

Nighttime. The Metallicar is parked on a quiet street. Inside, Dean scratches his forearm as he reads an article. He jerks as Sam opens Baby’s creaking door and climbs in. While Sammy was inside sweeping Frank’s home, Dean went to the county clerk’s office to do research on Frank’s late wife. “Jessie was a manic depressive. She went off her meds back in ’88 and vanished. They found her two weeks later, three towns over, strung up in her motel room. Suicide,” but Frank couldn’t have done it as “he was working a swing shift…airtight alibi.” Dean starts the car and begins to drive down a rain-soaked street. Sammy says that Frank’s house was clean, “no EMF, no hexbags, no sulfur,” which in layman’s terms means, “no ghosts, no witches, no demons,” Dean clarifies as he drives in an attentive manner. His eyes jump from mirror to mirror and his hands are in the 10-and-2 position.

The boys are running out of leads. Sammy sighs, and notices that Dean is practically driving Ms. Daisy by going at an aggravatingly slow twenty miles per hour. “So what, safety’s a crime now?” Dean fires back when confronted. His eyes are abnormally large, and his brow is stuck in a furrowed position. Sam says nothing as the Metallicar crawls down what I’m assuming is the town’s main drag right past the Bluebird Hotel. Sammy points this out, too. “I’m not going to make a left-hand turn into oncoming traffic, I’m not suicidal,” twitches the very man who personally knocked on death’s door in order to save his brother. Sammy looks at Dean as he has sprouted another head. And breasts. Dean mirrors his expression, “did I just say that? That’s kinda of weird.” He chuckles, on edge. A strange noise distracts Sammy from calling the men with the butterfly nets. “Do you hear something?” He tracks the noise to the EMF meter inside of his jean jacket, and it is signaling a significant amount of EMF activity. IN THE CAR. He points it experimentally towards Dean and the levels spike. Dean’s eyes flare, “am I haunted? Am I haunted?” He actually panics. What on earth is going on with Dean?

In the light of the morning, Sam ambles by a whimsical and colorful mural holding a box of donuts with his cell phone to his ear. He makes moves to enter the hotel when he hears the addictive beats to “Eye of the Tiger” rattling the paint off the Metallicar. Inside, Dean is lying on his back in the front seat air drumming to this song. I get the feeling this is how Dean has passed many a night when he was hunting alone while Sammy was at Stanford. It also illustrates how freaking huge the Metallicar actually is, because Dean’s legs aren’t bunched up or hanging out the window, but resting somewhere inside the enormous front seat. Unfortunately for Dean, who is burying his burgeoning anxiety with the awesomeness of “Eye of the Tiger”, and the viewing audience, who want to see Dean rock out Rocky-style, Straight-Laced Sammy bangs on the hood of the car, and startles him upright. Dean exits the car and shows Sammy the self-inflicted bloody welts on his forearm. Sammy hands Dean the box of donuts in hopes of comforting him. As expected, Dean smells them appreciatively and then he rips the box open…and, oh wait, what the fuck? Not only does he not cram one of those sugary glazed pastries of the gods into his smart mouth, but he doesn’t even OPEN THE BOX! Instead he tosses them on the seat of the Impala and refocuses on Sammy. Bedazzle your handbaskets, kids, because the apocalypse is coming sooner than expected. It is Sammy’s turn to be scared speechless because Dean just confirmed that he has lost his mind, and we all know he fucking has, because box of fresh donuts are sitting in the front seat of the Metallicar unmolested!

Sammy and Bobby worked together through the night to figure out what ails poor un-hungry Deano. “It’s Ghost Sickness,” Sammy explains, sounding more capable and knowledgeable about their diagnosis than the bungling coroner. Dean, however alarmed, looks absolutely delectable in the reaction shot. His eyes pop with green, echoing the color of the shirt he is wearing, and his skin is smoother than Ryan Seacrest’s. Suck it, black and white! “Oh God, no,” he sighs and swoons against the car. “I don’t even know what that is,” he deadpans, showing Sammy that the real Dean Winchester is still alive and…Holy Shit…did Jensen just blink like seven times in a row and lick those pouty lips of his? That’s one for the record books, folks. He is really fighting for the Pretty Title in this episode. But I digress. Sammy continues his exposition, “Some cultures believe that certain spirits can infect the living with a disease, which is why they stopped displaying bodies in houses.” “Get to the good stuff,” Dean hurries for the sake of the audience. And bravo, Dean, because far this episode has been nothing but exposition. “The symptoms are you get anxious, then scared, then really scared…and then your heart gives out.” Sammy then bores us all by saying words that don’t make Dean shriek and flail like a 12-year-old watching “High School Musical 3” or run from three-pound puppies, so I must summarize. Yellow Fever can be transmitted through casual contact just like the flu. Frank O’Brien was the first to die, so he is the “outbreak monkey” and he must have passed the disease along to members of the Cornjerkers softball team when he played them at a tournament that weekend, hence the heart attacks in the first town over. Dean caught the disease from his corpse, and Bobby estimates he as twenty-four hours to live. This is all expressed with no Screamy Angst or Orchestra of Woe, so blah, blah, yada yada, snore.

Smart Dean wonders why his brother doesn’t have the fatal disease because he was “hit with the spleen juice” and Sammy eager to share his theory that all of the victims—a cop, a vice principal and a bouncer—were “dicks” who used “fear and intimidation” on a regular, if not daily, basis and as “weapons.” This part of the scene has caused rabid levels of rage and gruesome death threats on poor fictional Sammy Winchester’s life from the internet fandom. Dreamy Dean Winchester couldn’t possibly be a dick, because he saves lives and has pouty lips and beautiful green eyes and awesome one-liners like “I’m Batman.” “Kamakaze? I’m more of a ninja”, and adorably little bow-legs!111. The fact of the matter is, Dean has always been harsh, intimidating and downright cold when it comes to hunting, and as wisely alluded to earlier in this episode, he thinks bullies taping buttocks together is funny (which I think it is if someone's stupid enoguh to let you get THAT close). Also, if you remember in “What Is And What Should Never Be,” Dean was a complete prick who bedded Sammy’s prom date on prom night, stole money from him and missed his little brother’s graduation. I imagine when Dean isn’t saving lives or roasting in hell, he can be quite dickish indeed. And I’m okay with that. I’d rather be a “dick” and be Straight-Laced, Exposition Sammy. So there!

Where the writers, Anthony Dabb and Daniel Loflin, made the first of several fatal mistakes is by using the same excuse to excuse Sam from getting the same disease. I hate to say this, people, but despite those broad shoulders, dewy (blue? brown?) eyes, penchant for brooding to emo-ska, unfortunate hair, and undiagnosed manorexia, our Darling Sammy horrifies people right along side his bow-legged dick of a brother. So he’s a huge dick too. (I intend whatever puns you can get from that, nasty!) The difference between him and Dean is that he has demon blood in him and is immune to just about anything they can dish out, including the demonic warfare in “Croatoan” and Lilith’s lethal white light. Of course, Sammy wouldn’t succumb to silly Ghost Sickness, spleen juice or no spleen juice. The fact that the characters didn’t even consider that as an option is implausible and downright foolish on the writers’ part. Even poor Doomed Dean has a hard time swallowing that bit of shoddy writing. Moving on, Sammy says that if they “gank the ghost who started this whole thing,” it will cure the Yellow Fever outbreak, thus saving Dean’s second life. They immediately assume the ghost responsible is Jessie, Frank’s wife, because “no one really knows why she killed herself” even though we know that she was bipolar and off her meds. Sounds like reason enough to me! But they have no other leads, so…to the Metallicar! BOOM! BAM! THWAP!

Or not. This scene isn’t over yet?! Sam wonders why his brother was waiting in the car and not up in their room. Dean looks sheepish, “our room is on the fourth floor,” he begins, “it’s…high,” he gasps. Sammy bristles and pushes his lips together. His face aches to tease his brother, but realizes that he suffering, so he sighs, “I’ll see if I can move us down to the first.” “Thanks!” Dean replies graciously. Sammy departs and Dean moves his eyes back and forth shiftily, and climbs back into the Impala to retrieve his donuts. He opens the box, put then sets them aside, unable to eat. God, he is so sick, my poor Scrappy Doo!

Ever the dutiful hunter, Dean is trying to do some research on Yellow Fever inside the surprisingly tasteful and clean hotel suite that is presumably on the first floor. It includes a kitchenette and a cute living room decorated in olive greens. His anxiety grows. He glares up at the starburst clock as it beats louder. The sound of the clock ticking is irritatingly loud and paired with the beating of a human heart. Is Jackie Dahmer back? Nah, they are just borrowing the same sound trick, because it is quite effective. Jensen’s eyes are abnormally large and glassy as he tries to block out the noise and focus on the book. The photos and information definitely do not provide him any comfort. “[Those who suffer] from Ghost Sickness are affected by hallucinations…eventual horrible death,” Dean reads and he begins to the cough. The simple sounds of the room grows louder as he studies pictures of a poor eviscerated soul and another of a man vomiting up a river of blood. The lyrical chirping of blue birds now sound like the death squawks of predatory buzzards. “You’re dying.” Dean reads. “Again. Loser.” HA! The words are embedded in the text, but larger and bolder. Dean’s eyes pop even wider as his vision grows blurry at the edges and the images tremble, indicating for the folks in the back that he’s tripping. Get your glowsticks and your ring pops, everybody! He rubs them in an effort to snap himself out of the hallucination, but he has no such luck. The book continues to taunt him in bolded, evil Times New Roman, “You gonna cry? Baby gonna cry?” Dean grunts in frustration, and tears his eyes away from the book. He refocuses angrily on the clock that is still ticking incessantly. He can’t stop the Ghost Sickness or the hallucinations, but he can kill the Clock of Doom! The pretty starburst clock ticks boom three more times in slow motion before the screen fades to black and we are treated to a cathartic crunch of wood and the shatter of glass. Good to know Deano’s anxiety attacks mirrors my own…well, without all of the acidy trips and whatnot.

Sammy stalks back into the hotel room. His booted feet step directly behind the destroyed clock that will never tick again. Sam asks Dean if everything is all right. Dean is casually sitting on the couch, feet crossed at the ankles, drinking a beer. “Just peachy,” he snarks as he scratches his arm. Sammy discloses that Frank’s wife was cremated, so she mostly likely isn’t their ghost. Sammy sits down and nudges Dean’s feet with his large ones. “Hey! Quit pickin’ at that!” Hee! I like Big Brother Sammy. Dean obeys and slumps on the couch looking positively miserable. Concerned, Sammy asks him how he’s feeling. “Awesome,” Dean deadpans with his blistering fake smile. “It’s nice to have my head on the chopping block again. I forgot what that feels like…freakin’ delightful.” He complains as he takes another sip of beer. Sammy promises they will keep looking for answers. He doesn’t have a chance to offer the emo-words of encouragement we all know is coming because Dean swallows his beer and starts coughing. Sammy asks if he’s okay, probably thinking it’s just part of the sickness, just like I do. It’s not until Dean grabs his throat and gags that Sammy (and I) worry. Wheezing, Dean darts for the sink and vomits up something hard that hits the drain with an audible clang. Sam is two steps behind him, running to, I don’t know, hold Dean’s hair back. I’m definitely not going to stand front and center while anyone barfs, sorry. I’m not afraid of snakes or autopsies, but I have an embarrassing fear of being puked on. Dean rinses off the blood and bile coated thing he coughed up. It is a woodchip with some mystical shapes on the underside. Sammy is actually thrilled at this new development. I doubt Dean echoes his glee. “We’ve been ignoring he most important clue we have: you!” “I don’t wanna be a clue,” he pouts adorably. Hee! But Straight-Laced, Exposition Sammy is on a roll, “the abrasions, this…the disease is trying to tell us something.” “What? Woodchips?” Dean dumbly questions. Dude, you decipher convoluted ghost communication on a regular basis. You know it’s not that simple. “Yes, exactly!” Sammy agrees. Okay, maybe it is.

The beautiful Metallicar rolls over a bed of woodchips and into same industrial site they passed on the way into town. It is the now condemned Cassity and Sons Lumber Mill. The towering structures of yellow and silver steel are weathered and rusty from neglect. Other parts of the building are darkened in shadows and eerily quiet. Deano exits the car, “oh, I’m not going in there.” This moment is the first of several throughout the episode where I don’t recognize Jensen Ackles as Dean Winchester, because the presence of fear negates the presence of Dean Winchester as we know it. He is no longer the charismatic, self-proclaimed maverick, who fights demons with reckless abandon and a scrappy flair. Add fear to the mix, and Dean is you…and me, Eric Brady…and any sane person who uses the self-preservative emotion to gage how much their action endanger their actions. Fear tells us that exploring an abandoned lumber mill or letting a reptile that can grow up to fourteen feet long and can easily crush you to death slither around your nether regions is ridiculous and could end your life. Papa Winchester mercilessly trained and beat instinctive fear out of his sons, so it is rarely something they deal with beyond sarcasm and a bit of gun porn. Fear in the Realm of Winchester is far different than fear in plain ole reality. So naturally, Scaredy Doo is not going there. Sammy fires up his dewy (blue? brown?) eyes and prepares to drop the kindest, most uplifting speech on his yellow-bellied, wimp of a brother, one that would have Oprah doin’ the ugly cry. “I need back up, and you’re all I’ve got.” HUH?! Whereare Sammy’s sensitive poems about overcoming one’s challenges to emerge triumphant and alive? That’s it? Wait, he’s talking again. It’s coming now. Get your tissues, folks, it's going to be a doosey. “You’re going in, Dean!” That was…sweet? I’m starting to think that our Sammy has been kidnapped and replaced by our vampy shapeshifter from last week.

Dean does what any other heterosexual guy when faced with fear would do—he pulls a fifth of whiskey from his jacket pocket and takes a searing pull. “Let’s do this!” He growls in a complete parody of our Scrappy Doo. He puffs himself up to investigate the abandoned warehouse. “It is a little spooky, isn’t it?” he retorts, losing composure. Ha! They open the trunk arsenal, and our giant Sam has to lean all the way down to hand his brother his beloved pearl-handled 45mm as he grabs his trusty sawed-off. “I’m not carrying that. It could go off!” Dean says. “I’ll man the flashlight.” He smiles and seems proud of himself, because he’s going in that scary, scary place. Hee! The corners of Sam’s mouth twitch with thinly veiled frustration. Sammy is two seconds away from beating Dean’s ass.

Dean executes some stellar flashlight-fu, notably protected by the bulk of his giant of a little brother’s frame as they creep and stealth into the warehouse. Sammy’s trusty EMF meter signals from his pocket, but it is Dean’s sickness that is triggering it. It will be useless until he is better or dead, so Sammy tucks it back into his pocket. He then notices something on the floor, and reaches to grab it. The abrupt movement makes Scaredy Doo jump in fear. Beneath a scrap of fabric, Sam finds Frank’s missing wedding ring, indicating that Frank was at the warehouse before he died. More flashlight-fu down a dark, cinder block hallway. The boys hear rustling coming from one of the lockers and enter what used to be a breakroom. Sammy mouths to Dean that he’ll open the locker on the count of three. When he does, an adorable little tabby cat hops off the top shelf with a frightened meow. Dean lets loose a terrific bloodcurdling, girly scream that melds into hiccups of shrill shrieking. I’m so making that my ringtone! It stretches his face out until he resembles the black and white SCREAM mask. Meanwhile, Sam gapes at him and raises his eyebrows in pure incredulity. The entire sequence was predictable, but Jensen’s commitment kept it satisfyingly funny. “That was scary!” He enthusiastically admits with a toothy smile, panting.. Those three words are goofy delivery makes the entire moment golden and makes me giggle like the fangirl I am. Sam gingerly brushes past Dean, because he doesn’t know how to process his giant pussy of a brother. Dean whimpers and scampers after him.

More flashlight-fu into a destroyed office. The floor of the room is covered in dirt and furniture and papers are haphazardly strewn around the space. Sammy finds an aged work badge that belongs to Luther Garland, no, not Judy Garland, who played Dorothy in “Wizard of Oz” but LUTHER. Very cute, show! His picture is that of a menacing bald white man and not Liza Minelli’s mama. Dean investigates the papers on the desk on the far corner of the room, and finds aged drawings of Frank’s wife, Jessie. As soon as he pulls up a picture—ripping it in the process—the machinery mysteriously fires up even though the mill has been abandoned for at least a decade. Conveyors belts convey and whirly things whirl. Dean, of course, nearly pisses his pants in horror as Sam calmly observes. Dean uses his flashlight to pan around the small room. He passes over a hunched figure that skillfully blends into the drab room before he gulps and backtracks. The beam of light reveals someone cowering in the corner, his back to the boys. Scaredy Doo is literally paralyzed in fright, eyes as big as quarters. Sam follows Dean’s line of sight and lifts his gun at the apparition. He then approaches it. Wait, why is the ghost hiding?! Is it opposite day in “Supernatural” Land? Sam is the no-nonsense hunter. Dean refuses to carry a gun. And now, GHOSTS are hiding?! Since when do ghosts hide? Sam turns back, probably to ask Dean the same question, but through the swinging doors, we can see Dean hightailing it out of the factory, tossing his brother nothing more than a backwards look before he tears to the safe light of day. Finally, the terrified ghost remembers he’s a ghost and advances towards Sam, revealing he is Luther Garland, the man on employee badge. The poor ghost has bloody wounds on his face and hands. He takes another step and Sam blasts his undead self with rock-salt rounds. Outside, Dean is crouched behind the trunk of his baby, guzzling the last of his whiskey. Sammy runs out with Luther’s ID. “Looks like we got the right place.”

Fed-Like Sammy and Un-Fed-Like Dean are back at the sheriff’s office. Dean is standing a mandated five feet away from the counter, swaying. Deputy Linus has pulled the Garland file, and finds that his cause of death was ruled a vague “physical trauma” and our teenaged deputy is too young to remember any details of the murder. His boss, the OCD Sheriff, is out sick and therefore isn’t available for questioning. Linus notices Dean swaying, scratching and staring at his fingers in amazement, and discreetly asks Fed-Like Sammy if he’s drunk. Sammy, who once again looks amazing in his FBI suit and styled hair, glares his BLUE eyes at Dean and says he’s not. Dean offers an inebriated wink-thumbs up combo that proves he definitely is. Sam takes the Luther’s file, and leaves. Dean stays in his spot, probably because Sammy threatened one of the Metallicar’s headlights if he moved, and beams at Deputy Linus with glassy eyes. “You know what? You’re awesome.” Deangirl Linus smiles brightly. And wow, I am just now noticing that he looks like a younger Deano. “You too, I guess.” Sammy scruffs Dean by the back of the neck and hauls him out of the station. Sheriff OCD, who is apparently barricaded in his office, uses the intercom to ask who was visiting. And I definitely know that this kid is related to the Winchesters, because he just lied to them. Deputy Linus tells him it was the FBI agents who requested Luther’s file. Inside, the heartbeat of anxiety pumps as the sheriff SCRUBS HIS SKIN BLOODY WITH STEEL WOOL and loading his pistol. Poor Al is halluncinating. He points his pistol at the talking reflection of himself emanating from the trophy case. “They know what you did. And now they are going to make you pay,” his paranoia tells him.

Peaceful Pines Assisted Living. Very cute, show. Fed-Like Sammy and Un-Fed-Like Dean round the corner of the facility and Dean jumps, pressing himself against the wall as a feeble old woman with an IV bag shuffles past them. “This isn’t going to work. These badges are fake. What if we get busted, we can go to jail!” He nags. This is the second time that I don’t recognize this coward as Dean and I think he has been possessed by someone else. Sam urges him to calm down and take a deep breath (and I can see his bicep bulging through his suit jacket). Dean acquiesces, drawing in air and pushing it out through his ridiculously red, pouty lips. “Feel better?” He shakes his head, hopeless and child-like. Sam ushers him down the hall and tosses a “don’t scratch!” as they pass through the doors into the empty rec room to speak to Luther’s brother. Why is that so cute? Mr. Garland is a wiry man with graying hair and haggard appearance. He sits at a desk in a wheelchair and suspiciously wonders why the FBI care about Luther’s case. Dean gulps when Mr. Garland asks for ID, but they still manage to hand them to him simultaneously. The thin, stubbled old man holds them and studies them for an eternity for our poor sick Dean. “Those are real,” he assures him. Sam pointedly clears his throat, but Dean can’t stop himself. “Who would pretend to be an FBI agent? That’s just nutty!” Sammy stomps on his foot.

Finally, the boys sit down and ask about Luther’s death. In short, Luther was “too big and too mean lookin’.” But he was a gentle giant who likes to play with kittens. Luther’s brother failed to protect him from the town’s scrutiny. Mr. Garland and the whole town know that Frank O’Brien killed Luther, because Jessie, Frank’s wife, worked at the plant and was sweet to Big Luther, and he developed a crush on her. When Jessie disappeared, Frank was convinced that Luther was responsible. In a flashback the peppers this explanation, we see that Frank went to the lumber mill, found Luther’s drawings of Jessie and forced him out of the building at gunpoint. He knocks him down and hits him with the butt of his rifle before he wraps a chain around his neck. There is a tight shot of a car’s rear wheels and brakelights that tear away and reveal the coiled chain unraveling as a car zooms away until it snaps taut and we snap back into the rec room at Peaceful Pines. Awesome transition. “They found Luther with a chain wrapped around his neck. He was past dead.” Frank O’Brien was never arrested because he was “the pillar of the community” and Luther was the “town freak.” Mr. Garland has forgiven Frank because he grew to understand that Frank was operated on fear, and wait for it, “[fear] spreads and spreads.” The camera gets in tight on the old man’s face as he says this. He seems prematurely aged by a life of tragedy and it simply drives his point home…or justifies this needlessly complicated plot.

Outside of Peaceful Pines, Dean realizes that the marks on his arm are roadrash and the woodchips he coughed up are from Luther swallowing them when he was dragged down the road. “You’re experiencing his death in slow motion.” “Not slow enough. I say we burn some bones, and get me healthy,” Dean says. That’s the Dean we all know and love. God, I miss him! Wet Blanket Sammy explains that it won’t be that easy, because Luther’s “body was ripped to pieces” and “he’s probably scattered up and down that road. There’s no way they we can find all of the remains.” But really, it’s because the writers don’t just want show the boys burning bones—been there, done that—so we’re not going to even mention that even the murder occurred two decades ago, and the Luther-bits that weren’t buried probably eaten by animals or decomposed away years ago. Sammy promises that they will figure something else out and proceeds to not go all emo on Dean’s ass, which makes me sad. Stupid Sammy Shapeshifter! You can’t tell me he’s not one now!

The FEAR turns Dean into a stranger again as he delivers the monologue that makes this exposition-heavy episode completely worth it. “You know what? Screw this. What are we doing?” “We’re hunting a ghost?” Sammy duhs. “A ghost! Exactly! Who does that?” “Us,” Sammy duhs again. “And that is exactly why our lives suck! We hunt monsters, what the hell? Normal people see a monster and they run, but not us. We search out things that want to kill us. OR EAT US! (Big ups, to Jackie Dahmer, yo!) You know who does that? CRAZY PEOPLE! We are INSANE! And then there’s the bad diner food and the skeevy motel rooms and the truck stop waitress with the bizarre rash. I mean who wants this life, Sam? Seriously? Do you actually like being stuck in a car with me eight hours a day, every single day? I don’t think so. I drive too fast and I listen to the same five albums over and over and over again. And I sing along. I’m annoying; I know that. And you! You’re gassy. You eat half a burrito and you get toxic. You know what? You can forget it. Stay away from me, Sam, because I’m done with it. I’m done with the monsters and the hellhounds and the Ghost Sickness and the damn Apocalypse. I’m out. I’m done. Quit!” This is a rare moment when the show cashes in on its history in a way that is rewarding and fun for the fans. Dean poses the very same questions all fans have at some point. Jensen Ackles just devours this brilliant material, adding a bit of camp, while keeping it entirely grounded. His usually deep, gravelly voice is so high-pitched and cowardly and he actually squawks and overemphasizes words. He paces the length of the car with his super-large eyes wild with alarming epiphany. Jensen looks like he is having the time of his life, and I feel terribly because all that Jared was given to do is react and stutter.

Dean tosses Sam the keys to his most prized possession and stalks off into the night, which is a good thing since Dean has been drinking all day and probably shouldn’t be driving. We follow Dean up the road and hear the jingle of a collar and the padding of little paws. Dean slowly turns to find Tinkerbell seeking refuge from Paris Hilton. Hee! We are back at the beginning.

Cut to a sweaty Dean sitting on the edge of his bed in the darkened motel room. Sammy enters, relieved when he finds his brother. “I looked everywhere for you, Dean! How’d you get here?” “…ran…” Dean pants with bags under his eyes. He looks quite ill and I imagine since his heart will be stopping soon, he might regret his marathon. “What do we do now? I got less than four hours on the clock. I’m going to die, Sammy.” Dean confesses. I have been waiting for this sequence all week, especially after seeing the trailer for this episode. “Yeah you are,” Sammy says matter-of-factly. “It’s about damn time, too.” Dean’s vision blurs at the edges and bounces as he looks at Sammy as his eyes flash a demonic yellow then to a devilish white, and we know he’s imagining this. “The truth is you’ve been a real pain in my ass.” Dean attempts to move, but Badass Evil Sammy anticipates it. Without even turning his head, he lifts his hand, and telepathically flings Dean into the wall. “You get out of my brother, you evil son of a bitch!” He rages through clenched teeth. Stay in him, stay in him! He’s more fun when he’s evil. And more hot. Awesomely, Scrappy Doo overcome the silly fears of the Ghost Sickness, because this is the only mind-numbing, heart-stopping, soul-shattering fear he’s ever had: losing his brother to the very evil that killed his parents and grandparents.

The heart of fear is thumping away, which will never not be scary. The sound guys have exaggerated Sam’s voice, making it deeper, deliberate and far more sinister. Sammy laughs at the notion that he is possessed. “No one is possessing me, Dean. This is what I’m going to become,” Badass Evil Sammy says as he ventures towards him. “This is what I want to become.” Dean struggles and cringes and almost cries as Badass Evil Sammy places his hand around Dean’s neck, lets his eyes flip white, and then? Evil Sammy squeeze. That’s right folks, Sammy is strangling his brother, and I’m loving it! Get him, Sammy, get him! Dean fights for breath and suddenly, Badass Evil Sammy is gone (aww) and Regular Sammy is there with his hands on Dean’s shoulders, trying to pull him out of his delirium. No-Nonsense Sammy pops Dean’s shoulders sharply against the wall, and successfully knocks him back into reality. And I’m pissed! That entire sequence was basically in the previews from last week. I wanted more Badass Evil Sammy, and Jared Padalecki does too, because he actually gets to, ya know, act!

Next day. Lumber Mill. Sammy is sitting on the Metallicar’s hood as Bobby’s rusted out Chevelle ambles up the dusty path. He wonders where Dean is, and Sammy snorts, “home sick.” Cut to Dean sitting on the couch watching “Gumby” and scratching the bloody hell out of his arm. And I’m sorry. Ghost Sickness or not, claymation (and Claymates) is downright petrifying. He should just put in a snuff film! It would be less scary than MOVING CLAY. Dean jolts back when someone lassos Pokey (Bonus point for you, if you get the awesome reference!) and hauls him down a dirt road. Kudos to whoever procured this clip! “This isn’t helping,” Dean mutters. No Dean, that creepy shit isn’t helping. In fact, it’s making me scratch.

Back Sammy and Bobby. Sammy coldly calculates that Dean has about two hours before he dies. In a mildly amusing sequence, Sammy learns that Bobby can not only read, but speak Japanese, and that the thing causing the Yellow Fever is Buru-Buru, which is some kind of manifestation of fear. Since the writers won’t let them salt and burn the bones, Bobby says they have to do the next best thing: scare the ghost into the light. Huh? What? Who cares? Sammy calls Dean to breezily assure him that they have a good plan and he just needs to “ride out the trip” like Ghost Sickness is the teacup ride at Disneyland. As soon as Sammy hangs up, Bobby says “this is a terrible plan” and Sammy knows it is, but it’s all they have left to try. All right, I’ve had it, show! I have kept my feelings quiet throughout this recap, because I was waiting to see how the writers would handle Sammy’s fear about his brother’s impending demise. I do believe that when Dean was hallucinating Badass Evil Sammy, Real Sammy was actually lamenting about the entire situation, confessing some beautifully dark things about how he refuses to fail Dean again, but we didn’t get to hear that. And this is the perfect moment to confide in Bobby. Instead the writers stupidly continued with the “oh Dean’s dying again” nonchalance, and thus, Sammy’s sitting his giant ass on Dean’s priceless, precious baby and waxing stoic about how Dean has less than two hours to live. Whatever. The characters of Sam and Bobby need to reference whatever Sam’s emotions may be. I’m not asking for anyone to dust off the Orchestra of Woe or the Capital-M Melancholy that bogged down last season in lieu of Sammy getting his ass kicked by a titan of a ghost, but we need something. The fact they, yet again, don’t there ruins the entire episode. Comedy is awesome, but “SPN” has always been a pleasant mix of both, and the laughs ended seven minutes ago.

In a series of artful shots, Sammy creeps back into the lumber mill without Bobby and clutching his shotgun. We get several shots of him from various angles walking through dark shadows and contrasting milky light streaming in from outside. Luther’s hand suddenly slams onto a pane of glass the camera is shooting Sammy through and then focuses on the dusty pane of glass and Luther’s ghostly reflection. Yes, I jumped. Shut up.

Back at the hotel. Delirium has overwhelmed Dean, and he hears the snarl of demonic pitbulls, and fortunately for him, it’s not Sarah Palin. Not a second later, unseen forces beat against the door to his room, nearly rattling it off its hinges. Dean ducks down behind the armchair he was sitting in when finally the doorframe splinters and the sheriff enters the room with his pistol. Dean lifts his upper body up like a prairie dog to see who it is, and is relieved that he is not about to be mauled by hellhounds. Dean’s vision bounces and throbs throughout the scene and we can’t tell what is real and what isn’t. I do know that the confrontation between the two characters looks completely ridiculous regardless of how much the actors are trying to make it believable. Long story short: Al’s not one bit guilty for not busting Frank for brutally killing Luther because it the FEAR made him do it or whatever. I don’t care. Commence with the dying! Dean tries to tell the sheriff that he’s sick and needs to calm down. But again, stupid, because this guy was infected before Dean, so he should be dead right now. They struggle until Dean’s instincts take over, and he finally starts to kick some motherfuckin’ ass. He busts the sheriff in the face and knocks him back into the coffee table, which shatters, but sadly, doesn’t impale him. Boo! Al clutches his rapidly beating heart and dies gorelessly. Bad form, Al, bad form!

Lumber Mill. Sammy’s searching for Luther and talking to Bobby on his two-way. Sammy hypothesizes that he needs to make him angry in order to draw him out. He puts the gun down and proceeds to destroy Luther’s drawings of his beloved Jessie. Who’s the dick now, Sammy? LEAVE LUTHER ALONE!11 *sobs* The machines supernaturally power on. Sammy continues his demonic destruction. The camera slides over as Sammy stands upright, and we see Luther’s ghost seething behind him. Sic ‘em, Luther! Sammy senses big ole Luther, and when he turns around, he actually has to look up at the giant hulk of a ghost. Luther wastes no time and tosses the Formally Ginormous Sammy across the room like a rag doll. I’m rooting for Luther, y’all! I think he could win this one.

Motel. Dean has covered the sheriff’s corpse with the bedspread. He sits on the foot of the other bed, shaky and scratching the skin off his already bloody forearms. Apparently, he’s giving up on drinking, which is a shame, because alcohol is a depressant and might be able to buy him some time. His anxiety has finally reached critical mass; his mind is replaying Badass Evil Sammy’s creeptastic voice; his watch ticking is deafening; he hears hellhounds; and he can’t trust anything he sees. Desperate, he presses the Bible to his cheek and closes his eyes in fervent prayer. God or Castiel ain’t helpin’ you, buddy! “Hi, Dean!” A child-like voice greets. His eyes snap open audibly, and the camera does another reveal slide, so we can see the Lilith in Zoey’s meatsuit from “No Rest For The Wicked.” Remember her? She’s the little girl Lilith possessed and Sam almost killed. She’s wearing a puffy pink dress I would have cut a bitch for when I was nine. “Oh! No!” Dean cowers. His skin crawls and he visibly shutters as Lilith giddily hugs him and says, “it’s time go to back now,” she grins. I’m jealous of her too, now! And I still want that dress! Dean pries himself away and stands up, refusing to meet her eyes. “What’s the matter? Don’t you remember all the fun you had down there? Four months is like forty years in hell.” She estimates and then…DUN! Is it really the first one of the episode? “And you remember every second.” Come again? Did he LIE to Sammy when he said he didn’t remember? We get no confirmation either way, because Dean’s heart starts the wonky beat, and he crumples to his knees in pain. Dean asks why he got infected, and Lilith says he knows why, and starts torturing my pretty-faced baby to death. “Ba-Boom! Ba-boom! Ba-boom!” Dean’s heart sails into supraventricular tachycardia, which trust me, is as uncomfortable as it looks.

Lumber Mill. Sammy is getting his ass kicked. And that’s not exactly a rare occurrence on this show, but this time, Sammy’s purposely not fighting back. Luther literally hauls Sammy cross the room by his ankle, stomps on his back, cracks his head against the floor repeatedly. Ouch. It’s refreshing to see our giant Sammy crawling away from a force bigger than himself. Sam even smiles while Luther slams his hard skull against the cement floor. So his romps with Ruby 2.0 turned him into a sadist? I bet his safe-word is “Marzipan.”

Lilith continues “Ba-booming.” Dean has the slowest heart attack in the history of heart attacks.

Luther grabs Sammy’s collar, and Sammy retrieves a chain hidden in the sawdust that covers the floor, and wraps it around Luther’s neck, creating an iron noose. “Bobby, punch it!” He screams. Bobby shifts the Metallicar into gear and floors it. The chain jerks poor Luther’s ghost off Sam, out the lumber mill and down the road. Meanwhile, Dean’s still babysteppng towards the light. For the second time in Luther’s (after)life, he being dragged to his demise. Dean draws in a wheezing breath of finality. And stops. Stops breathing. Stops struggling. Stops living? Luther’s disintegrates in plumes of ghostly smoke. As his body falls away, we can only see the chain and Luther’s head, and he looks like Humpty Dumpty. Finally, his eye close and Humpty Dumpty has The Great Fall, leaving Bobby dragging nothing but chain. The machines skitter to a stop, and Luther is gone. Dean dead-eyes the camera for three agonizing seconds before he gasps back to life, coughing. The room is quiet and his forearms are completely healed. Exhausted, he flops against the luggage under his head and just breathes.

Lumber Mill. In front of an undeniably scenic ridge of evergreens and mountains, Dean, Bobby and Sam recap the day’s events. Dean offers Bobby a beer, but he declines. “So you guys roadhauled a ghost?” A fully recovered Dean asks. Sammy blahs about how it was an iron chain etched with spellwork, which is bullshit because iron dissipates even the strongest of ghosts (see 4.2 as reference), like rock salt does with demons. Those are hard and fast rules, show. “It was what he was most afraid of,” Sammy explains. Dean, back to being normal, doesn’t care what Sammy did to the ghost that was inadvertently killing people. “On the upside, I’m still alive, so go team!” Sammy asks Dean how he’s feeling. Judging by how he looks? I’d say pretty damn good. He’s wearing one layer, everyone, and it’s a tight grey shirt. He squints against the yellow sun like a model that’s "Too Sexy" for everything. Sammy also thinks he’s photo shoot for Stetson For Men, because he is artfully draped against the side of the Metallicar, one hip popped, hand in his pocket, and filling out his denim shirt the way all men should. Man, The Battle For The Pretty will have to be a tie. Again! If you’re keeping score, it’s Jared 1, Jensen 0, and two ties.

Dean’s bravado is back with a vengeance. “I’m fine! You want to go huntin’? I’ll hunt. I’ll kill anything.” He boasts, and that's HOT! Kill something, Dean! And do it shirtless! Sammy and Bobby tease him instead. Bobby has to leave, and pointedly tells he boys to drive safely since they are drinking beers while leaning against a car, which sends a bad message to the kiddies. After he drives away, Sammy wonders what Dean saw at the end. “Besides a cop beating my ass?” Dean jokes. “Seriously.” Dean looks down, mulling over if he should tell his brother the truth. He faces him and Sammy eyes fucking glow demonically (proving my theory that Sammy’s been a shapeshifter since episode five). Whether it is a residual hallucination or it actually happened we never know, but Dean swallows, and lies, “Howler Monkeys. Those things creep he hell out of me.” Sammy knows he’s avoiding, so Dean offers this, “Nothing I couldn’t handle.” End scene. Thank God that’s over! It was the funniest episode of “SPN” I’ve ever seen, but that doesn’t make it the best!

I’m not even attempting to recap Dean’s rendition of “Eye of the Tiger” because it’s so awesome, I can’t do it justice. Youtube it, y’all!

Snarky "Supernatural" Recap: Monster Movie

2008-10-22T19:47:00.005-06:00

I had such a blast writing the first one, I decided for another go. Enjoy or don't!

I have to admit I was crestfallen when I saw the previews for this week’s installment for “Supernatural.” I absolutely hate it when shows to theme or tribute episodes. I don’t watch “Buffy” to see the characters (try to) sing. Nor do I watch “Supernatural” to see an ode to a genre of movies made decades before I was born, and that I never liked in the first place. Needless to say, I was none too pleased that Kripke and Co. were stepping away from the amazing, angsty goodness that has been the first four episodes of this season so he could make a tribute episode to old school monster movies. In fucking black and white. Yes, without color. Oh the humanity! I’m not sure if I could even watch an episode that replaced the unique green of Jensen’s eyes with a dull grey. Boo! Hiss! Bah! I don’t want to watch! But I obviously am anyway, because I love Kripke, the show, and the Js. I’m not happy about it, and I refuse to enjoy it! I’ll hate this episode more than “Ghostfacers!” and nothing Sam or Dean Winchester does will change that!

Now, let’s get this over with. The show begins with the old school WB logo, an old-timey orchestra trumpeting the beginning of the show with dramatic crescendo, and old-fashioned title cards. I see they’re going all out. That’s not cute or clever at all, I swear. It’s stupid in fact. It was a dark and stormy night. Beneath a glowy crescent moon, Metallicar tears down a foggy backroad and past a sign that reads: Welcome to Pennsylvania. In Old English font. I’m not playing. When lightning flashes, it magically changes from Pennsylvania to Transylvania. Ooooo, spooky.

Inside the car, the vividly strumming orchestra switches to a tinny version piping of the same song in from the Metallicar’s radio. “The radio around here sucks,” Dean complains as he flips it off. Sammy holds a sour face as he examines a map with a flashlight, once again relegated to the passenger seat. Alas, Sam had four months to drive the Metallicar while Dean was vacationing in Hades, and I fear he won’t drive again unless Dean makes a return trip. Dean, on the other hand, is absolutely thrilled that they have an open-and-shut case that consists of a “dead vic with a gnawed on a neck, body drained of blood, and a witness who swears up and down that it was a vampire.” Dean loves killing vamps. It always cheers him up. I think it’s his cardio, too. His giant of a little brother just glums in the passenger seat, because “the world is ending, and things are a little complicated.” Dean, I’m sure, hasn’t forgotten that the apocalypse is coming as that’s the only reason why he’s drawing breath. He is downright giddy because this case is “like the good ole days, an honest to goodness monster hunt.” And then he pops out this little line, “it’s about time the Winchesters got a straight-forward, black and white case.” Aww, the show is self-aware. Can it be self-aware in COLOR, please? Lightning and thunder flash and crash as the car zooms down the road. Still in black and white.

We circle fade to black and fade back in to polka music? Um, quoi? What on earth is going on? The camera pans down to a gazebo I swear was used on “Gilmore Girls” to a polka band, an awful amount of lederhosen, and because this is “Supernatural,” a lot of blondes in short costume dresses. Judging by the banner hung from the rafters of this downright German-esque village, the Hardy Boys have stumbled on upon Pennsylvania’s Oktoberfest! Sam and Dean emerge from the car in their FBI suits, and for a moment, I forget how much I hate black and white, because the boys look wonderful, dashing even. Even Jared Padalecki’s mullety hair looks good. Did I just say that? That’s not even possible!

Dean adjusts his collar, “We still have to see the new ‘Raiders’ movie.” That’s the writers’ clever way of making a reference to the new Indiana Jones film without actually using the proper title. Sam says he’s already seen it. Dean is crushed, “without me?” He pouts. Sam shrugs matter-of-factly, “you were in Hell.” Zing! Sammy tells a joke! “That’s no excuse!” He huffs, but then the outrage is suddenly overtaken by his fantastic appetite. “Big pretzel!” He darts away. Hee! The camera swings in on Sam’s pretty, albeit black and white face, and he smiles wistfully and fondly at the fleeting form of his recently resurrected older brother. He looks at Dean the way mothers stare at their children in complete awe and pride before puberty turns them into smart-ass, know-it-all monsters. Jared Padalecki doesn’t say a word, but the expression on his face says far more. He missed his brother, even the stupid little things he did that probably drove him batty before he died, and he is so happy to have him back that it overwhelms him sometimes. It was an long overdue moment, but a touching one. Sniff!

Sam joins him and together they both dig into the ginormous pretzels. And what do you know? Sammy is eating! His lack of appetite is just as notorious as Dean’s voracious one. What kind of jacked-up land of crazy have my poor Sammy and Dean stumbled into? It has to be another mystery spot! Dean, please keep those green eyes peeled for flying desks or rancid tacos! Dean ogles a tall blonde dressed as a bar wench walking by and making eyes at Dean. Chica, quit while you’re ahead; Dean’s peepers are legendary, and I can’t even see what color your eyes are. “Guten tag.” The wench greets him, flirting. Ho! Dean laps it up along with his big pretzel. “Guten tag yourself!” He returns with his mouth full. The blonde lass strolls by the town’s sheriff tossing Dean one last come-hither look before disappearing into a bar. Dean remembers that they are indeed on a case, and they start their investigation. Sheriff Dietrich corrals the boys to the morgue so they can examine the body and discuss it from the crowd. The compassionate sheriff looks down at the victim, Marissa Wright, 26 years old, and sighs, “it’s the last thing this town needs at peak tourist season.” Such a tenderhearted, old softie, isn’t he? Sammy, always the humanitarian even when it involves Ruguarus who want to gobble up his brother, calls the sheriff on the fact that a woman was violently killed in the prime of her life and that is that is more important than protecting the town’s profits from a beer festival.

Dean turns Dead Marissa’s head, and finds two large fang marks in her neck, and he seems genuinely shocked. I can’t tell if he is acting for the sheriff’s sake or if he really is surprised by his findings. The sheriff echoes his sentiment, and thinks the killer is a “satan-worshipping, Anne Rice-reading, gothic, psycho vampire wannabe.” He goes on to mention the witness’s name is Ed Brewer, the town crackpot.

In the local bar, Sammy and Dean stroll up to the counter to ask the aforementioned bar wench if he knows where he can find Ed Brewer. They produce their FBI badges in unison. HEE! I love it when they do that. The bar wench is incredulous that Dean is actually FBI, “Wow, you don’t come on like a Fed.” She says, leaning forward to show the un-Fed-like Fed her cleavage. TEASE! Did I mention this bar wench is a straight-up Deangirl? She completely ignores his fifteen-foot-tall partner, which is pretty damn hard since he towers over…everything. “Seriously?” She asks again, thinking she got the part as Izzie on “Grey’s Anatomy.” Wrong show, Katherine Heigl.

Dean leans in closer as well. In the shot, Sammy is standing behind him, looking quite Fed-Like in his black suit, white shirt and broad shoulders. I am honestly starting to appreciate the black and white, because it is making my already beautiful boys look more so. And I swear Sammy is actually preening for the buxom blonde or the Samgirls at home. After rewinding several times, I can confirm that this is in fact what he is doing. Let The Battle of the Pretty For This Episode BEGIN! Yay! Anyway, Dean’s pretty, pretty face suddenly gobbles up the screen to cheese, “I’m a maverick, ma’am.” And he doesn’t mean in the hateful, fear-mongering republican kind of maverick, either. “A rebel with a badge. The one thing I don’t play by are the rules,” and then he winks and a bell rings, and Castiel is rolling his damn angel eyes from heaven as another angel gets his wings. That line is cheesier than three-cheese macaroni, but Jensen Ackles/Dean sold it like a Shakespearean sonnet, and he looks like THAT, so I’d definitely buy it. Katherine Heigl, on the other hand, seems a bit more resistant. God, she’s dumb. “Okay, Maverick,” Sammy says, making a grand attempt of buttoning in his laughter, “so where can we find Mr. Brewer?” That Sammy, always on task.

Slide Fade to Mr. Brewer who is nervously gulping beer from a comically large beer stein. He looks like a non-manorexic Ethan Hawke back when he was Mr. Uma Thurman. He is dressed, however, like he teleported from the set of “I Love Lucy” with his crisply ironed collared short, thin mustache, and slicked back hair. “I told the cops everything I saw.” He says in Brooklyn-ish accent that speaks more about his character than where he’s from. Ethan Brewer is a less-than-polished blue-collar fellow, who probably has all of the “Lord of the Rings” fan fiction in his spare time. “Nobody believes me. Why should you be any different?” “Believe me, Mr. Brewer, we’re different.” Dean promises, and he smirks at him. I see our freshly resurrected Dean is so horny that he’s unwittingly hitting on a man…and he’s not even hot. Tsk, tsk, Dean, tsk, tsk.

“I spoke the God’s honest truth, and now I’m the town joke.” Ethan Brewer bemoans. “Marissa Wright’s murder is no joke to us and we want to hear everything. No matter how strange it may seem.” Fed-Like Sammy encourages. “We have a lot of experience in strange,” Dean assures him. Ethan Brewer plies himself with a few more gulps from his giant beer stein and proceeds to tell his story after shooting Sammy and Dean the Maverick a thumbs up. “It was just after midnight. I cut through the park on the way home,” he actually makes his first two fingers walk around the table as he speaks. “At first I thought it was a couple kissing, but she was,” he pauses and spazzes for a second, “struggling too much.” The camera flashes to Sam and Dean who are listening intently…and Dean is giving some serious model face. Game on! “It was a man…he was biting her neck…” “Oh he was a vampire,” he answers when Fed-like Sammy asks for a description. Dean presses him to explain why he thought he was a vampire. Ethan Brewer says, “Ya know a vampire,” and then he hisses for effect. Adorably Dean humors him with an “uh huh” as if he’s talking to an infant who just spewed a mouthful of gibberish and wants a serious response. “He looked like a vampire, ya know, with the fangs and the slicked back hair and the fancy cape and the medallion thingie on the…ribbon.” Hee! I know this character is just tool writers use to keep the exposition from being boring, but I love this guy!

“You mean like a Dracula?” Dean questions, stealing Sam’s sour face. “Exactly! Like a Dracula.” Dean immediately thinks that Ethan Brewer is a stark, raving loon. Sammy is much more polite, and humors him and prompts him describe “Dracula’s” accent, which Ethan Brewer does enthusiastically, and the strings kick up on the soundtrack to give power to his imitation. This is probably the biggest thing that has ever happened to Ethan Brewer, and he wants to help. He wants to do his civic duty. He wants to be the hero. But he now fears that he lost he just lost the last two people who would believe him. “You do believe me, don’t you?” Sammy and Dean just stare back with blank faces and furrowed brows. I bet that’s the same look Ethan Hawke gets when he goes to auditions.

Cut to Katherine Heigl and another bar wench, Lucy, from behind the bar. Lucy figures Sam and Dean are investigating the Wright murder, and feels sorry that they were roped into talk to “crazy Ed Brewer and his vampire story,” Lucy sighs. Katherine Heigl defends Crazy Ethan. “He might be weird, but he’s not crazy.” Lucy scoffs, “You’re just saying that because the guy has a crush on you and he tips you in twenties.” She blots her lipstick on a folded napkin and drops it on the bar. The camera pulls in close on the napkin signaling its significance.

Lucy vamooses as Dean approaches the bar once more, “So you gotta beer back there for me?” “I don’t know, Agent Young, you off duty?” Katherine Heigl asks. “And then some,” Dean replies. She disappears as Sammy joins him. He picks up the lipstick-spotted napkin and probably thinks about how gross that is or takes a moment to miss Ruby 2.0 or Dead Werewolf Madison or Deep Fried Jessica or that completely awesome, completely alive Sarah from “Provenances.” Sammy and Dean lean against the bar and think through the case. They echo the sheriff’s assumptions about Brewer, “so what you do think? Goth, psycho vampire wannabe?” Sammy agrees, “Definitely not our kind of case.” They sit down at a booth as a surprisingly upbeat Dean Winchester sees the upside of suddenly being jobless. “The room’s paid for and it’s Oktoberfest. Come on, brother, beer and bar wenches.” “I’m pretty sure women today don’t react very well to the whole ‘wench’ thing.” Sammy bores. Dean proves how wrong he is, “Hey bar wench, where’s that beer?” “Coming up, good sir,” Katherine Heigl says as she tops off his draft. Sammy rolls his eyes and knows he couldn’t get away with that. In that suit, Sammy, you could get away with just about anything.

Katherine Heigl brings Dean his beer and he takes the opportunity to make funny of his lil’ giant of a brother when she asks if he would like anything by calling him a “Christian Scientist” and complains about how boring he is with some combination of words. I hear none of this because Jared Padalecki just licked his damn lips and proceed to rewind that fifty-seven times. It’s not LL Cool J good, but I ain’t complainin’. Once I re-join the action, Katherine Heigl is still lapping up Dean’s persistent flirting, “you’re funny.” “Well I’m a lot more than that. I’d love to get a chance to show you the rest. What time you get off?” He is offering himself up on a platter! Katherine Heigl shoots him down like he’s Alex Karev, “Ha ha! Like I said, funny.” Ouch! Can we kill her for turning him down again when she started the whole thing?

“Man it is time to right some wrongs,” Dean nearly growls over his giant beer. “What do you mean?” Sammy asks. “Well, look at me. I came back from the furnace without any of my old scars, right? No bullet wounds, no knife cuts, no off-angle fingers from all the breaks. I mean my hide is as smooth as a baby’s bottom.” Now I’m fantasizing about naked Dean, which is a very good thing for me, but a very disturbing thing for Sammy. He turns down his lips and is thinking of dredging up his DEE-MONIC Telekinesis to make Dean shut the hell up about how hot he is. “Which leads me to conclude—sadly—that my virginity is intact.” Dean announces with a sexy smirk. Sammy is as baffled as I am. Dean, ticked pink about stumbling onto Oktoberfest, just drives to point home, “I have been rehymenated.” I promptly fall off the couch in laughter. I LOVE THIS FREAKING SHOW. I will have its babies! If Dean Winchester can be rehymenated, I can birth “Supernatural” infants. Although I’m scared to imagine what they’d look like…hmm. Sammy manages to take that comment better than I do since he’s been putting up with Dean’s antics for 26 years—minus the four months he was dead—and snorts, “Please, maybe angels can pull you out of Hell, but no one can do that!” Sammy promises, politely referencing Dean’s prior life of tawdry slutdom. Dean refuses to entertain his little brother’s stupid notions based on archaic logica, because if he can be dead for four months and blossom out of the ground in perfect health, all of the hard and fast rules are now…soft and slow! So he sips his giant beer, “Brotha, I have been rehymenated, and the dude will not abide.” “Well, dude, you do whatever you gotta do. I’m going to go back to the room and get some sleep.” And by “sleep” he means “fire up BustyAsianBeauties.com.” Poor lonely Sammy is boring me. Don’t get me wrong, I love “The Odd Couple” dynamic between Sam and Dean, but could he loosen up just a little bit? It seems like he had more fun when his brother was dead, which is pretty freaking WRONG. I know Sammy isn’t the type of guy who has one-night stands, and I respect him for that, but he could talk to people, and make jokes and smile. Who knew Armageddon would twist Sammy panties in knots? It did wonders for Ben Affleck.

Alone, Dean enjoys a beer almost as big as Mr. Brewer’s, and then tracks down Katherine Heigl to ask her out again. “Uh, sorry, I promised Lucy a girls’ night out.” She gestures to the tall brunette with an angular face who likes to blot her lipstick on napkins and leave it lying around and I’m pointing this out again because it’s very important! “Besides, no self respecting bar wench lets herself get picked up by a customer on the first try.” She sasses with her hand on her hip. Oh she’s feisty! “Well I’m not a customer, I’m a Federal Agent.” Dean corrects. “Try again tomorrow, G-Man.” Wait a minute, this girl was handpicked to de-hymenate The Virgin Dean, and she’s turning him down for, like, the forty-second time in the first eight minutes of this episode? I’m honestly nauseous. And I hope she dies. There, I said it. Call me a fanatic or a Deangirl, I don’t care. Dean tells Katherine Heigl that he doesn’t think they’ll be there tomorrow as the case is “not weird enough.” And end scene!

We cut to yet another quite artificial FULL moon shining on a grove of artificial trees as artificial fog wafts around a very real car where a couple is necking. (That’s old school for “making out.”) Again, both the boy and the girl look as if they stumbled off “The Donna Reed Show,” but it doesn’t appear to be a costume. The look, like this entire episode, is a subtle wink at the era, but arguably modern. A wolf howls in the distance, and the girl, a nervous brunette with impeccable bangs, pushes her boyfriend off in fear. “That sounded like a wolf.” Her teenaged boyfriend is so excited at the prospect of getting some that he wouldn’t care if Anti-Christ himself is outside of the car with white glowy eyes. Odds are he’d be safer if he was. He is panty, hot and bothered, and spews any excuse he can thing of so they can keep going. “Baby, if a man doesn’t get the stuff out of his system regularly, it can back up and cause all kinds of…medical type problems.” Hee! Horny McBlueballs wants to get his rocks off more than The Virgin Dean. Man, he’s pathetic. Out of the fog comes a shadow of a pair of dastardly devilish paw-like hands with thick nails and thicker fur. The creature in need of a serous manicure and a wax growls as his wolf-like form paints over the bumper of the small, trendy hatchback. Inside, Horny McBlueballs is getting quite handsy himself, clawing at his girlfriend’s blouse as he kisses her. She pushes his hands away and asks if he heard the growls. Against the background of the dark woods and moonlight visible through the car window, Horny McBlueBalls makes a grand statement of doom! “Anna Marie, there aren’t any wolves in Pennsylvania.” Oh yeah, he’s dead. He can’t even finish the statement before movement flutters behind him, and just as we predicted, the window smashes and those dastardly devilish paw-like hands snatch our beloved Horny McBlueballs clear through the window. He screams. Anna Marie screams. Wolf-Man growls. There is a hilarious shot of Anna Marie shrieking as Horny’s feet wiggle and flail fruitlessly as he is dragged bodily through the window, the horn snapping off shots of sound as he hits it in the struggle. While we never see all of Wolf-Man, we do get a shot of the furry thing sinisterly stalking from the car, then hear the wonderful sound of a monster slashing through flesh and bone and organs while Anna Marie screams her virginal little head off. See, it’s not fun to be clawed at, Horny, now is it? That entire scene was pure unabashed camp, and I freakin’ loved it. Amen, “Supernatural.”

The next day a far less screamy Anna Marie sits in front of the “Gilmore Girls” gazebo indulging in a big gulp as Fed-Like Sam and Un-Fed-Like Dean frown at her in much the same way they did with Ethan Brewer. Anna Marie is decidedly unremorseful about her boyfriend’s demise, “and then it just tore Rick into little pieces.” Atta girl! Dean needlessly comforts her, and when asked for a description of Poor Horny McBlueballs killer, she slurps at her big gulp once more and confidently states, “Oh it was a werewolf. With the furry face and the black nose and the claws and the torn up pants and shirt like from the old movies.” Sam and Dean exchange befuddled looks and quickly leave as Anna Marie drains her bucket of cola without a care in the world now that her horny fucktard of a boyfriend is dead. I like her. She’s got gumption! Dean, pick her!

Fed-Like Sammy and Un-Fed-Like Dean can now enter and exit the morgue as they please. In an undeniably elegant and perfectly framed shot of the shiny, silver morgue drawers, Sam and Dean search for what’s left of Horny’s body. Their black suits a sharp contrast to the bright metal. Dean wonders, “what the hell is going on in this town?” and wearily moves to examine the body that is encased in a disturbingly flat and shapeless body bag. Haha! Sammy and Dean gag and wow at the remains inside. “Damn!” Dean curses, shocked at the presumably confettied state of the body. “All right, whatever did this,” Sammy says, stirring the soupy remains and then pulling up a shredded knot of unidentifiable innards up into the shot with the end of his pencil, “was not a psycho wannabe.” Dean is just speechless with confusion as Sammy continues to toss Horny’s guts up like cole slaw. Why is that so amusing? “Look at those bite marks…right down the bone, and deeper.” Sam points out. “Strong enough to tear a healthy man apart limb from limb, could be a werewolf.” Dean hypothesizes. Maybe Jason did it, Sam. Get it? Get it? Um, back to the show. Sammy points out that the heart is still there and intact and “they never leave the heart in one piece.” “So I reiterate, what the hell is going on?” Dean questions.

Sheriff Dietrich enters and while, yes, Sam is still poking around in that poor man’s chest cavity with his No. 2. “Well I was hoping you boys could tell me. The fibers were found on the body…are canine, wolf hairs.” Both Winchesters are painfully perplexed. But, mercy me, the reaction shot of Sammy is so completely gorgeous that I have to stop writing this recap and make a screencap. When I finish making it my wallpaper (for my cubicle, not my computer), Dean’s face comically crumples in pain as he declares, “I’m getting a headache” and rubs his pretty, pretty eyes.

Back at the Bar of Bar Wenches. Fed-Like Sammy is eating again. Two times in one episode? Everything I know about the “Supernatural” universe has been flipped upside down! I don’t know how to take this episode. Let’s recap, shall we? No weekly motel room, no color, no real gore, Sam and Dean haven’t fought over whether this is their kind of case or not, Sam ate, not once but TWICE, Dean has made no mention of pie, and he is downright carefree and virginal? The only thing keeping me from running from this episode in unadulterated fear is the fact that Sammy isn’t bedding any bar wenches. Sam’s celibacy is the only thing holding it all together! But this is still eighteen kinds of wrong as Sammy’s appetite awakening like Mount St. Helen’s is far more frightening than whatever put the two dead bodies in the morgue.

Back to the this freakshow of a show: Dean wipes his mouth, “I don’t know, man, looks like we’ve stumbled onto a midnight showing of ‘Dracula Meets Wolf-Man.’” “Wolf-Man seems real enough,” Sammy argues. “But werewolves don’t grow wolf hair. That’s just a myth. So what, we have a vampire and a were-wolf monster-mashing this town?” Dean asks. Katherine Heigl saunters up to the boys with a beer for each. “Looks like you guys are staying awhile. I heard about Rick Deacon.” Dean agrees that the case is finally “weird enough for their department.” And Katherine Heigl finally sees the light (and nope, Jeffery Dean Morgan ain’t in it…hee!) and makes a date with Dean at the oh-so safe hour of midnight. Can she die now?!

Dean, knowing he is getting laid few hours, has his mojo back. “You think this Dracula can turn into a bat? That’d be cool.” He gulps his giant beer so fervently that he nearly falls in. When he surfaces, foam is smeared all over his upper lip and nose. How freaking adorable is that? Hee!

It is a dark and stormy night, and the Fog of Death hovers around an old mansion-turned museum that looks very much like one in my hometown. Inside a security guard is on the phone, asking whoever is on the other end if they were expecting a delivery. What’s the package, you ask? “A very old” sarcophagus. It was just sitting on the loading dock without any paperwork.” The burly and bearded security guard stupidly has his back turned to the sarcophagus and as he asks if “Helen has anything in her files,” the lid begins to noiselessly slide open, and more cryptic and quite cinematic fog slithers from the crack and curls onto the floor. The poor security guard jumps when the lid slides completely off. He watches, horrified as a mummy rises (obviously on a mechanized board) out of the smoke of his coffin as violins lilt on the soundtrack. This poor security guard reacts the way any good rent-a-cop would when a centuries old embalmed corpse with no brain starts moving on its own accord: he hollers, “Holy mother of crap!”, unholsters his gun, and pumps the fucker full of lead. Good job! The mummy advances undeterred and backs the poor guy into a wall, grabs him by the throat with an atrophied arm covered in soiled and weathered bandages, and lifts him up by his neck. And then? Mummy squeeze. The security guard gags and chokes and his tongue bunches up in his mouth until finally, there is a disgusting noise that sounds like a thumb piercing through the tough outer skin and into the juicy meat of an apple. Lightning and thunder flash and crash from outside the museum, and all is suddenly still again.

The museum is now a crime scene. Fed-Like Sammy and Un-Fed-Like Dean work in the middle of it, examining the sarcophagus while CSI collects evidence. Somewhere in the room, Horatio Cane is menacingly removing his sunglasses. Sammy and his magic flashlight finally uncover a clue, “the sarcophagus isn’t ancient. It’s from a prophouse in Philly.” He holds up the black and white label. Dean, with his own flashlight, isn’t surprised. “Well, it goes well with the bucket of dry ice he was keeping in it,” he replies as he shows Sam the world’s smallest bucket of billowing smoke, holding it with two fingers. “Is he making his own special effects?” Sam wonders. “A mummy with a good sense of showman’s ship.” Dean agrees. Both Sam and Dean are speechless, observing the action around them until Sam, completely fed up with what was supposed to be a straight-forward, black and white case, pouts, “This is stupid” in the same vein of the pathetic and oh-so-funny, “I lost my shoe” from “Bad Day At Black Rock.” I actually laugh out loud. For a long time.

The Virgin Dean stands up, suddenly panicked, and starts gesturing wildly. He’s late to be devirginized and he’s all, “I’m late and you got it with the mummy…and the crazy…” Sam assures him with his “I got this” face, and shoos his recently resurrected brother off to go get laid. If that’s not a display of brotherly love, I don’t know what is.

Tavern. Katherine Heigl waits outside of the bar, and I notice how contemporary she looks in her cleavage-revealing shirt, short black coat, and super tight jeans. One of these things is not like the other! One of these things does not belong! She checks her watch and shakes her head, “your loss, G-Man.” She walks down the now abandoned town…and wait, back up. It’s Oktoberfest and the entire town is deserted at midnight? No couple necking in the corners, no drunk guys peeing in the “Gilmore Girls” gazebo, no ruckus parties? I find this impossible to believe, murders or not. I think the Amish are wilder than the folks in this town. But I digress. The Fog of Doom slithers in as Katherine Heigl turns the corner. At night, the village is nothing more than a shadowed labyrinth of buildings and alleyways. Katherine Heigl hears a flapping of wings and what sounds like a bat screeching. She unceremoniously turns around, and DUN! Dracula is standing at the corner and he looks exactly like Ethan Brewer described him with the slicked back hair, fancy cape and the medallion on the ribbon. “Good evening,” he greets in his perfect Transylvanian accent. Katherine Heigl bolts. Dracula thrusts his satiny ape over his arm and powerwalks after her. Katherine Heigl rounds the corner and is face-to-face with…a brick wall with barred windows. The full moon shines through the bars and the quite cinematic smoke billows around her. “I have watched you for many nights from afar!” Dracula confesses, a bar of light falling perfectly over his eyes. It is a bit creepy and cool. “My passion knows NO BOUNDS, Mee-na!” Katherine Heigl roots around in her purse for anything she can use as a weapon. “You are the reincarnation of my love…and I must….have you.” Dracula continues as he ventures closer. His line delivery is grand and melodramatic like a theater actor or Fraiser Crane. Katherine Heigl must have been looking for her mace because she blast his eerily light eyes as a response, and then runs back the way she came. Smart girl! I didn’t know they made those in the “Supernatural” universe. Dracula screams and curses, “Mary…son of a…” HA! He completely dropped the accent and breaks character as he rubs the burning mace out of his eyes. Apparently, our Dracula hails from the Midwest, hey der doncha know?! He makes chase seconds later.

Dean walks briskly through the empty town calling Katherine Heigl’s name. Terrified, she runs to him and clutches the lapels of his jacket. She doesn’t have time to warn him about the wingnut who accosted her as Dean recognizes her fear and reflexively pushes her behind him. Then Dracula arrives. “Son of a BITCH!” He marvels, eying this freakshow up and down. Hee! The Magical Winchester Catchphrase! “You should not use such LANGUAGE in the presence of my BRIDE!” Dracula overacts. Dean agrees to those terms, then decks him in the jaw. Dracula never saw it coming, and hits the ground hard. Instantly, he pops up again, fangs bared and hisses like a barnyard cat. Dracula’s flamboyance clearly distracts Dean and he hesitates before he throws another punch, giving Dracula time to expect it. Dracula blocks a combination of punches, grabs Dean by the neck and slams him backwards against the brick wall. Dean tells his Flavor of the Week to run, and she does!?! She actually doesn’t try to help him or anything. What a bitch! And yes, yes, I know that she stills think Dean is an Un-Fed-Like Fed, but even they need a helping hand. “You have no choice, Mee-ster Harker, Mee-na is MINE!” He hisses as he sinks out of frame, fangs bared, to bite Dean’s neck.

Our Dean, being the scrappy fighter than he is, grabs hold of Dracula’s ear and pulls. HARD. He does the same with the other hand, and comes up with Dracula’s ear in one hand and his medallion on the ribbon in the other. Surprisingly, it doesn’t cause him pain. He just seems surprised and embarrassed. He runs and Determined Dean bolts after him, slicing through the fog. The soundtrack sails, heightening the action with symbols and horns, as we see from a bird’s eye view the distant forms of Dracula running through the deserted town and bow-legged little Dean chasing after him. This is just another layer that adds to the awesomeness of this episode. Dracula rounds the corner, effortlessly leaps, and flies over a high gate. Dean tries to do the same, but he flounders, barely making it three feet off the ground and slams against the gate. He grips the bars, watching Dracula escape. Sadly, he doesn’t turn into a bat like Dean hoped he would. Instead, he putts away on…A VESPA!?! The first three times I watched this part, I was laughing too hard to hear the horn beep twice jauntily off-screen. HEE! Why is this stupid black and white episode so good? The black and white mocks me!

Intermission card. Aww. Cute.

Bar. Sam, out of his beautiful suit, checks in on Katherine Heigl and Dean as they sit at a table drinking shots. Dean presents Sam with Dracula’s ear, and urges him to touch it. For some reason, Sam finds this revolting. Isn’t this the same Sam who was knitting sweaters out of Horny McBlueballs intestines a few hours earlier? And THIS makes him queasy? Nonetheless, he gives the ear a hearty caress, but when Dean asks, “Feel familiar to you?” Sam’s face stretches in recognition. “The skin of a shapeshifter. Just like St. Louis, and just like Milwaukee, of course this one’s all holding buckets of crazy.” The medallion is also part of a costume rental. The mummy, the werewolf and wolf-man are all the same thing: a shapeshifter. We—including Sam and Dean—thought they had to kill or at least be near the creature to copy it, but luckily for this episode, it doesn’t. Kick ass.

Again, I must interject. He said this in front of Katherine Heigl, who had probably been miles away from Dean and Dracula as fast as she hightailed it out of here, so why did he feel the need to tell her The Truth? It cannot possibly be because he thinks he has a connection with her. He just wants to get laid. I will let you ponder this while I get back to the episode. Dean knows they have to stop the shapeshifter “before he ‘Creature-From-The-Black-Lagoons’ somebody.” Katherine Heigl cranes her neck way, way, way back to ask a standing Sammy if “The X-Files” are real. Dean smiles fakely and drops some science on her, “’The X-Files’ is a TV show,” he duhs, “this is real.” He purses those full lips of his and looks at her like she is insane. Hee! So that’s why he told her, just so he could say that line!

“The stagecraft, the costuming, it’s like he’s trying to reenact his favorite monster movie moments, right down to the blood murders,” Sammy realizes. Again, why is he so boring in this episode? I’m an Equal Opportunity Winchester-er. I’m a sucker for Sam’s broody, soft-hearted, broad-shouldered, rock of a man thing as much as I am for Dean’s throwback, snarky, pretty-faced, bow-legged, adrenaline junkie with a love for guns, gals and ganks thing, so it pains me when one of them is having all the fun, and the other is there as extremely tall scenery.

And SNORE! It is Sammy’s turn to deliver the burdensome monologue of exposition this week. I’ll make it short: In old books and movies, Mina was Dracula’s chosen bride, and Jonathan Harker was Mina’s fiancé who stood in his way of seducing and, of course, marrying Mina. Sam deduces that he is acting out the movies, and therefore must be fixating on Katherine Heigl, and therefore, he must know her and have spent time with her. After a few moments, she deduces that the shapeshifter has to be our dear friend, Ethan Brewer. Lucy mentioned that he had a crush on her, and he conveniently just moved to town last month. And, of course, he is a projectionist at the local movie theater. That’s the go-to profession of choice for peeping Toms, child molesters and movie-obsessed shapeshifters. Dean wearily motions for Sammy to check out Ethan Brewer, and he darts off, excited to do something else besides brood and pout and “sleep.”

Flash forward. At the bar, Katherine Heigl is still processing. “So monster’s are real? And the shapeshifter can turn into different people?” “Yeah, except this one is turning into great monsters from screamland, and that’s a new one for me.” He answers, still sipping from his highball glass of booze.

“You’re really not FBI, are you?” And now I know why Katherine Heigl is a bartender and not a rocket scientist or a neurosurgeon. “Not so much,” Dean quietly confesses. Jensen looks positively radiant in a lingering close up, and he blinks a bit, and HEE! Eye porn? Thank you. “You and your partner just tramp across the country on your own dime looking for some horrible nightmare to fight?” “Some people paint,” Dean deadpans. Ha! Katherine Heigl thinks “it must suck” to have such responsibility for people’s lives while never having one of his own. The screen fills up with Dean’s pretty, pretty face, and he blinks a lot…seriously, Jensen, stop that! I can’t concentrate. Candidly, Dean admits that it “started weighing” on him in the last few years, but that was before his “very near death experience.” Heh. A pacing Katherine Heigl slides beside him in the booth, and listens intently as this sensitive, brave hero pours his heart out to her, and only her. As distant and guarded as Dean can be, he doesn’t move away or crack a joke. He stays in the moment and forges ahead, which may be the bravest thing he’s done in this episode. He spits the words out like he is mortified to speak them out loud and he knows how ridiculous he sounds. “When I came to, things were different. Life’s been different. I realize that I help people, not just help them, save them. It’s kind of like a gift, a mission…A mission from God.” Wow. Resurrection does wonders for the psyche, I see. And Katherine Heigl decides to ruin this earth-shattering confession. “Does that make you some kind of monk or something, ya know? Celibate?” Katherine Heigl and Dean start making out. And I will not get all fangirlish and gush about how good of a kisser Dean must be. Nope. Not even a little bit. I will say that I think Dean will realize that this story is the equivalent of the “Backpacking in Europe” story on “Friends” and use that to his advantage. Thankfully, Lucy turns the light on and interrupts their necking to steal a bottle of booze from her place of employment. Classy. She then invites Lucy to stay for a drink, and much to The Virgin Dean’s delight, she agrees.

Sammy enters the Goethe Theater were Ethan Brewer works. He stalks up the stairs quite easily even though it doesn’t look like he’ll fit through the doorframe. He gives us a little gun porn, checking the clip in Dean’s ivory-handled gun before tucking it back into the waistband of his pants. The organ drones the theme of “Phantom of the Opera” as Sammy stalks into the auditorium. He can see the creepy, Gollum-like silhouette of Ethan Brewer pounding the organ through the screen. Sammy creeps backstage as the song reaches its dramatic climax. The giant hulk of a man silently approaches him as Ethan Brewer, who is wearing tighty whiteys and a tee shirt, stops the song, and turns on a jaunty beat, and begins to rock out with the organ. With guns blazing, Sammy grabs Ethan Brewer and throws him against the organ. “I see you had time to grow your ear back!” Sammy growls to poor terrified Ethan Brewer. Sammy starts tugging away, and nothing happens. “It’s supposed to come off!” “NO IT’S NOT!” Ethan Brewer protests. Congrats, Sammy, you’re now more of a freak than Ethan Brewer is!

Back at the bar. Lucy oohs and awws over Katherine Heigl’s ordeal. Katherine Heigl seems to be quite shitfaced. No sex for Dean tonight! Lucy, again, blots her lipstick and sets the napkin on the table. The camera tracks this indicating its EXTREME IMPORTANCE! Lucy makes small talk with Dean as he begins to feel the effects of the mickey she slipped him. He stares at his glass on the table, and it kaleidoscopes dizzily in an old school, bare-bones special effect. Dean clocks Lucy in the face and shoves Katherine Heigl out of the booth, and unsteadily stands up. Katherine Heigl passes out. “It was you, wasn’t it?” Lucy lifts her head to reveal that she is—as I suspected—a tranny! I knew it, the pronounced cheekbones and brow ridge gave him…erm, her away! Wait, Dean’s punch to the face just dislocated her jaw, which she sickly clicks back into place, revealing that she’s just a regular ole’ shapeshifter. Swaying, Dean kicks Lucy, and she rolls backwards, recovering in a ninja-esque crouch. Scrappy Doo is fading fast. He smashes a bottle of liquor, brandishing a nasty weapon. He threatens her breathily before passing out, faceplanting on the hardwood. Ouch.

Dean wakes up in Dracula’s old-fashion, castle-like lair complete with a mad scientist’s table of slinky tubes and bubbling beakers, lit candles and…a Frankenstenian table in which Dean is strapped to. Wearing lederhosen. WEARING LEDERHOSEN! HEE! There is no reason for him to be in LEDERHOSEN, but he is. And it’s hilarious! And now it is time for the Freakshow Monologue of Motive! Dracula, in full accent and camp, explains to Dean that Lucy was Dracula’s bride in the third movie, and he used her form to move among the people until he “discovered that his bride had been REBORN.” He stands just to the left portrait, and we all can see what an excellent bit of casting “SPN” has done, because Lucy actually looked like the actor playing Dracula (who is rockin’ this role by the way). It is one point on a very long list of beautiful, loving touches found in this episode. Dean chuckles, “I can’t get over what a pumpkin-pie-eyed crazy son of a bitch you really are.” Dracula punches him, and declares, “I am ALL MONSTERS!” Dracula continues his monologue, and argues that life is “small and messy” while movies are “grand, simple, elegant” and he has chose “ELEGANCE!” and he fans out his fabulous cape. (Dracula has never tried explaining this freaking show to friends, it’s not simple at all!) Dean points out that the murders weren’t at all “elegant.” Dracula duhs, “it is a monster movie after all.” Dean challenges, “do you realize what happens at the end of every monster movie?” Deano apparently hasn’t realize that Dracula is the star, director, AND screenwriter, and he is calling the shots. He proclaims that this time monster will get the girl and the hero, Dean, will get electrocuted. He theatrically eases to the giant lever on the wall and with slow, suspenseful movements he reaches for the switch as Scrappy Doo tries to escape somehow. Just as his fingers graze the handle, the doorbell rings. Saved by the bell! Dracula, ever the host, excuses himself, flutters his cape and glides the door. The lair is apparently in his basement as he closes a door and walks through the hall of a very suburban home. And people think the cities are dangerous. Crazy breeds in the ‘burbs, people! Thunder rumbles in the distance as Dracula opens to the door to a…pizza delivery boy. “Continue to be of search service,” he camps, “and your life will be spared!” Dracula, of course, hilariously recoils as he makes sure garlic isn’t on the pizza. This is the best freaking show EVER! The delivery boy smacks his gum and isn’t amused or scared or anything at all, really, he just wants the cash, so he can make the rest of his deliveries. Dracula understands, but wait, he has a coupon. HEE!

Sammy heads back to the bar. It is quiet. He tries to call Dean when he sees he’s not at the bar. He figures he is bedding Katherine Heigl, so he leaves him a voice mail. Then he sees the signs of struggle in the shattered liquor bottle and discarded glasses. The lipstick blotted napkin is the last piece of the puzzle, and bolts to Lucy’s house. How he knows where it is? We’ll never know or care.

In the chambers of Dracula’s basement lair, Katherine Heigl wakes up to find Dracula in his room, urging him to put on the gown, so they can have a romantic dinner of pizza. (And WOW, the pizza bit was so funnier now that I see it wasn’t written in just for comedy’s sake!) Katherine Heigl sobs about the betrayal and how severely damaged Dracula is. Enraged that she is not following his script, Dracula breaks character to rage, “PUT ON THE GOWN!” Katherine Heigl fearfully acquiesces.

Outside, Sammy makes quick work of breaking and entering Dracula’s house. He creeps down the hall and fade to black. Thunder booms, and we transition back into Katherine Heigl wearing her Emmy-winning…I mean satiny, white wedding dress that is actually beautiful on her. Dracula has great taste, and appears to be a gentleman as he has his back turned so she can maintain her modesty. “I scared you,” he says meekly without the accent or the Dracula bravado, “you’re the only one I don’t want to scare.” Clutching his cape like the Cowardly Lion clutches his tail in fear, he sighs, “I just love the movies.” Dracula hates reality because real is “being born this way” and “having your dad call you monster and he tries to beat you to death with a shovel.” Tearfully, he explains how he was constantly attacked and labeled “freak and monster.” Then he discovered monster movies, and “they were strong. They were feared. They were beautiful.” And now he is like them, “commanding.” “Lonely,” Katherine Heigl supplies. “I kill people because I’m lonely,” he says when Katherine Heigl states that he’s lonely because he kills. A noise from outside the room interrupts the non-campy speechifying, and Katherine Heigl thinks it’s Dean! She calls his name, and Dracula reflexively backhands her to shut her up, and knocks her out cold. Horrified that he hurt the one cure to his loneliness, he backs out of the room. CAMP ON!

In the castle-like lair, Dean is still to break free from the metal bars that restrain him to the upright table. Sammy enters with his trusty crowbar and frees Dean before Dracula can “Frankenstein” him. As Dean climbs off the table, Sammy notices that his adorably bow-legged little brother is wearing LEDERHOSEN. “Hey there Hanzel!” He taunts. Dean’s all, “CLOSET! CLOSET! CLOSET! YOU WERE IN THE CLOSET AND I HAVEN’T SAID A WORD ABOUT THAT SO OMG STFU!1!!1” Or maybe he just tells him to “shuddup” and Sam obeys. Man, Sammy could have taken that so far, but he was written as a fifteen-foot-tall wet blanket this week. Kira sad. Sammy gives Dean a silver knife. Dean gestures for Sammy to kick in the large pair of heavy doors, because he’s not kicking doors down wearing LEDERHOSEN, thank you very much. Sammy boots the door with his giant foot, and actually kicks through it and down go both doors, which were apparently completely fake! Hee! Sammy looks guilty like Lenny from “Mice and Men” would after he loves a bunny too hard. Hee! Sammy enters the bedroom, and finds Katherine Heigl unconscious on the bed. He runs to her aid, but Dracula pops up and literally hurls him across the room…into another fake wall. Sammy cracks his head on the real wall behind it and is knocked out. Dean’s pretty ivory-handled gun skitters away from him. “You vill never win, Van Helsing!” Dracula promises charged up to DEF CAMP ONE! Yay!

Dean attacks, but Dracula anticipates it and starts throwin’ ‘bows like an UFC fighter. Um, Dracula, not the face please. “And you, Harker, now, YOU DIE!” Scrappy Doo knees Dracula in the stomach. “How about now you shut the hell up?” Dean eyes his gun on the floor, and Dracula notices this and iron palms him to the face when he leaps for it. NOT THE FACE!111 Dean grabs his probably broken nose and writhes in pain. Bearing his fangs, he prepares to drain Dean like a Capri Sun when two bullets pop through his chest. Dracula gingerly pulls in his arms, “silver?” Swaying, he turns around, and a violin plays a heartbreaking tune as he discovers his Mina fired the deadly shots. In true monster movie fashion, he stumbles and staggers, “’twas beauty that killed the beast. No, Mee-na, do not weep…” Cut to Katherine Heigl sneering at the batshit, shapeshifting killer who won’t die fast enough. He backs into a chair, and wheezes on, “perhaps…this is…how…the movie must end…” With one grand sigh, Dracula dies. Sniff!

Fade into Dean kissing Katherine Heigl. “Thanks, G-Man, you have done a great service to your country,” she coos in-between kisses. “Oh yes, I’m very patriotic.” In the background, Sam is gawking at them. Ew…freak! Katherine Heigl pops back into the frame to gobble up more screen time. “You guys saved my life, so…thanks.” Um, sweetie, I know you “thanked” Dean a few times, but you didn’t thank Sammy. Get on it! “I like her,” Sammy decides. Sammy also admits that it does feel good to be back on the job. “Hero gets the girl. Monster get the gank. All in all, happy ending…with a happy ending no less.” Dean brags, wiping Katherine Heigl’s lipstick off his pouty lips. “it would be nice if life was movie simple…but if I was turning life into a movie I wouldn’t do this Abbott and Costello Meet the Monster crap.” Sammy argues that he know what movie Dean would want his life to be and a quick “No you don’t” “Yes I do” argument follows until Sammy brags, “’Porkys II.’” The lovesick, happy ending music kicks up as Dean tosses Sam a “lucky guess” and heads towards the Metallicar, because this episode isn’t about Katherine Heigl or a shapeshifter’s love of monster cinema or Dean’s metaphorical hymen. It is about the love between Sam and Dean. Sam is alive. Dean is alive. This whimsical, black and white adventure has brought them closer together after Sammy's betrayal. All has been confessed and all has been forgiven. And it’s only the beginning.

So, the show turned out just like I expected it to. I hated every second of it. I didn’t enjoy it at all, and it was stupid. I will never watch it again.

The Battle of the Pretty For This Episode WINNER: Sammy and Dean Winchester...they both looked fabulous!

An Ode to Demian at TwoP: A Snarky Supernatural Recap of "Metamorphosis"

2008-10-12T01:36:00.009-06:00

Last week’s installment of “Supernatural” was hands down the best episode of the series. Jensen Ackles remains the undisputed heavyweight champion as The Most Underrated Actor on Television by giving a knockout performance as a son discovering his family’s dark secrets first hand. Castiel, God’s Gangsta Angel, mcflied Dean back in time (in a dream) to show him exactly how Yellow Eyes caught his mother’s scent and why Sam is a “spoonbender.” (“Demon blood is better than Ovaltine, vitamins, mineral…it makes you grow big and strong.” Hee!) Dean awoke to find Sam missing and Castiel boasting, “Your brother is heading down a dangerous road, Dean. So stop it or I will.” Um, *gulp*

“Metamorphosis” begins with an upwards shot of a makeshift metal devil’s trap, and it pans down to a very nefarious demon beneath it. That Sammy is so industrious! And we all know he can weld. Where was I? Oh yes, Demon Doe is lashed to a chair in an abandoned warehouse, and when Sam asks where Lilith is, Demon Doe hisses, “Kiss my ass!” Sammy looks hot and angry and cocky, and hot. And he warns, “Oh I’d watch myself if I were you.” Apparently Sam’s reputation as a hunter proceeds him, and Demon Doe knows all about him, but then scoffs that he can’t be that great as he’s “sluttin’ around with some demon.” And I’m with Demon Doe because, ew, he better not be fornicating with Ruby because um, she’s possessing some poor girl’s body and this girl has no say as to what Ruby is doing. Rape, Sam, that’s RAPE!

Demon Doe makes some demands of his own: “Tell me about all those months without your brother, about all the things you and this demon-bitch do in the dark.” Unfortunately for Demon Doe, Sam growls and shows him exactly he did while Dean was vacationing in Hades. He extends his hand, thinks real hard, and the victim pukes up the demon. It hovers in a cloud of black smokes before it sizzles back down to hell. MWHAHAHA! I love that. Honestly, I thought the writers were preparing a monumental SIKE! on the audience by building up this huge reveal only to have Dean discover Ruby in her brand new bod, and that she was the hot little thang that Sam had in his room all the way back in the season premiere.

So, I was pleasantly surprised when Dean did actually discover that while he was occupied, Ruby 2.0 was Ms. Miyagi to Sam’s Daniel-san, teaching him how to use and control his powers. Dean witnesses Sammy-san wax-off Demon Doe after the fruitless interrogation, and he’s a livid. DUN!Crows’ wings flap over the stark title card that I absolutely love, and then we had tossed right back into the action. The demon’s host survives. And Ruby asks her protégé how it felt. Sammy-san’s powers are getting stronger, and it doesn’t give him headaches. If I didn’t know that Castiel wanted Sammy-san stopped, I’d offer him a congratulatory lapdance, but the titty-tassles are staying in the drawer, because Sam’s power is growing, and that B-A-D.

Dean walks in quietly and demands answers, “So…anything you want to tell me, Sam?” Sammy-sans stutters and stalls and shits his pants.

And I quickly discern why Ruby 2.0 and Sammy-san’s interrogation skillz suck for she immediately blows her cover by tilting her head to the side and cooing, “It’s nice to see you again, Dean” with her demon-dead eyes. Um, I thought she was a badass witch-turned-demon who had most of her humanity tortured away by meathooks and hot pokers? She completely folded! She’s a pathetic excuse for a demon, ain’t she? Sammy-san stands there looking like a 15-year-old boy who just got caught with porn. By his grandmother. And his priest.

With nothing more than a pissed off smirk, Dean unveils The Brand New Super-Special, Supernatural, Secret Handshake …and attacks her with The Knife! Hee! Welcome to the club, you “obedient, little bitch!”

In the lowlight of the warehouse, Dean, Sammy-san and Ruby 2.0 fight while the Formerly Possessed and Quickly DYING Victim stands there and...well, tries not to die.

Sammy-san forces The Knife out of Dean’s hands. Dean throws Sam into a wall. Ruby 2.0 heaves Dean into another wall and proceeds to choke him! Oh hell no! Sammy-san orders Ruby 2.0 to stop. She does eventually. While all of this is happening, I’m trying to conjure up my own demonic telekinetic powers to send Ruby 2.0 back to the 9th circle of hell. Why you ask? The reasons are two-fold: 1) She tried to throttle Our Dean and Savior, who is now protected by God’s Warriors (which she is terrified of), and that’s about as dee-monic as anything I can think of. 2) She followed Sam’s orders a little too easily. I am now damn sure she has her own sinister motives for aligning herself with the Sammy-san, the former (or future) Anti-Christ. (Warning: trying to discover your own dormant telekinesis will likely give you a terrifying “it could be a stroke” headache. Don’t try that at home. Or ever.). Castiel, smite this heifer now!

Ruby 2.0 proves how right Dean is by following Sammy-san’s orders when he says, “Ruby, he’s hurt. Go.” She takes The Man Formerly Known as Demon Doe to the “ER” when he probably should be taken to the nearest pysch ward. Dean and Sammy-san make eyes at each other as the woeful orchestra warbles…woefully. Dean ignores Sammy-san’s pleas and leaves.

He doesn’t return to the hotel until the next morning. Sammy is awake, wearing the fetching white and pink shirt from in this season’s premiere and is reading a book. For his sake, that better be the Bible! As soon as Dean enters the room, he starts packing while Sammy tries to engage him into talking about his feelings, which Dean only does when one of them is about to die or is already dead. But I guess this situation is vastly different or Dean has learned from his past mistakes. “You don’t need me,” he says in his deep bartone that’s new to this season…and stolen from Christian Bale’s Bruce Wayne in “The Dark Knight. “You and Ruby go fight demons.”

Sammy manfully begs him to stay, “Come on, man…hold on…” But Dean just breezes by him…and then, without warning levels him with a punch to the jaw that splits his lip. Sammy takes it, sighs the pain away. “Satisfied?” He says. Dean just hits him again. “I guess not.”

This is where I interject my 25 cents (inflation is a bitch, huh?). I know Samgirls everywhere are caterwauling on messageboards across the World Wide Web about how it’s wrong to hit people…and by people they mean Jared Padalecki’s fine, fine ass. I definitely don’t agree with that! And in this specific case, I think Dean was completely justified what with all of the lying and the betrayal and the LYING. The first punch was awesome and unexpected and completely deserved, but it doesn’t hold as much power because Dean punched Sammy in “Bloodlust” way back in the second episode of season three. I would have been happier if he punched him in the stomach, and really riled up the Sammy Stans. And since we’re keeping score, when is Sam going to hit Dean?

“Do you even know how far off the reservation you’ve gone? How far from normal, from human?” Dean angrily asks, eyes flashing. “We were just exorcising demons,” Sam answers innocently, illustrating quite simply that he strongly believes that he’s doing the right thing. “WITH YOUR MIND!” Dean screams, and drives home just how dark and scary and dangerous that is. For a brief moment, Jensen Ackles’ pretty face flushes with the same fear and disgust once only reserved for demons and nightmare things. Then he asks Sammy what else he can do, and Sammy volunteers that he can send them back to Hell. He promises that his powers only work with demons. Dean intensely asks Sammy again, grabbing his shirt and pushing him literally and figuratively because Sammy has been lying to him for months (try a year plus, Dean!). This scene is so passionate and well-acted that I am watching it with my mouth hanging open, and not even caring that they have yet to introduce the Monster of the Week. I don’t even care about the Monster of the Week. I love the angst!

Sam implores Dean to understand that he’s “pulling demons out of people” which is better than the knife because the knife “kills the victims.” Sammy’s voice is raised, but it’s soft and supple as he wills Dean to understand his actions are for the greater good. But Deano’s feet are planted firmly on the other side of the line John Winchester and other hunters have definitely drawn. He’s suspicious of Ruby for “tricking him into using his powers” and proclaims that the whole situation is a “slippery slope, brother.” And for some reason, that those three words break my heart. When Sam proclaims that he has it under control, Jensen explodes, flinging the lamp, clock radio and other crap across the room in one irate swipe of his arm. And THAT is more powerful than the previous second punch and feel twice as painful, because I honestly can’t remember if we’ve ever seen Dean do that before, and I honestly don’t think that was scripted. I think it was Jensen Ackles being the brilliant actor that he is. Then, it’s followed by this chilling proclamation: “If I didn’t know you, I would want to hunt you…and so would other hunters.” Um, SHIT! (Foreshadowing maybe? I hope to Dean it is!)

Sammy takes his time to absorb Dean as he fumes, eyes rimmed with the silver of tears. “You were gone. I was here. I had to keep on fighting without you.” Dean’s face softens, because Sam’s not yelling or throwing things or punches. He’s hurting, and finally Dean and the audience get a glimpse of it. “And what I’m doing…it works.” Stupid Sammy! He’s going to beat you to death with that lamp.

And are you ready for the real motherfuckin’ DUN Dean’s about to hit Sammy with? “Cas said that if I don’t stop you, he will. That means that GOD doesn’t want you doing this?” Sam shits his pants for the second time this episode. And Dean finally believes in God when he’s two steps away from smiting his baby brother.

The phone rings…and Sam does what anyone else does when they learn that they are on God’s Hitlist. He answers it. Sammy tries to sound normal and not at all freaked as Travis, a hunter and friend, lines up another job for them—tracking down Jack Montgomery in Carthidge, Missouri—but he’s obviously reeling from the entire confrontation. He looks like he needs a good cry, that aforementioned lapdance, and copious amounts of booze. Dean looks like he needs a dozen vampires to wail on “Bloodlust”-style and all of those things too. Where’s Gordon when you need him? Oh yeah, Sammy killed him.Carthidge, Missouri. Establishing shot of a nice, normal suburban house that you know is just stuffed with burgeoning crazy. Flash to Jack Montgomery chewing disgustingly. The sound guys made sure to get every revolting smack and groan as he shovels food down his gullet. Ugh, I knew just by the previews this episode was going to seriously abuse my sensitive gag reflex (Get your mind out of the gutter, nasty!). This is already gross! His pretty, normal wife wonders if he’s stoned as he’s already had two steaks and he’s scraping the rest of the mashed potatoes on his plate and asking his wife if she’s going to finish her steak as she goes to retrieve dessert. Gluttony is a sin! Can Sammy and Dean just kill him and get back to the angst? Please? But his wife just wonders if he has a tapeworm and Jackie promises that he “never felt better” and continues to sin by shoveling more food into his gaping maw.

Flash to Jackie shirtless and in the bathroom. Jackie has nice pecs. He brushes his teeth when something snaps viscerally from inside his body—and the snap was so loud, I felt that shit from my bedroom. Jackie folds against the bathroom counter in pain and arches his back as that’s where the agony resides. It hits again, his knees buckle completely, and he falls against the sink. His vertebrae ripple like piano keys and Jackie rolls with it, shuddering in absolute torture. It happens twice more, the force of moving bones shoving him harshly against the cabinets. Then it’s gone…and he stands up, examines his back, and gives Sammy some competition by shitting his own boxers in absolute fear.

Metallicar. Dark Highway. Sammy and Dean have apparently kissed and made up (not like that, Wincesters) as Dean has used the lengthy drive to fill his younger brother in on the happenings in the previous episode. Sam’s all, “Mom…a hunter?” And Dean’s brags, “that woman could kick some ass. I mean, she almost took me down.” Sammy asks how she looked—and that makes me sad because Sammy’s never had a chance to interact with his mother the way Dean has in “What Is And What Should Never Be” and last week’s episode. I kind of want to put a curse on the writers for doing this to poor Sammy, but then Dean starts speaking again, and the headlights stream across his pretty, pretty face as he’s all, “she had rainbows in her eyes and hope in her heart” or something uncharacteristically sweet and purely positive. Dean’s never talked like that before, but he got to see his mother happy, head-over-heals love, the women she was, before she was hibachi-ed by Yellow Eyes. And I pray that that image will overpower the one of her awful death in his mind (although I’m sure nothing will scrub the image of Mary and her father making out/sealing the deal from his mind. I wonder if he told Lil’ Sammy about that?).

Meanwhile, Sammy, the Stanford grad, computes that his grandmother, grandfather, mother, and father were all murdered “so Yellow Eyes could get in my nursery and bleed in my mouth.” And then Sammy panics, because Dean never mentioned that. Sammy’s too defeated to shit pants, and he knows Dean will send Cas after him if he desecrates the Metallicar’s sacred interior. Screwed Sammy tells Dean that he’s known for an entire year (way back to second season’s finale “All Hell Breaks Loose Part 1), but neglected to mention he probably forgot to tell Dean what with getting his spine severed, and then there was the small matter of his dying, Dean’s deal, Sam’s subsequent rebirth, and the Devil’s Gate opening. “I should have told you. I’m sorry.” “You’ve been saying that a lot lately, Sam.” Dean sniffles, and I laugh because he sounds like Sam’s weepy wife.

Dean and Sam hurl “whatevers” at each other, and both stonewall for the rest of what is probably a very quiet ride to Missouri. And they sound so much like my sister and I that I’m glad the scene is over.

Back to Jackie and his house of crazy. Jackie stumbles down the stairs in Khakis and a blue polo—the uniform of a Normal American White Guy—and asks his wife when dinner will be ready. I kind of hate him because he’s one of those husbands who refuse to cook meals. But the point is that he’s hungry again. Jackie would be a one-trick pony if he didn’t eat that too. He searches the fridge as his wife tells him that she’s making a homemade meal and it’s going to take some time. As she says this, I hope she’s not saying it from Jackie’s belly because I’m not really sure where the hell she is. Jackie’s in the kitchen and he yelled at her like she was still upstairs. So um…maybe they have a kitchen upstairs? Are the layouts of houses really that different in Canada? Or maybe the dinner is just in the stove…and I’m an idiot. Anyway, he grabs a beer and chugs away just in front of a window as Sam and Dean surveil with binoculars from Metallicar parked outside his house. Dean complains, “I’ve seen big weird, little weird, weird with crazy on top…but this guy, come on, this guy’s boring.” Sam reiterates that Travis was pretty sure they have the right man.

Back to Jackie. He’s still impatiently waiting for dinner, and he’s so bloody hungry that he tears into a leftover chicken, eating it bones and all like a feral dog. Jackie’s seems to be locked into a primal trance as he grabs and container of raw ground beef. Here is where I start gagging and cringing because Jackie is eating raw, bloody beef! While I know Normal American White Guys love a good tartar, I personally never eat anything that is remotely bloody, because it’s just unsanitary and too fleshy and I worry that I’ll get Ecoli or Mad Cow Disease. But unsanitary and fleshy appeal to our friend, Jackie. The disgusting scarf-fest continues until he seems to sober up, ground beef all over his hands and cheeks and bloody beef juice on his shirt. I hate this damn episode already!

Sam and Dean think Jackie’s love of practically mooing cow is strange, too. Dean is just giddy that he gets to kill something. Such a cheap date, that Dean Winchester.

At the hotel, Travis is already in Sam and Dean’s room, drinking their beer. I’m supremely disappointed, because Travis is the name of a hot, young hunter who is allergic to shirts and sharpens his evergreen stakes on his chiseled abs and probably has an Irish accent. But on his stupid show, Travis is a battle-worn, veteran hunter with a casted arm who comes up to Sam’s fuckin’ knee. He needed that demon blood more than Sammy, Yellow Eyes! He greets Dean with macho, back-slapping hug. I can’t see if he does the same with Sammy, because the fifteen-foot tall Jared Padalecki literally has to bend at the waist and swoop down to hug this midget of a man, and I almost cry with laughter. How did he survive this long as a hunter of the supernatural, I wonder.

“Man, you got tall, kid!” Travis announces to Sam. He then asks if Sam is still a mathelete! How cute, Sammy! Sam says he’s not, but Dean inexplicably says, “Yup, sure is.”

Travis seems to be unaware of the terrible tension between them or even Dean’s recent death and resurrection. “John would have been damn proud of ya, stickin’ together like this.” Dean, apparently PMSing and unable to find his Midol, twists the knife, “Yeah, we’re as thick as thieves. Nothing more important than family.” Dean can be quite the little bitch. Hee!

Travis and the boys get right to work. He thanks them for helping him out since he has a broken arm. Dean explains they witnessed Travis eating a “burger that he forgot to cook.” Travis replies, “That’s him all right. Boys, we got a Rugau on our hands!” This scene is nothing but exposition, so I’ll make it short. Rugarus start out as human, but around thirty, they go through some a metamorphosis into “like a maggot turning into a bullfly.”

Cut to Jackie’s wife. She is still cooking dinner, and now I’m wishing she’d hurry the fuck up, because unless she’s making Coq au Vin or handmade ravioli, she really should be done by now. Jackie, again, goes into the fridge and eyes yet another package of ground beef, sniffing it. Wifey predictably slices open her finger with the giant butcher knife she was using. She holds up her hand, dripping blood, and suddenly Jackie’s no longer interested in the hamburger. He’s interested in the blood.

Travis continues to explain. “Most of all they’re hungry…at first for everything, but then, for long pig.” Dean likes that term and makes that his word of the day. It’s good he is trying to broaden his horizons. “Hunger grows in until they can’t fight it.” Once they give into their unbearable hunger, the metamorphosis will be complete. Travis’s voice is cut over a swooping close up of Jackie as Wifey rinses her hand under water and declares that she needs stitches. Jackie, knowing that he wants to take a “nice juicy chomp” of his wife’s hand, stumbles backwards. “I gotta go. I gotta get out of here.” And he leaves her there, bleeding and outraged. Oh sweetie, be happy he left.

Travis continues this lengthy, boring and ab-less explanation, “One bite is all it takes. They feed once and they’re a monster forever. And our man’s going there on a bullet train.” The Midget Hunter knows this because he killed Jackie’s father in 1978 after he “mangled eight bodies.” He didn’t know Jackie Senior’s wife was pregnant, but Jackie Jr. was put up for adoption by the time he found out. He admittedly didn’t look very hard because he couldn’t handle killing a child.

I did a bit of a research on Rugarus. They appear in different forms in different cultures, but in Native American cultures, they are known as Wendigos. If you are a diehard fan, you’ll remember that the boys eagerly hunted and killed a Wendigo in the second episode of the first season. I remember that they had no problem dispatching him. “We torch the sucker!” Dean exclaimed happily in that episode.

Dear SPN Writers,
Recycling is awesome, unless it’s plotlines.
Love you, mean it!

Jackie Dahmer is at a bar, downing glasses of booze and eating those germy, contaminated nuts by the handful. There’s fecal matter in those, you dumbass! I doubt he cares about how unsanitary that is as he is trying to drown and bury the hunger for his wife’s bloody fingers. The screen strobes with images of real blood pumping through veins, Jackie Dahmer’s rude, open-mouth chewing, and his wife’s bloody finger as a human heart beats loudly on the soundtrack. It’s a simplistic and artistic way to convey Jackie Dahmer’s internal struggle to the viewer. Since he is in a bar, we know he’s going to get into a bar fight. Since this is “Supernatural,” we know the fight is either going to end with someone drinking Draino or getting mangled in gory, gory ways, which one will it be, I wonder. As if on cue, the Fat, Drunk and Stupid guy at the end of the bar starts hitting on the bar’s only female patron. “Hey, Douchebag, she said she doesn’t want to talk to you!” Jackie Dahmer threatens. And Dameon Clarke is quite the actor. He can mold his face in any way the script demands, and I love watching him. Before, he was toothlessly chewing, and then he was a normal, happy guy living his normal, happy life. Now his face is pinched and etched in anger as he struts over to the guy. “He doesn’t want to talk to you, you fat, sweaty, dick.”

Fat, Drunk and Stupid is much bigger than Jackie Dahmer, but he is still game. So, Fat, Drunk and Stupid throws a punch, and lives up to his name, because Jackie catches it with his hand and rips up, snapping all eight bones in the poor idiot’s wrist. Fat, Drunk and Stupid and the poor skank he was trying to defend scream and scream and scream while Jackie Dahmer runs away in pure disbelief.

Back to Hotel Exposition. Dean is burning something with a blowtorch. “So fire, huh?” “Only way I’ve found to kill these bastards, deep fry ‘em.” Sensitive little midget, ain’t he? “Well, that’s going to be…horrible,” Dean replies, as he plays with his little gas cans.

Sam enters the room, still wearing that awful, beige jacket wardrobe keeps putting him in. I’m going to assume that the wardrobe people are in fact male, because Sam and Dean usually wear at least three layers, even when it’s sunny. And they don’t take their shirts off enough. That fucking jacket makes Sammy look like the world’s tallest IRS agent with short stumpy arms. It’s a travesty! But I digress. Sammy enters the room with research, and he comments about how Travis isn’t wasting any time in planning Jackie’s assassination. Travis is offended that Sam is questioning his thirty years of hunting experience. He probably wishes he was as gung-ho and respectful of his elder hunters as Dean is. Sammy adorably stumbles and stammers to let Travis know that he values his recon. Dean, always protective of his lil’ giant of a bro, jumps in, “Sam loves research, he does. He keeps it under his mattress right next to his KY. It’s a sickness.” Aww, they’re buddies again.

Sam explains his findings: “I found a couple of interesting stories about people who have this rugaru gene or whatever.” I love how Jared twangs “rugaru.” He continues, “You see, they start to turn but they never take the final step. You see if they never eat human flesh, they don’t fully transform.” “So what go vegan, stay human?” Dean succinctly summarizes. Sammy nods, “Eat a lot of raw meat, just not…” “LONG PIG!” Dean eagerly interjects, happy to use his Word of the Day. Next stop, SATs, Deano!

Travis shoots him down, “Good on you for the due diligence, son. But those are fairytales.” Um, Trav, hunters trust those fairytales like civilians trust the Associated Press. Sam suggests that they should talk to Jackie Dahmer before he “hulks out” and they can tell him to fight it. Travis makes with the crazy eyes and laughs in poor Sammy’s hopeful (and handsome) face. Finally, in an episode that’s been all about fight The Hunger, Dean’s famous appetite finally, albeit pitifully, comes into play as Travis breaks it down for Sammy: “You ever really hungry? I mean, ‘haven’t eaten in days’ hungry?” “Yeah!” Dean growls. “Like this one time, I came back to life after being dead for four months. I was absolutely ravenous!” He says entirely in my head.

“Right then, someone slaps a big juicy sirloin in front of him, you walkin’ away? That’s what we are to him—meat on legs.” Travis continues. Sammy declares that, “We’re not going to kill him, unless he does something to get killed for.” And a lot of fans groan, “but you’ve done that before and that never works. Learn from your mistakes, stupid!” Or maybe that’s just me. Travis wonders what’s wrong with Sam, because he isn’t chomping at the bit to burn poor Jackie Dahmer alive and roast marshmallows over his corpse. Dean cryptically answers, “Don’t get me started.”

Jackie Dahmer’s House of Crazy. His wife is making some tea in a billow white nightgown? You know something bad is going to happen if she is wearing a billowy white nightgown, because this show loves offing Women in White. Will she be immolated on the ceiling like Mama Winchester? I kind of hope so. Wait, I take that back, because she’s wearing that giant nightgown, so I know she is pregnant. She turns around and yelps because Jackie Dahmer is standing there and successfully scares her senseless. Her finger is bandaged. Jackie Dahmer has his guilty face on, but he looks normal, and for the first time this episode, attractive. Wifey is “feeling pissed” when asked how she feels. She informs him that she had to drive herself to the hospital and was there until 2 am getting stitches, and she was worried about him, too. He lies and says was squeamish and dizzy at the sight of her blood, and then convincingly delivers the tired, lame and clichéd, “My cell phone died and I couldn’t find a payphone” excuse, which makes me wonder if he was cheating on her, because he really sold that lie. He apologizes profusely, and then glides immediately to flattery, telling Wifey that she’s pretty (and she is). Aww. He picks up her finger and tenderly starts kissing it as the audience’s skin crawls, because we know what he is and why he is so hungry. I was literally screaming “ew, ew, ew” because I expected him to “hulk out” and make hors d’oeuvres of her fingers. Or would they be amuse bouches?

Wifey is blissfully ignorant of the peril her digits are in. “Blood’s never bothered you before,” she says. Jackie Dahmer eerily rasps, “Well, I’ve changed.” He kisses her lips. Wifey is milking the entire situation for what it’s worth. Good girl. “This doesn’t get you off the hook, you know. Think diamonds, think Kobe-sized.” Jackie just continues to kiss her, and easily lifts her off her feet and onto the kitchen counter, but The Hunger takes over as he forcefully nibbles (EW) her neck and sticks his hands up her nightgown. Way to ruin the moment, Rugaru. You know strangers are the only people who get laid on this show! He pulls her hair and bangs her head against the cabinets. Wifey fights and screams and finally pushes him off. Jackie is dazed and confused and ashamed. Again. She puts some distance between her and her crazy husband. “You son of a bitch!” She screams, and the entire viewing audience sighs, because we know she is going to live. She knows The Magic Winchester Catchphrase. Jackie apologizes and runs out the door. Randomly, I finally notice how much Wifey looks like Evangeline Lily without the biceps.

Metallicar grumbles up the “Missouri” highway in the sunlight. The car is shiny and big and beautiful. Sam and Dean are en route to talk to Jackie Dahmer, but Dean wants to “make sure that if push comes, [Sammy’s] gonna shove” because “odds are we’re gonna have to burn this guy alive.”

I know Dean is talking about killing a mostly innocent man in the most gruesome way possible, but Jensen Ackles looks positively gorgeous in this shot that I don’t care. His eyelashes are curly and thick and luscious. Does he really not use masacra? Jared Padalecki looks like he has grown another foot while Jackie was mauling his wife. His head nearly brushes the top of the Metallicar’s roof! Sammy’s also wearing his constipated face as he insists that Dean stop objectifying their target and call him by his real name, Jackie Dahmer. Dean wants to follow Travis’ orders or he wants to release some of his pent up anger and kill something. They argue and snipe, on opposing sides of yet another issue. I’m bored, because we know Jackie’s going up in flames. Dean speaks for the audience, “You sure your emotions aren’t getting in the way here?” Sam’s like, “No, I’m a demon-killing badass in my fugly jacket!111” Dean spells out the parallels for the folks in the back. “You know, nice dude but he has something evil inside him, something in his blood. Maybe you can relate!” And Dean does that slow eye roll and opens them on Sammy’s angry, frustrated face. I’ve heard of car porn, gun porn, and thanks to a disturbing episode of “Friends,” even shark porn, but is there such a thing as eye porn? If there is, Jensen is servin’ it up!

Sammy looks tearful and sets his jaw in anger. He puts his mean voice on, “Stop the car or I will!” I don’t know about you, but I definitely wonder if Sammy means that he would stop the car with his mind when he gave Dean that ultimatum. I have no clue if that was the writer’s intent, but that how I take it. Just imaging the look on Dean’s face when Sam steers his baby off the road and kills the engine with his mind is too priceless to not to consider it. Hee!

Dean’s mind doesn’t go there at all, even though it should, and he obliges without a word. They pull up to a pretty scenic locale that’s lush and green and next to a river. It feels incredibly familiar, and I think it is the same spot where Dean told Sammy that his father told him that he might have to kill Sam if he were to turn evil. Whether this decision was made out of necessity or symbolism, I love it. Nice wink there, “Supernatural.” Pissed Sammy hops his giant ass out of the car before it even stops, and yells at Dean over the shiny, waxed roof of the Metallicar. “You want to know why I’ve been lying to you, Dean? Because of crap like this—the way you talk to me, the way you look at me, like I’m a freak! Or even worse, like I’m an idiot, like I don’t know the difference between right and wrong.” Sammy is infuriated and bitchslaps his brother with two seasons of festering anxiety. He paces and gestures wildly and spread his arms to show off his impressive, fifteen-foot wingspan. Sammy is quite intimidating when he is upset. Intimidating and hot.

It is Dean’s turn to attack. “Do you know the difference, Sam? I mean you’ve been kind of strolling a dark road here lately.” Now Sammy is less angry and appears to be an inch away from an anxiety attack as he tells Dean he doesn’t understand what he is dealing with. “I’ve got demon blood in me, Dean! This disease pumping through my veins and I can’t ever rip it out or scrub it clean. I’m a whole new level of freak! I’m just trying to take this curse and make something good out of it, because I have to.” The Orchestra of Woe kicks up again, and Dean is suddenly silent. He has nothing to say, because what can you say? It seems like his darling little giant of a brother inherited more than Dean’s wheels when Dean went to hell, he also got his damaged, tortured psyche. Dean simply promises that they will go talk to Jack after they both go into opposite corners of the woods to weep.

Jackie Dahmer’s Garden of Crazy. Jackie is finding his peace like John Travolta in “Phenomenon” while he floods the plants with a garden hose. Sam and Dean ease noiselessly through the fence. I’m sorry, but if two guys did that in my yard, I would be screaming bloody murder and running in the house to call the police, hot guys or not. Kira doesn’t play like that. But Jackie is a guy and he can crush bones with one hand and he’s finding his peace, so he holds his ground. Aww, Sammy re-combed his hair after his cry in the woods. It is parted at the side and slicked down, probably with his own tears. Now, that is recycling, folks, take notes! He looks so adorable and definitely wins the Battle of the Pretty for this episode. Sorry, Jensen. Hee!
Dean can’t even look at Jackie, already convinced that he is going to have to crispify him, which is a nice touch by Jensen Ackles. To make another long scene of exposition short, Sensitive Sammy gently tries to tell Jackie Dahmer that he is a ticking time bomb of a cannibalistic monster and that he can’t take a bite of human flesh no matter how much he wants to or they’ll have to “stop him.” Jackie kicks them off his property. Dean isn’t surprised. “Good talk.” Dean snarks instead of saying “I told you so.” Dean’s PMS is worse than mine, I swear. I overnight Dean some Pillsbury Turtle Cookies knowing that it is the perfect remedy.

Jackie knows they were telling the truth, because we fade into him sitting at a bus stop in the middle of the night listening to a message from Wifey, who bless her stupid heart, still loves and worries about him. Enter Skanky Girl #2 who is getting undressed by her OPEN WINDOW of her apartment building. I’m sorry, but if you’re dumb enough to do that, you deserve to be eaten by a Rugaru. Jackie Dahmer, you have permission to make her your fourth meal!

And he listens to me, because a second later, Jackie growls, drops his head, and looks at her, well, hungrily, as she shuts her curtains, which are chiffon and transparent. Kill this dumb bitch now, please! Sam and Dean are surveilling, and Sam curses as Jackie enters the apartment building. Dean and Sammy grab their trusty torches and gas cans and run to her aide. Jackie climbs the fire escape as the boys enter through the lobby. Jackie ogles Fourth Meal in her black bra and panties, the heart beat trumpets his monstrous hunger. He trembles and pants outside her window as she takes her bra off. How come the girls never wear the mandated three layers?! The tell-tale heartbeat pumps faster as Jackie twitches and lusts after her flesh. Luckily, Fourth Meal turns off her bedroom light after putting on a tee shirt, and unknowingly gives Jackie a glimpse of what The Hunger has turned him into in the reflection of her window. His skin is wormy and throbs with ropes of veins beneath his sickly gleaming skin. “No!” he grits out, and the beating of the heart gets slower as he backs away, fighting the hunger like Sammy told him too. I know his metamorphosis is supposed to reference Kafka, but I see Jackie’s veiny pale forehead and I can only think of nothing but Vincent D’Onofrio in “Men In Black” *clap clap* as he played a human turning into a giant cockroach…so it comes back to Kafka in the end.

Cue Sam and Dean bursting through the door as The Skank Formerly Known As Fourth Meal enters her own kitchen for what I assume will be a night of cookies and ice cream and chick flicks on the couch. She shrieks and smartly runs into the bedroom and locks the door. “Wait, we’re here to save you…I guess!” Dean promises. “I’m calling the police!” She screams. Sam surveys the apartment, completely freaked when he finds it Jackie-less. “We should go.” “Yeah!” Dean says. Sam hightails it out the door, and Dean runs too, but politely closes the door with a nervous laugh. When he does this, wood from the splintered doorframe shifts more. This scene was entirely too short, I tell you. I needed that jolt of humor with all the screamy angst I’ve had to choke down.

Jackie Dahmer’s House of Crazy and Gore! Jackie enters his home with an unreadable expression on his face. Is he going to eat his wife in a way she absolutely won’t enjoy? (Yes, that was uncalled for, couldn’t help it, sorry.) He finds her gagged and tied to a chair…um, DUN?! He attempts to free her, but tiny Travis steps out from behind a wall and chloroforms him. How did he do that without a stepladder? Stilts, maybe?

In the history of the show, we have met three different categories of hunters: there are Stupid Hunters (Richie from “Sin City,” John Winchester, etc.), Tortured Hunters (the husband and wife team from “The Magnificent Seven”), and Batshit Hunters (Gordon Walker from three previous episodes). Travis finally confirms that he’s a Batshit Hunter, a White Gordon, if you will. See, Dean, there’s a Gordon!

We fade in to Jackie…who is standing up yet unconscious and handcuffed to a pillar? Huh? Are the laws different laws of gravity in Canada too? Whatever. He wakes up, jerks his handcuffs, and finally panics when he sees his wife lashed to a chair. Batshit Travis walks into the shot, and Jackie reassures his wife, “We’re gonna stay calm. We’re going to give this man whatever he wants.” “I’m sorry about this Jack, I really am. It’s not the way I wanted it to go,” Batshit Travis explains as he removes Wifey’s gag. He tells Jackie that he already met some “friends” of his. And Travis carefully explains that he hasn’t hurt anyone. He does this so he doesn’t tell his wife that he’s, oh, eight minutes away from becoming a cannibalistic freak. Batshit Travis tells Jackie to tell his wife what he is, but he refuses, and begs for her to be let go because “she’s not apart of this.” “I really do apologize, but she is…” The crazy hunter implores Wifey to tell Jackie what he told him when he entered the house and attacked her. Wifey looks confused, yet horrified, and tears trickle down her face as she licks her lips, and confesses, “I said ‘Don’t hurt me, because I’m pregnant.’” And I knew the minute she wore that big, puffy nightgown that she was pregnant, but the camera is really close on her face and she’s obviously afraid, and the power of her declaration still hits hard. What’s supposed to be the happiest moment of they life as husband and wife is now the most terrifying. “Now you see the mess we’re in? I can’t make this mistake again. I won’t be around in thirty years. This has got to end now.” Batshit Travis says.

He pulls the gas can of doom from his bag. Wifey is quick on the uptake and hollers, “Oh God! Please no!” as Batshit Travis starts coating the joint in accelerant. Jackie proves how much he loves his wife by bargaining, “if you want to kill me, kill me, but not my wife!” Batshit Travis offers his condolences? Um, Sammy, Dean, Wifey, Fourth Meal, Ruby, Castiel, John Travolta, Chandler Bing…anyone, kill this motherfucker! The adrenaline from Jackie’s innate Fight or Flight Reflex is kicking into high gear. The heart beats on soundtrack as once again images of cellular blood and his wormy face and his life with Wifey flash quickly on the screen. The cadence of the heart intensifies as Jackie struggles mightily against the handcuffs. They finally snap and he wastes not a second in subduing the fucking pyro. He tackles Batshit Little Travis to the ground and punches him twice. Batshit Travis flips him over with a blow of his own and attacks, beating Jackie in the face with his cast. Travis appears to be as resourceful as he is insane! So that’s how he survived so long.

On the third swipe, Jackie intercepts his arm and again and yet again folds it like an origami swan. The poor ole hunter gets one hell of a compound fracture as souvenir from Jackie Dahmer’s House of Crazy and Gore! It’s gruesome and gag-inducing, but awesome! Suck it, Travis! Travis predictably collapses and howls in pain, and probably regrets this whole plan right about now. Jackie’s eyes are beetle black and there appears to be something delectable about Screamy Travis’ neck. Can he see his pulse or hear his heartbeat? It seems to be all of the above as Jackie Dahmer tilts his head like wolf would eye a steak tied to a bear trap. He peels the clothes away from Travis’ neck like it’s the outer skin of a banana…and then, finally, he takes a chunk, tearing open Batshit Travis’ carotid and jugular in the process. He chews the chunk with his mouth open (how rude and FUCKING GROSS!) as Travis makes ungodly sounds and blood squirts onto the oriental rug. Wifey is a tiny bit confused as to why her husband is eating their attacker. Travis chokes on his own blood, and his eyes flare with impending death. Jackie Dahmer loves Travismeat, and he is soon talking another bite, flesh squishes as he enthusiastically tears it away with his teeth. Travis’ body jerks as Jackie Dahmer consumes him, but he isn’t screaming anymore. He can’t. Jackie is actually holding his chin as he chomps and rips and cleaves flesh away. His forehead has grown pale and wormy and his chin and jaw are covered in blood and chunks of Travis. And this is all so ridiculously gross that I had to put down my popcorn! And I love popcorn! And I’ve eaten while dissecting a sheep’s brain in my college anatomy class, so thanks, Supernatural for turning me into a squeamish, little wuss!

Jackie Dahmer, bloody and more a monster than he is human, turns to Wifey with confused eyes. He cocks his head at her like he doesn’t know how is or what he is to her, and approaches slowly. I know he’s not going to eat her. I hope he’s not going to eat her. HE BETTER NOT EAT HER! I TAKE BACK EVERYTHING I SAID ABOUT HER! SHE MAKES GREAT DINNERS IN HER UNSEEN UPSTAIRS KITCHEN AND I NEVER WANTED HER TO BURN TO DEATH ON THE CEILING! I PROMISE! But he sets her free, nearly ripping the chair in half when he does. She flies up, warns her freak of a husband to stay away from her, and wastes no time running to her car and driving away without ever taking the keys. I assume she’s going to the same pysch ward that The Guy Formerly Know As Demon Doe is in. Maybe they’ll fall in Crazy Love and have normal, non-Rugaru rugrats.

Inside, the last bits of Jackie Dahmer that are still human seem revolted by recent events, but those quickly burn away and he animalistically looks at Travis’ bloody corpse like it is a platter of fried chicken and mashed potatoes. He approaches it slowly, and crouches out of frame to finally indulge in Rugaru’s Original Recipe.

Our incredibly LATE heroes roll up to Jackie Dahmer’s House of Corpses and Gore. Jared Padalecki is definitely too big for that damn car and gratefully steps out and rises and rises and rises to his full height of what is it now, 15’ 4’’? They figure out that Travis is in his house, and it’s Sam’s turn to utter The Magic Winchester Catchphrase. “That stupid son of a bitch!” They enter the absolutely lovely home, ya know, minus the monster and half-eaten corpses, and immediately zone in on the giant blood stain in the rug, but now there is a huge smear of blood leading away fro the foyer. The show cuts to a vomit-inducing pile of bloody bones. And they deduce from—what, the size of the tiny femurs?—that it’s what’s left of Batshit Travis. Sammy looks mighty guilty (with those irritatingly big sideburns) and Dean just preens for the camera. Until Jackie Dahmer tackles him, slamming his face into a glass table that fortunately doesn’t break, but unfortunately knocks Dean unconscious. Yes, that made me jump. And shriek. Shut up.

Sammy backpedals, struggling to light those ghetto gas cans. Why they didn’t opt for something more efficient—a flamethrower perhaps—I have no idea. Jackie, the monster, tackles Sammy to the ground and takes a page from The Late Batshit Travis’ playbook, and bludgeons Sam in his giant skull with the gas can. Everything snaps to black.

Fade back into Sam. His forehead is bloody and red and his nose is bleeding. He’s slumped against the corner of a wall, and slowly wakes up. It takes me a second to realize where he is. And when I do, I fall off my bed into a fit of immature giggles. Why, you ask? Sam is in the closet. SAM IS IN THE CLOSET! If Dean weren’t unconscious and about to become the main course in Jackie Dahmer’s Winchester Buffet, he’d be laughing and crying along with me, because SAM WINCHESTER IS IN THE CLOSET!

Okay, I’m done. I promise.

Sammy tries to doorknob and, duh, it’s locked. He calls for Dean. Jackie Dahmer has apparently been poisoned by Batshit Travis’…batshitty-ness, because he is crouched on the floor, and crazies, “Dean can’t come to the phone right now” with his bloody mouth and wormy face. Sammy’s all, “It’s okay, I’ll hold” or maybe he just ferociously beats against the door and threatens the cannibal who is alone with his unconscious brother. Real smart, there, Sammy. Jackie warns Sam to calm down, and we see that he has knelt about ten feet away from Dean and is still fighting the urge to feed. I give Batshit Jackie Dahmer credit, because that is one tasty morsel right there. I’m also going to take this time to wonder why Jackie dragged Sammy’s freakish tall and freakishly heavy body into the closet and not Dean’s since he’s smaller. He’s not a very smart Rugaru. Sammy’s meatier and…um, juicier? But he did it because the writers told him too, so moving on.

Sammy heaves a sigh of relief that his beloved brother isn’t dead AGAIN, and leans against the door. He calms down like Jackie tells him too. Sammy tries to get out of the closet quietly (HAHA! That is still funny!). It is irritating that he doesn’t use his DEE-MONIC Telekinesis to do so, because um, Dean’s in great peril and the entire episode is about Dean’s discovery of Sammy DEE-MONIC powers and how Sammy thinks they are helpful. Jackie cries that Sammy sent Travis there to attack him and his wife, and therefore making him take the leap into the dark abyss of Rugarudom. He doesn’t explain why Travis wanted to burn his wife alive, therefore protecting her again. Aww, nice little cannibal. He then crawls over to Dean and reaches a trembling wormy hand out to taste Dean’s blood. “God, I’m so hungry,” he whines.

Sammy now tries to pick the lock with the hooked end of a hanger INSTEAD OF USING HIS FUCKING POWERS! Jackie continues to crazily speechify, and I just want Sammy to off this bloody-faced freak before he takes a chunk out of Dean’s fine ass, and I reach through the screen and do it damn myself. Sammy’s blahing about “a dark pit inside you” and how he understands, and I’ve heard this mess eight trillion times. I think this very speech was lifted from “Bloodlust” when, oh what do you know, Dean punched Sammy! Again with the recycling! If Supernatural is going green, can Sammy mindfreak the door open like he did in “Nightmare” when he saved Dean from Crazy Max? “You don’t have to be a monster!” Sammy drones on. Batshit Jackie Dahmer snarks, “Have you seen me lately?” Ha. Monster’s funny.

Sammy’s still trying to make like MacGyer with the hanger. Outside the closet, Jackie’s hunger seems to cause him pain…either it’s the hunger or the metamorphosis. I really don’t care. He inches closer to Dean—so it’s the hunger—with his nasty mouth open. He needs to bite but he is admirably still fighting it, because he knows fangirls will be on his ass in .2 seconds. Dean finally startles awake. Sammy SOMEHOW breaks out of the closet. They never show how he did it, so we can debate about how he got out, which will ultimately turn into internet bickering and escalate to death threats. BRING IT! And he stands with his gas can and lighter at the ready. Jackie looks at him and seems ready to be rid of this monster for good. He lunges for Sammy, and finally, Sammy wastes no time in barbequing his ass. Dean sees that Sammy did indeed shove back. Sammy looks like he is about to throw up. You and me both, Sam. You and me both.

Wrap up. Dean assures Sammy that “did the right thing” and then tries to apologize to Sam for “being hard on him lately.” And I hear nothing because Jensen Ackles is blinking a lot, giving me more eye porn. Yay! I check back in to hear Dean confess that Sammy “psychic thing” scares the crap of him. Sammy doesn’t want to talk. He wants to brood. Dean is as incredulous as I am. Sammy always wants to talk and share his feelings. I bet he just doesn’t want to let it slip that he was in the closet. Hee! Even though he doesn’t want to talk, he does say that he can’t make Dean understand him because “this blood is not in you like it’s in me.” Dean starts to sing, “I’ll Be There” by the Jackson 5. When he’s finished, Sammy looks at his reflection, much like Jackie did when he was about to eat some poor stupid girl who likes to undress in front of windows (I still wish he did eat her!), and declares that he is stopping the training sessions with Ruby Miyagi. He is not doing it for Dean (Um, again, he went to hell for you. Why isn’t Dean playing that card?!) or Castiel or even God but he is doing it for himself. Selfish, much? Do it for Castiel! He even goes so far to say that by experimenting with his powers, he is “playing with fire” as if the heavy parallels of his episode have been highlighted enough. This is “his choice” and he made it. He says this like it’s that simple and we all know that on “Supernatural,” it never is.

If You Upload It, They Will Come...

2008-09-29T00:56:00.003-06:00

I’m ashamed of myself, bloggers. Thanks to the perfect storm that was the 2008 Summer Olympics and Democratic and Republican (ew) National Conventions, I have gone for more than two months without blogging. I was so enraptured by the performances of the entire U.S Swim Team, not just the gold medal hog, Michael Phelps, and Barack Obama’s history-making speech at the Democratic convention (and well, avoiding television so I wouldn’t have to hear Republicans openly bash Obama’s history as a community organizer, and avoid mentioning how they’re actually going to create the change we so desperately need). I know that I missed a shit-ton of pop cult opportunities to riff on. I mean, I have enough fodder on Sarah Palin to create eight to ten scathing blogs alone! (LIPSTICK!) I even wrote a very poignant, hilarious, and possibly award-winning article about the Olympics, but I was too wrapped up in the medal counts and counting the baby teeth of the Chinese gymnasts, that I completely forgot to post it, and now, it’s so five minutes ago.

Sadly after the Beijing Games, regular summer programming—which includes such highbrow programming like “Hurl” and the abysmal “Deal or No Deal!”—I had to seek out other ways to get my popcrack fix. So naturally, I sought out the one and only Youtube. And alas, my friends, I am higher than Joel McCale after an episode of “ America ’s Next Top Model” as I have every possible kind of entertainment at my fingertips. There is the surreal cuteness of the baby and pet videos. There is the catalogued stupidity of teenage boys who’ve seen one too many episodes of “Jackass” but apparently paid no attention to the disclaimer. There are people singing current songs…some who are beyond talented and others who are utterly tone deaf. There are snippets of TV shows and music videos (Skip Chris Brown’s Doublemint-sponsored joint, “Forever” and go immediately to Pink’s “So What” video…it’s the best video I’ve seen since…well, “Stupid Girls”). It is a veritable smorgasbord of pop cult entrees ready to be consumed.

My favorite youtube dish right now is definitely soap operas. After a summer of “Ironman,” “The Dark Knight,” and the (slightly-less) male dominated, never-ending election, I needed some good ole fashion Estrogen TV. And thanks to Youtube, I have re-discovered my buoying, obsessive love for “ General Hospital ”—the soap opera that plays like a neverending movie complete with music montages, amazing performances, catfights, mob shoot-outs, and a ton of cheesy romance and dialogue.

I started watching “GH” in 2005, thanks to a visit from my Aunt who watched nothing but Soapnet after 6pm. I was in college and 90% nocturnal, and Soapnet ran current soaps through 2am, so it was a definite match made in heaven. I dabbled in the viewership of “All My Children,” “One Life to Live” and “Days of Our Lives,” but “GH” was always my one true soap love. I lost track of my soaps when I graduated from college and became an official 9-to-5er. Thanks to my recent and lengthy stint of unemployment, I was sucked back into the salacious goings-on of the unrealistically hot people who live, love and reside in Port Charles, NY. On Youtube, I love is that amazing people like Cazigirl put up daily episodes that are commercial-free, and you can easily fast forward through storylines that don’t tickle your fancy. Take that, SoapNet! Even cooler, thanks to the dedication of GH Superfan Lori22GH, I can watch playlists of past scenes that center around one character or storyline. Some of her playlists go all the way back to 1992!

I’m going to be straight-up unoriginal when I say that Jason Morgan (formerly known as Jason Quartermaine), Mob Enforcer/Mob Boss, is my favorite character (although he seems to save more people than he kills). Steve Burton, who has spent half of his life on the show, has created one of the most intimidating, loving, badass, awesome characters in the history of daytime. He is a fantastic actor who plays Jason consistently and leaps at any chance to showcase his range. Jason, who was severely brain-damaged in a car accident in 1996 and emerged from a coma with no memory of his family or life before, has transformed from an angry and terrifying mob enforcer to a loving stand-in father to a stone-faced mob boss wrangling his free spirit live-in protégé in Damian Spinelli (the dynamic between those characters alone is worth trip to the land of daytime entertainment or Youtube). Burton, the 1998 Emmy-Winner for Best Supporting Actor, can be hilarious, heartbreaking, stubborn, masculine, adorable and heroic all in the span of one scene, and because of this, I wasted the better part of my free time on Youtube watching all of the drama I missed (and also to watch Steven swell from a scrawny kid to a muscle-bound man! Look at those guns, and I’m not talking about the ones from the prop department!)

It must be said most of the cast on “General Hopsital” are fantastic actors, who manage to pull off the impossible premises and ridiculous dialogue that is daytime staples.

I write this with a heavy heart because it is rumored that Steve will not be reupping his contract with his soap opera. While part of me thinks it’s a great career move as Steven is 38 years old and a very capable actor, so there’s no reason why he couldn’t pursue bigger projects; the other, slightly larger part of me, hopes that he says on the soap for another year just so I can see him crank out fantastic performances day after day! Admittedly, “GH’s” caliber of writing has diminished along with the viewership of daytime telelvision. After spending many nights watching 1996’s Jason/Robin/HIV storyline and even 2004 Jason/Sam/Baby/Stemcell storyline, I wish the writers took chances like that now. Hopefully one days soon!

Now, people, stop using your free time to do unimportant things like exercising or having a social life. Log onto Youtube and watch some “GH” or whatever tickles your fancy. I can guarantee you it’s all there!

"Viva La Vida": What's Happening in Music

2008-08-05T22:10:00.003-06:00

Although I’m still blissfully obsessed with the 152 minutes of pure, unadulterated awesome that was “The Dark Knight,” I feel that I can no longer add any more meaningful, original commentary to the subject. So I must move on no matter how painful it is. But we’re talking about music so that’s fun and a lot less dark!

I know this is a genre of pop cult that I don’t really talk that much about, and the reasons are threefold: 1. My playlists are more exclusive than an L.A. nightclub. I am very picky about just who I let into my music library. 2. Once I find an album I like, I will devour it continuously for months! 3. I’ve spent the better part of three years boycotting Top 40 Radio due to the popularity of novelty rap and singing actresses/reality stars.

Lately I have been streaming Ryan Seacrest’s morning show on 102.7 KIIS FM, and I’ve been getting up-to-date with the music game (and short of his nagging about his weight and love of Miley Cyrus and reality show starless the show is pretty awesome for radio.). There are several songs I am currently lovin’ and some of them I admit with great shame.

1. “Viva La Vida” by Coldplay.
Coldplay is a very cerebral, think-outside-the-bass-clef type of band that I never really got. Previous tracks, especially “Fix You” made me yawny and sleepy, and that was enough for me to deny them access to K’s Super Exclusive Playlist. Contrarily, “Vida” packages Coldplay’s intelligent instrumentation and lyrics with an infectious beat and dreamy vocals supplied by the eccentric Chris Martin. I absolutely love the song and have enough thought about downloading, I mean, buying the album.

2. “When I Grow Up” by Pussycat Dolls
This is one of those aforementioned shame tracks I mentioned. Yes, I like this song. You know why? Because when I was younger I actually WOULD say, “When I grow up, I wanna be famous/I wanna be a star/I wanna be in movies…” although I never wanted groupies. Ew. PCD, a record label extension of the popular burlesque show, is a blatant ploy to fill the super-hot, girl-next-door-gone-wild spot left by Britney Spears, and they’re doing a pretty good job! Nicole Schwartinblahblah might not be able to launch her own solo career, but she can sing circles around Ms. Spears, and looks better in latex pants, glitter and a bustier.

3. “Take A Bow” by Rihanna
I wrote her off as a Cassie carbon-copy when her first album came out. Even with a nasally whine of a voice, the Bohemian beauty still worked with songwriting and producing giants thanks to her connection with Hova himself. Give this girl a year to learn the ropes and an edgy haircut, and she suddenly blossomed into a songstress with Beyonce’s flair for fashion and the benefit of an actual personality! This done-me-wrong diddy is all lyrical gold matched with Rihanna’s unqiue lilt and diva attitude.

4. “7 Things” by Miley Cyrus
SHAME TRACK!!!! Miley Cyrus is a 15-year-old with the voice of a 44-year-old trucker’s wife, but she can write a mean song. Somehow she is captured the insecurities, frustration and joy of a budding and then a dissolving relationship. Most of her singles were catchy tracks I caught on the radio while in the shower, and I didn’t even know it was sung by Hannah Montana’s alter-ego until I tried to add them to my playlists. Oops! While I refuse to embrace the music of a young girl who never met a camera she didn’t like (yes, I’m talking about those racy pictures she takes and posts on the Internet) and who's probably where she is now because of her one-hit wonder daddy, I can enjoy a good, well-written song. On the other hand, has the Miley Cyrus Trainwreck Meter started yet? I have feeling this one is going to be a handful in about two years.

5. “Closer” by Ne-Yo
The soul crooner who never kept his love for MJ a secret is a dead-ringer for The Gloved One in this multi-tempoed, beautifully constructed track that dares you not to dance. This track is featured in an Overstock.com ad and sounds even better on the radio. If Ne-Yo continues to moonwalk down the narrow tightrope that combines Michael Jackson’s genius and those impeccable suits without his pedophile tendencies and love of plastic surgery, he has a bright future behind him.

Despite the novelty rap that’s more noise than music and the string of Barbie dolls who can buy record deals, there is a surprisingly amount of decent talent out there. Other artists like Duffy, Katy Perry, Leona Lewis, etc, seem promising. Also, the new round of teen pop sensations, i.e., the Jonas Brothers and Miley Cyrus, will only do wonders for the industry, especially with record sales.

Of course, I never get tired of my talented pop staples, like the underrated Pink who has recently announced that her new, post-divorce album will be released on Oct. 28th! And if this isn’t a reason to celebrate, nothing is!

*blasts Viva La Vida*

Why So Serious?: "The Dark Knight" Review

2008-07-20T11:34:00.003-06:00

I willingly admit that I am a movie marketer’s dream as I am easily seduced by the flash and glamour of movie trailers and well-orchestrated hype. I am addicted to the anticipation and the wonder that goes with seeing a movie. “The Dark Knight” had the perfect storm of hype from fans who loved the sinister and intelligent revamp of the Batman franchise with Chris Nolan’s “Batman Begins;” glowing acclaim from critics and fans alike that centered mostly on Heath Ledger’s Joker and the tragedy of Ledger’s untimely death. Therefore, it wasn’t hard for me to decide to go to see the 12:01 a.m. screening of “The Dark Knight.” Yes, partially because of the snowballing Oscar-buzz surrounding the late Ledger’s portrayal of the The Joker, but also because Batman is my favorite superhero (sorry, Spiderman), Christian Bale is my favorite Batman (sorry, Clooney, Keaton and Kilmer), and finally “Batman Begins” only scratched the complicated, gritty surface of the superhero’s gritty mythology.

After seven commercials and five trailers, "The Dark Knight" started and ended with raucous applause, because it defies all odds (and some laws of physics in those action sequences) and actually lives up to the hype and buzz. It plays like a true-life legal drama in which Gotham City is smothered by crime and the brave few—Batman, Commissioner Gordon, and the new pretty-boy D.A. Harvey Dent—fight to cure the city of its malignancies. Batman is simultaneously hated as a careless vigilante and emulated by crazy followers in hockey pads. While his heroic efforts have made progress, the crime bosses stubbornly try to maintain control in the most gruesome of ways. And they are even frightened by the new painted face on the Gotham crime circuit, a menacal villain who moves like a marionette and speaks like Lucifer.

The Joker is Batman's nemesis— as unpredictable as Batman is methodical—and arguably the best villain I've ever seen on screen as his motive is not based in the age-old money or power. It's mayhem and anarchy. He lives for pandemonium the way a terrorist might, and feeds off the soul-shattering terror of others.

I did feel that the inescapable coverage of the film made me much more aware of Ledger’s performance, and consequently I scrutinized every frame of the Joker's scenes. It's hard to believe that such a psychopath was created by the soft-voiced Aussie, who once confessed to wanting to dance like Gene Kelly. I promise this review will be spoiler free, but I can say this: yes, this film belong to the Joker; yes, Ledger underwent an almost impossible sinister and complete transformation: the eyes, the movements, the smooth, creepy voice. Do I think this is the role that drove Ledger to his untimely death? No. The Joker is a sick, twisted mass murderer, but he is also jester; at the heart of this character is a love of practical jokes, and he gets more laughs than Batman and Alfred combined. Ledger looks as if he is having a ball onscreen and while we can celebrate that performance, it makes me sad that it will be his last. It makes me sick to think that with the next movie, they may have to recast the Joker. The movie is predicted to open with an astounding $155 million take (and replace “Spiderman 3 as the highest grossing opening weekend ever), so that is a real possibly.

Nolan realizes what a lot of moviemakers have not: while CGI is a money-saving solution to pump up the action, moviegoers see it as a cop out and it’s uninteresting to watch a pixilated superhero fight off pixilated bad guys. The movie does use CGI in a very inventive, but sparing ways. Most of the stunts were done the old-fashioned way with cables, ingenuity, explosives and crazy stuntmen. The writing and acting are just as spectacular as the action sequences. Bale and Ledger have extended scenes together, and are equals in both the characters they play and the amazing actors they are.

The only criticism I can possibly dredge up (besides Bale’s super-rasy, over-the-top Batman voice) is that I felt that Maggie Gyllenhaal, an Oscar-nominated actress, was terribly unused as Rachel Dawes, Harvey Dent’s current girlfriend, and Bruce Wayne’s/Batman’s love. Gyllenhaal is a talented actress and while she was a vibrant improvement to Katie Holmes’ sleepy, uninspired turn at the same A.D.A., I wish she had more scenes with Bruce Wayne and Batman to further solidify their relationship and the push-pull of the dramatic love triangle between Bruce, Rachel and the coin-flipping Harvey Dent, (who suffers his own tragic transformation).

“The Dark Knight” is an excellent, realistic film that feels more like a true-life thriller than a fantastical tale about a superhero. It is tragic that the movie will forever be shrouded in grief due to the untimely passing of an extremely talented actor in Ledger, who gives the performance of his life.

Snapping Snap Judgements: "Tori and Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood"

2008-07-10T22:37:00.002-06:00

How often do you pre-judge something or someone? If you’re anything like me, you do it all the time and swear on a stack of Entertainment Weeklys that you don’t. This is especially true for all things entertainment—the business that’s built on snap decisions and those elusive fifteen minutes. We can judge within the first few seconds of a teaser whether we will like the highlighted movie, television show or even an album enough to invest more of our time, money and passion into it (Embarrassing Confession #316: I am a trailer/preview whore. I absolutely love them, and 99.9% of the time, the trailers are better than the movie that succeeds it).

So naturally I wrote off Tori Spelling’s “Tori and Dean: Inn Love” and “Tori and Dean: Home Sweet Hollywood” as the mindless goings-on of the quintessential spoiled heiress who finally had to work for a living, and factor in Tori’s insta-book deal, I pretty much hated her (her as in her public, celebrity persona and not the actual person). As I was making my top secret Memphis-style rib rub this past holiday weekend, I flipped to Oxygen and left it there even though the Tori’s alarmingly muppet-esque face was all up in my 32-inch screen. I was surprised when I saw that not only is Tori Spelling remarkably down-to-earth for someone who grew up with a father who literally made it snow in California for Christmas, but she is also very hardworking and pretty entertaining. Her husband is cute and her son, Liam, is an adorable carbon-copy of Tori’s younger brother, Randy (Where is he, by the way? He was awesome on the short-lived soap“ Sunset Beach”).

Granted, “Home Sweet Hollywood” is probably more scripted than “The Hills,” but its absurdity and over-the-top solutions to surprisingly common problems (i.e., when a pregnant Tori, desperate to outbid other couples on their already overpriced dream house, runs/waddles to try to catch Dean he descends into the Pacific Ocean in full SCUBA gear) make the show addictive, playfully absurd and oddly touching. This week’s episode catalogued the grueling launch of her [insert my jealous groans] book tour and the planning for Liam’s first birthday party. Like most celebrities, promotional days are scheduled back-to-back-to-back with appearances, parties and photo calls, which I’d imagine can be mentally and physically draining on anyone, let alone a very pregnant wife and mother. It was also endearing to see Tori genuinely emotional when Liam’s former baby nurse came for his money-themed birthday bash.

The fab factor came, of course, at Liam’s party. Tori Spelling heralded the event with a soiree that boasted a monkey cake bigger than the actual child (and it scared his diaper full), a very-late moon-bounce castle, tables, ice cream stations, gift bags, members of the press, friends including Carmen Electra, Denise Richards, Loni Anderson, Zachary Quinto and the late Aaron Spelling’s brother.

Ultimately, Tori and Dean successfully demystified common misgivings about her life while keeping me entertained and emotionally involved. This is a secret she needs to bottle and sell to all of the other reality shows that failed to do anything but reinforce my snap judgments…yeah, I’m looking at you Dina Lohan, The Osbournes, Gene Simmons, Hulk Hogan, and Pam Anderson…has her show even started yet…don’t care, still hate her!

Pop Culture Closet's Summer Media Mishmash

2008-07-07T23:21:00.003-06:00

Back by popular demand (Read: no demand at all) is the Pop Culture Closet’s Media Mishmash! If you’re unfamiliar with this amazing feat of blogdom, it is when I, the ever opinionated K, write little blurbs about several of pop cult’s juiciest morsels, instead of just riffing crazily on one topic. Aren’t you excited? I know I am. Let’s begin!

1. Kathy Griffin: “My Life on the D List” and her GRAMMY-AWARD WINNING CD, “For Your Consideration.
This season of “My Life on the D-List” is the best one yet! Kathy performing on a 14-hour Pink flight to Australia; went to the zoo with Lance Bass; marrying a cute, fun couple from New Jersey with a foulmouthed ceremony; Kathy “popping off” with real, live Bad Girls! It doesn’t get much better than that. The show has seriously made my summer. Also help making my summer is her first-ever comedy CD. As I listened to her zingers that ranged from her own mother to newly-named deity, Oprah Winfrey to Marie Osmond, I wondered why she hadn’t recorded a CD before, and why she doesn’t do weekly podcasts. I’d gladly buy ‘em!

2. LEAVE JAMIE-LYNN ALONE!!!?!
Britney’s younger sister isn’t the first teenager to get pregnant and she won’t be the last. The Spears family has dished up a crapload of crazy in the last decade, but Jaime-Lynn has seemed more balanced than her older sister and even her mother. She even handled her unexpected pregnancy with more poise than Britney did with her own. It angers me that the media has named her predicament and “Juno” as the cause of a spike in teen pregnancy, instead of using them to make a dialogue about teenage pregnancy newsworthy again. It has been a problem for years, and it always will be, especially when our government approves hundreds of millions of dollars to spend on abstinence campaigns—a technique that has been proven to not work. The entertainment industry has gone from cute, sexual innuendos to pure raunch, weekly sextapes, and Bratz dolls complete…of course our kids are having sex earlier.

3. “The Hills” Are Alive With Stupidity.
I normally watch various forms of entertainment news shows while I’m cooking dinner or writing this blog, but lately they’ve been inundated with inane “stories” on the girls from “The Hills”—a show I loathe almost as much as She-Who-Won’t-Be-Named (rhymes with Blaris Bilton). I tried to watch the show, and I was appalled and offended by the stupid dialogue, whiny nasally voices of the girls, and they’re ridiculously manufactured drama. It’s damn obvious that three twenty-somethings who haven’t gone to college couldn’t possibly live in a mansion, manage huge events, magically finance clothinglines or pay for all of that plastic surgery. The fact that these girls are making serious bank because daddy bought them reality shows makes me even angrier! And entertainment is my escape. So get this shit off my shows! Get it off the air! Tht includes you too, Dina Lohan and Denise Richards!

4. Christie Brinkley is a woman scorned, and she wants everyone to know it!
And we all know they have fury to spare! She happily has allowed her custody hearing to be open to the public (opposing a motion by her slimy, cheating ex-husband to close the proceedings), thus airing their dirty laundry and Brinkley’s “emotional” cheesy recaps of the end of their marriage to the entire nation. Now cheating is obviously a disgusting, hateful act to commit against the person you vowed to faithfully share your life with, however, it does not mean that you should willingly let the details of your marriage be disclosed for voracious public consumption. It is sullying the name her children’s father, which is a selfish and heartless thing to do to your children ontop of naming one of them SAILOR. I know you live in the Hamptons, but what the fuck is that about? I’ve never been the biggest fan of Brinkley, who looks great for her age, but you can be right without getting even. Her children are ultimately paying the price for her parents mistakes.

5. The Dark Knight starts at Midnight…
I have decided to attend my fair city’s midnight screening of “The Dark Knight” in just a couple of weeks. I’m insanely excited about it after falling prey to all of the Oscar-hype surrounding Heath Ledger’s final performance. I’m also a sucker for a good Superhero movie, and “Batman Begins” was amazing! I’m aware that this confession makes me the biggest geek with a blog, but I don’t care! Oh, and I’m going alone. I know, I can’t even look at myself in the mirror. LOL!

6. Hancock gets my seal of approval…
Because it honestly wasn’t that bad. On Friday, I headed out to see “Hancock” with my sister who just wanted to ogle Will Smith in a leathery/vinyl body-glove…and honestly, who can blame her? I was a bit nervous after reading many a review that hollered about shoddy writing and the weak dramatic turn. After seeing it, I admit “Spiderman” it is not, but all of the other superhero movies have had decades to sculpt a unique and dramatic mythology. Time also allowed those series to edit and re-craft its own history. “Hancock” is a modern superhero created probably as a vehicle for Will Smith. With that said, I enjoyed the movie. It is a flufftastic, lighthearted movie that boasts amazing special effects and is a fun way to spend a Friday night, judging by the $107 million it took in in five days, a lot of other people thought so too.

Will Smith is even more entertaining when he’s rough around the edges, surly, and threatening little kids and old ladies. The complaint that the villain is forgettable is completely true. But this movie isn’t about the villain’s. The writers have (stupidly) made Hancock seemingly invincible, so it’s not about subduing a mere mortal human with a hook-hand. Also, the major, dramatic turn in the movie wasn’t telegraphed by the writers so much as it was the casting. But who could say no to the sexy and talented Charlize Theron? I don’t blame them for casting her, but I think if they cast another, less empowered female lead, the twist would have been far more unexpected. However, all of the cast, which includes the ever-adorable Jason Bateman, had fantastic chemistry and while this movie will never be a “Batman Begins,” all involved did a GOOD JOB!

If You Make It Fabulous, Women Will Come…

2008-06-20T20:55:00.002-06:00

In the admittedly fading shock of the record-breaking $57 million opening weekend of “Sex and the City: The Movie,” the media and the industry are still reeling from the now-proven fact that WOMEN SEE MOVIES!!!!!?! Like it’s some earth-shattering, blow-your-hair-back epiphany among the historical likes of THE EARTH IS ROUND!!! and SMOKING CAUSES CANCER!!

But why exactly is this a revelation of blockbuster proportions? I, along with others rockin’ the lovely lady lumps, have spent the better part of three weeks pondering this exact question. I do understand that I am a woman who loves movies. In high school, I worked at a movie theater. In college, I arranged my work and class schedules so I was free one day a week before noon to take the bus to the AMC 18 and watch one (or two) movies. As an adult, I saw “ Troy ” a whoppin’ three times just in the theater. I understand that I walk to the beat of my own drum. However, for an industry that created the entire “If you build it, they will come,” mantra, it’s actually insulting to think that Hollywood execs see young men 18-34 as THE demographic, but don’t think the same of their female counterparts.

In all actuality, the answer is simple. You don’t need test screenings and market research to figure out what “Sex” proved and what television showrunners already figured out: women will see GOOD movies, just like they flock to GOOD television shows as proven by “Grey’s Anatomy,” “The Closer,” “Lipstick Jungle,” and “Ugly Betty.” With its multi-Emmy-Winning six seasons on HBO, “Sex and the City” already won over the hearts of singletons and marriedtons alike. The advent of DVDs and the extraordinary word of mouth helped catapult the show into a new, bigger arena of popularity. (I watched 2 weeks of nothing but “Sex and the City” when cable went out in my apartment. And I am teased for listening to the smooth vocal stylings of Michael Patrick King’s episode commentaries when I’m writing. I can’t wait for the movie to come out on DVD just for that reason.)

Furthermore, the astounding success of the “Juno,” the underappreciated "Definitely, Maybe" and “The Devil Wears Prada” just drive my point home. Women want movies that yes, have a bit of flash and glamour and fairytalish whimsy, but are also poignant, unformulaic and emotionally grounded. In short, they want their movies to be just like “Sex,” unpredictable and unbelievably satisfying. Contrarily, Hollywood seems to think that all women just like fluffy, asinine predictable rom-coms ("Made of Honor" and "What Happens in Vegas) in which our buxom, blonde, bubbly heroine obsesses about marriage, babies, and the men that did them wrong.

I sincerely hope the success of “Sex and the City” prompts Hollywood to look for insightful, provocative scripts about women of all ages, shapes and colors that are genuinely good, action-packed and dramatic and yes, emotional. But tinseltown moviermakers be warned: while you’re undoubtedly rushing to crank out 18 “SATC”-copycats, please note that like Carrie Bradshaw and Co., we don’t do knockoffs.

Embrace the D-List, Bitches!

2008-06-18T21:29:00.002-06:00

Months after the writer’s strike, it is still making ripples in my life, which is obviously consumed by pop cult entertainment. “Grey’s Anatomy” finally rediscovers the fabulousness that made it the show to watch during the strike-induced hiatus just in time for the season finale. I also miss first season shows that just discovered their dynamic and identity, like NBC’s “Life” and ABC’s “Dirty Sexy Money.” And I know what you’re saying, there’s always the promising new crop of summer shows, (“The Closer” and “Burn Notice”), right? Well, I’m still bitter about USA’s premature cancellation of “The 4400” and the aforementioned shows don’t start until July. So I’m facing a sweltering stretch of humid Midwestern summer, and I see nothing long, slow, hot ride to September. (Unless there’s another strike.)

But, there is a bright, rainbow just beyond the horizon! It is the wonderful, fantastic, guilty pleasure, the-so-wrong-it’s-right, and Emmy-winning, “My Life on the D-List” starring everyone’s favorite comic, Kathy Griffin! The June 12th premiere of this fab reality show soothed the slow-healing bruise left by the fucking writer’s strike.

If you’re not familiar with her (SHAME ON YOU!), Kathy Griffin is an extremely hardworking, hilarious comedian, who’s schtick is sharing real-life stories about celebrities, and because of this, she claims to have been banned from pretty much every major daytime and nighttime talk show. Her reality show catalogs her fight for publicity, awards and general media mayhem! Already in its fourth season, Kathy’s back with her shiny new Emmy that was received of course with controversy. And we know that celebs have given her plenty of material lately with the trainwrecks of Britney and Amy Winehouse; and the fertility situations with the younger Spears, Nicole Richie and even Ashlee Simpson.

Kathy Griffin is like the crazy aunt you always wanted. She’ll say anything and everything that comes to mind, and 74% of the time, it’s exactly what you were thinking or blogging. I also love that she takes her career seriously enough to protect her assets with a money manager and a gaggle of lawyers; but she’s willing to strip down to her bra or badmouth Oprah at an awards show filled with The Big O’s friends to get that priceless laugh. KG loves what she does, does it well, and works harder than those bitches on “The OC-Laguna-Hills-Gossip-Girl” combined. She might be rude and sometimes off-putting and on 24/7, but she’s a flipping hoot. And I’d move to Cali right now if I had the chance to work with her. Even with the heat and shit!
Now that this has turned into a love letter to Kathy Griffin, I’m going to end this meandering blog with a shameless plug: Watch “My Life on the D-List” on Bravo every Thursday at 10 EST.

Katherine Heigl Needs to be "Knocked" Down a Peg

2008-06-15T23:49:00.003-06:00

Katherine Heigl has made me look like an ass; and I hate looking like an ass. In the past two years, Heigl has earned reputation for being a bit of an arrogant bitch. But I always defended her, time and time again, because she was a gorgeous, fearless actor who was finally getting the break she deserved in “Grey’s Anatomy”—my favorite show on television (Sorry, “Supernatural”).

I applauded her for standing firm on contract negotiations when she and several of her co-stars weren’t be paid as much as the usually annoying Ellen Pompeo and the ducky Patrick Dempsey ($150,000+ an episode? Seriously? SERIOUSLY?!)

I thought she was being a good friend when she brazenly spoke her mind about Isaiah Washington’s shenanigans at the Golden Globes.

I thought she was wonderfully charming when she accepted her Emmy last year.

I thought she was terrific in “27 Dresses.”

I thought she was misquoted when she said that “Knocked Up” was a bit sexist, even though, she made these comments to a magazine about the movie that launched her into an entirely different echelon of fame.

Then she released this statement: "I am truly grateful for the honor that the Academy bestowed upon me last year. I did not feel that I was given the material this season to warrant an Emmy nomination and in an effort to maintain the integrity of the Academy organization, I withdrew my name from contention. In addition, I did not want to potentially take away an opportunity from an actress who was given such materials."

To borrow from those soft-core “Gossip Girl” ads, WTF? Not only is this a great disrespect to the writers of “Grey’s”—who wrote that gut-wrenchingly emotional storyline, created the character Denny Douquette, and basically helped her get that Emmy. But she is assuming that her work would even be nominated this year, when “Grey’s” was off its game and jumping dozens of sharks. (Callie as a lesbian?!)

It is no secret that Heigl wants off “Grey’s” to focus on her film career, nor is it a secret that the writing has severely lacked in the past year. While I admit that the writers turned her character into a raving lunatic who actually used her surgical skill to save a deer’s life, the statement was a proverbial slap to the face of the show that launched her career. I love Heigl’s talent, and I can even understand that she’s frustrated with the quality of the show (that seems to be finding its way back to bright and shiny by this season’s end), but without “Grey’s” she wouldn’t have had a film career to focus on, or a shiny Emmy sitting above her fireplace. And will someone please tell her that “27 Dresses” wasn’t that great?

To the commonfolk of America, who can’t throw a temper tantrum when their dream jobs go awry and are worried about their (crappy) job security and how they will afford gas this week, she is coming off more like a spoiled brat who didn’t get her way, and not a talented actress who wants to do the honorable, respectful thing.

Sex and the Shitty: Opening Night Event

2008-06-01T22:55:00.003-06:00

The anticipation and preparation that went into attending the “Sex and the City” movie on opening night was much more like getting read to attend a fabulous A-list event than simply going to the movies. K, who relishes going to the theater in her Nikes and favorite jeans, unveiled her new Vera Wang sweater (okay, it’s the line from Kohls department stores) and my finest heels (well, again, Kohls) for the event. And, inspired by Carrie Bradshaw herself, I went along with two other couples, one married and one seriously dating. Yes, that’s right folks, K was the fifth wheel, and I rocked it in true Carrie Bradshaw spirit.

Along with a nation of other “SATC” fans, we had dinner and drinks before the show, and then strapped on our stilettos and headed down to a beautiful landmark theater in our fair city. After finding out that heels and dark movie theaters don’t mix, the movie began to the applause of thousands of eager fans.

“Sex and the City: The Movie” is a glitzy two-hour reunion with Carrie, Charlotte, Samantha, and Miranda in a better-than-decent movie version of the hit HBO show. While the acting, the humor and the majority of the writing was, well, fabulous, I felt the first forty-minutes of the movie was terribly and obviously manipulative. I don’t want to spoil too much about the plot, (but honestly, if you paid attention to the first round of trailers released earlier in the year, you can figure out what happens), but I’ll just say Big lets Carrie down in a Big way; Miranda gets to be very Miranda-like, and Samantha has moved to LA to manage Smith Jerrod’s career (which must be crackin’ considering he couldn’t muster up a single tear or convincing facial expression during his short scenes with the always-funny Kim Cattrall). And Jason Lewis has aged more than the 51-year-old Kim Cattrall. Seriously, stay out of the sun, dude.

What I did enjoy, besides the slapstick comedy of Kim Cattrall and the always preppy Charlotte, was that it followed the girls through very different, problems and it stayed emotionally grounded without dragging the mood of the viewer down. Whether it was through fashion, patented “SATC” puns or one of the girls shitting their pants, the gut-wrenchingly dramatic moments were always peppered with much-needed levity to keep the audience from crying into their smuggled in cosmos.

Sadly, my favorite character, Charlotte, didn’t have much of a storyline, but she was allowed some zingers with the entire Big-Carrie debacle. She was blissfully happy, and felt guilty about being happy, especially when she discovered she was pregnant. I wished they would have found a way to give her some sort of drama in her marriage with Harry. But I supposed some people are happy in their marriages and go through wonderful turmoil-free parts of their lives. As a writer, that’s the part we skip over.

I imagined the movie would follow the very tight, snappy pacing of the show and that it would be written like five episodes as opposed to one long one. But it wasn’t. Carrie’s voiceovers all have to do with what happens after you find love (it was the topic of the book her character was writing), but with the length of the movie, it was hard to remember what the voiceovers were referencing and the central point was muddled in few of the lagging bits of the movie, like most of the Jennifer Hudson arc and a lengthy montage of a “Vogue” fashion shoot.

Ultimately, Michael Patrick King, the writer-director (and my fucking hero), managed to recapture most of the spark that ignited the popularity of “Sex and the City” the TV show. Admittedly, some of the fabulousness was a bit contrived and evoked a been-there, done-that reaction. But it was wonderful to see the girls on the screen, and even better to be excited about a movie, an event, that dealt more with love and fashion, not transforming cars and billionaires in iron suits. “Sex and the City: The Movie” is a chance for women to dress up in celebration of themselves, regardless of their dating status or how designer the label.

"Ironman": A Movie Review

2008-05-11T21:16:00.002-06:00

Everyone enters the theater with some sort of prejudice towards the film they are about to see: they are absolutely smitten with the leading lady or leading man; they were amused or enthralled by the trailer; they hate one of the supporting actors. My admitted prejudice towards “Ironman” was that it was yet another superhero in a long line of “X-Mens,” “Spider-Mans,” and shiny new “Batman” franchise. I wasn’t sure what a man in a suit of armor could do that would wow even the overeager fanboys. But I was also thrilled for the formerly troubled Robert Downey, Jr. finally landed a lucrative franchise.

Usually one’s prejudices are either upheld by their biased towards the leading lady or man or whatnot, or they are dashed in a rather spectacularly fabulous ways or steadfastly upheld. After watching twenty minutes of previews (and yes, getting teary-eyed at the Heath Ledger-focused “Dark Knight” trailer) and all of “Ironman,” I will enthusiastically admit that my prejudices and expectations of “Ironman” were spectacularly and fabulously dashed.

“Ironman” is two hours of adrenaline-packed, surprisingly endearing thrills in a slick package. Downey plays Tony Stark, the second-generation genius-turned-weapons manufacturer, who lives in his own detached world where he has rationalized that safety lies with the country that has the biggest missile silos. He, like most gazillionaires, lives in a world where he gets whatever he wants and his petulance is tolerated because of the size of his bank account. However, when he is violently kidnapped and held captive in Afghanistan and forced to build a replica of Stark Industries newest missile system, Stark realizes what his genius has unleashed on the world. Of course, trapping a genius in a cave with an arsenal usually won’t end well for his captors. Stark builds a suit that turns him into a one-man warmonger and he literally flies to freedom. Irrevocably changed by seeing his own weapons kill the very people he built them to protect, Stark reinvents his suit and uses it to destroy his own weapons that were sold his enemies.

Downey, who has always seemed unique and unfairly talented, breaths so much life into Tony Stark, that it is so easy to fall in love with his narcissistic, womanizing, larger-than-life personality. He lives a lonely life, but we see how he talks to his robots and computers—things he literally gave life too—that they are his family.

Gwyneth Paltrow adds a delightful spark to the usual flat and antiquated role of the secretary/love interest. Although, I dramatically rolled my eyes when Pepper Potts was running around during the finale in five inch Christian Louboutins, she managed to update a generally flat and lifeless character. But seriously, can’t an empowered personal assistants run for her life in some Nike Shoxs?

With the movie making an astounding $101 million in its opening weekend and plans for a 2010 sequel already in the works, it’s obvious that “Ironman”—the first movie from Marvel Studios benefited from the knowledge procured by previous superhero franchises. Directors can clearly see what works and what doesn’t. Consequently, “Ironman” was tightly packed in consistent action, a simple, albeit predictable plot peppered with the eccentricity of Downey, playing on family-friendly versions of his own past demons. Also, “Ironman” was created because of Stark’s overwhelming “with great power comes great responsibility” philosophy made famous by “Spider-Man;” it has the uber-cool gadgetry of “Batman;” and possesses the jaw-dropping visual effects of “Transformers.”

Downey seems so happy about “Ironman’s” success that he’s practically levitating. And he should be. His eccentricity and sordid past probably helped him create the most loveable, fun, angst-ridden silverscreen superhero to date, and managed to check my prejudices at the door.

"Made of Honor": A Movie Review

2008-05-04T17:23:00.004-06:00

I went to see “Made of Honor” not because I find Patrick Dempsey oh so dreamy, but because it looked like a cute rom-com that would inspire and nurture my inner hopeless romantic. I’m a sucker for sappy, New York-based movies that promises pretty dresses, squishy confessions of love and flowers in bloom. Unfortunately, “Made of Honor” is a mindless fluff of a romantic comedy that would have come dangerously close to plagiarizing the plot from my Julia Robert’s “My Best Friend’s Wedding” if they had lifted any of the endearing moments, acts of sheer desperation or chemistry between co-stars that made the 1997 vehicle such a success.

Patrick Dempsey plays Tom, the inventor of the coffee collar, who is now ridiculously rich and has nothing to do but drive his cool cars around Times Sqaure, bed gorgeous women, and create ridiculous rules for his one-night stands for no explained reason. Although I’m sure it stems from his father’s never-ending string of marriages and divorces. Michelle Monaghan played Hannah, Tom’s supposed best friend. As we’ve seen in the trailers for the movie, Tom thinks he has the “perfect set-up” because he can sleep with beautiful women at night and spend his free time with Hannah during the day as they have done since they first met in college.

When Hannah, a restoration artist, leaves for six weeks to go to Scotland, it is only in her absence, that Tom realizes how much Hannah means to him and how much he actually loves her, which is something he could only say to bitches of the canine variety. Hannah comes back engaged to a Scottish Duke, and she asks Tom to be her Maid of Honor for a destination wedding in just a fortnight.

The entire idea of a man being a bridesmaid could have triggered thousands of stereotypical gay jokes because of most men’s intrinsic homophobia, but thankfully the movie handled that aspect with an open-minded sophistication that made for a lot of smart laughs. Dempsey, who has built a career on being the sensitive, sexy metrosexual, can hold his own in a scene with five other women, but also exudes some well-groomed masculinity that people won’t see in “Grey’s Anatomy.”

All is fair in love and war, but Dempsey’s Tom never got the memo as he never played dirty to stop the wedding. He agreed to become the MOH in order to “destroy the wedding from the inside out”, but he never really did anything that crazy to sabotage a marriage that was obviously based on purely on physical attraction and nothing more. In “My Best Friend’s Wedding,” Julia’s desperation over losing her best friend and the love of her life made her do absolutely terrible things, like almost ruining her best friend’s career, in order to keep Michael (Dermot Mulroney) from marrying Kimmie (Cameron Diaz).

I felt the chemistry was a bit lacking between the two stars, and that probably stemmed from the fact that they look more like siblings than lovers, and not because they are bad actors. The screenwriters also make Hannah’s betroved seem perfect in the beginning, but then tear him down by time they reach the vivid green of Scotland, which weakens the entire idea while saving Dempsey from looking like a backstabbing, selfish schmuck for ruining his best friend’s wedding.
Ultimately, “Made of Honor” was really made as yet another vehicle for Patrick Dempsey, who’s careening towards overexposure, and lacked the drama and yearning of its girl-centered predecessor. “Made of Honor” is, however, a good way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

Real World Hollywood: “Let’s Not Get Ghetto!”

2008-04-27T20:49:00.003-06:00

The second episode of “RW: Hollywood” is upon us, and I was surprisingly excited about it! Even at work! Yes, I, the former Queen of Excel, am finally (almost) gainfully employed. I’m an Administrative Assistant at a marketing company here in the lovely Bumblefuck, Midwest. But I digress. The reason I was so eager to see the new season of the “RW” is because last week’s previews promised us they much-hyped “Let’s not get ghetto!” debacle, and because this cast actually seems better than casts for the last five years.

Admittedly, I thought that putting seven fame-whores in the Hollywood house was too sensational and obvious even for the show that created the reality star. But I was wrong, because not only are the castmates driven and determined to make some connections while they’re in LA, they seem even more determined to avoid the all too old reality show traps of drunken hookups, bar fights and lame arrests. Which I love. I’m all for the drunken spectacles and as this episode has proven, drama will be had, but hopefully it won’t be derived from petty arguments and drunken hookups. They do smart things that I wished other seasons would do: Dave made sure Sarah was sleeping on her side after her 21st birthday celebration when she was seriously wasted. Joey was actually cleaning up the house! I really hope they don’t let it get so nasty. It’s already ugly as sin. The girls busting on Dave for giving out their address to skanky LA chicks who wanted to be on camera. Yay for judgment and using the brain above your waistline!

My Favorite Moments of Ep. 2:

Sarah told her boyfriend that Ryan had a crush on her. Actually it was the sheer effort on Sarah’s part not to smile and pretend to be all embarrassed and confused about it. She loves the attention. Who wouldn’t?

Brianna’s confession that she thinks Will, who all but called her a dirty stripper mere days earlier, would do anything for her, so she agrees to help Will hook up with Sarah. What ever happened to Bros before Hos, Bri?

Greg actually tried to get along with other people in the house. The buzz around the ‘net was that Greg was either being an asshole for the cameras or secretly autistic. It looks like it all points to him being an asshole, and there’s a cure for that!

The girls being shocked and chagrined when the guys ditched them for the girls flashing their boobs. Um, they’re guys and it’s random boobage! I’d be curious to meet some peroxide-happy girl flashing her fake tits at me. And judging by how fast Dave flew over to those boobs, it’s pretty clear that he’s not gay. So he’s just Dave the Boring Jock. Boo!

This quote—“…things like that just help me to realize that Sarah’s definitely going to cheat on her boyfriend, so I definitely have hope”—is a soundbyte dipped in GOLD. It literally made me laugh out loud. The countdown is so on!

Sarah and Kim ganged up on Bri because of their narrow-minded opinions on stripping. Deep down, I think they have her best interest at heart, but it’s clear that they are incredibly sheltered and may not understand that some people don’t have a choice. While I don’t think stripping is the most respectable or safest profession, I do think that it is a job. With that being said, Bri stating that she doesn’t care if Joey respects her makes me sad. She seems to define herself as being a stripper and she’s definitely much more than that.

Not two minutes later, Kim approached Bri angry and cursing because Bri was mad that her friends can’t come into the house. And when Bri tries to defend herself she launches into the entire “Let’s not get ghetto!” tirade, which was imbued with much more racism, bigotry and prejudice than I thought it would be, and wasn’t remotely enjoyable to watch (“Let’s not get ghetto! Let’s not get ghetto, let’s just be…normal.” And later to Sarah, “I mean pull your skirt down and stop being a hooker. Are you going to get mad at that, get back on your fuckin’ pole, bitch…I mean, I love her…but I don’t care if you’re from the most inner city Blackville, I’m not going to tolerate that.) She wants Bri to respect herself, but the moment Bri vocalizes a problem, she uses her stripper-status as an insult. I don’t care how fucking sheltered you are, you don’t use the word “ghetto” like that ever. Especially when you’re the one screaming at the top of your lungs and flicking people off. Kim came off looking like the ig’nant racist redneck hillbilly bitch and no one bothered to explain to her why. Greg forced them to make up and how Bri could touch Kim in a non-violent way after that mess, I have no idea. She has more restraint than me.

Joey arm-wrestled Random Guy, and lost. With those giant biceps. His upper arms are as big as my head, so how did he lose? Was he juicing? And he did look like a very over-gelled version of The Hulk.

Dave defended Joey’s alarming behavior as “having fun and being a kid” and dismissed Joey’s desire to not drink in the house. I’ve loathed this rationalization of dangerous behavior for years, and about 64% of those fools have DUIs or seriously hurt themselves while having fun and being a kid!

Joey did a cleansing face mask with the stripper-hating girls! It was a cute moment that reminded me of an episode of “Friends.”

Up next week: Joey’s purported breakdown! On the previews, it looks like a really bad actor going for the drama scene in his acting class, but I am not judging based on that ten-second clip!

"Real World" goes Hollywood

2008-04-19T11:58:00.002-06:00

MTV, the cable channel who spawned reality television, reached a milestone this week: the premiere of the 20th season of the “Real World”. You know, the show where seven strangers are picked to live in a house, work together, and find out “what happens when people stop being nice and start being real.” And yes, I typed that from memory! I’ve been watching since “Seattle,” fools (except for that disastrous “Real World Sydney” season. I missed every episode of that trainwreck).

Capitalizing on our celebrity-obsessed culture, MTV set this season in Hollywood, the epicenter of the glitterati, and filled the tackiest house yet with seven strangers who all want to be famous. Capitalizing on the internet voters who a say in casting, MTV viewers voted one member into house.

Let’s meet the actors…I mean, castmates:

*Brianna. The Girl With A Past. With her straw-colored hair and stripper status, she’s trying to make it in Hollywood as a singer and leave stripperdom behind. She also has a warrant out for her arrest in her hometown of Philly for allegedly hitting her asshole ex-boyfriend. You go, girl!

*Will. The Player. He aspires to be a music producer…the Brianna’s Diddy. He is from Detroit and has a severe phobia of strippers. Oh, and he’s one of the cutest guys to step food in a “RW” house since Danny from “New Orleans.” Me likey!

*Sarah. The Committed Overachiever. At just 20, she’s a graduate of Arizona State University, and aspires to be a broadcast journalist. She has a boyfriend—a sweet, non-threatening guy with glasses who appeared in her casting tape. Countdown to her drunk-boinking one of the roommates and/or dumping her BF over the phone!

*Kimberly. The Redneck. She’s from the south, y’all! And she wants to be an E! Reporter. She’s also obsessed with LiLo! And homegirl has an accent thicker than Paula Deen’s, which will hinder any chance of her achieving her dreams of being the female Seacrest! Her ignorance will do that too. Apparently, she thinks Will is too nice and cute to be from Detroit, which is a big “inner city.” K out!

*Dave. The Jock. He’s good at everything sports related. He doesn’t know what he wants to be, maybe an actor! He’s boring, unless he turns out to be the Token Gay.

*Joey. The Hot Head. He uses too much gel and has a rockin’ bod. But don’t call him a weirdo or he’ll straight up lose it! He seems like a sweet guy with a terrible past…and Chicago accent. Hopefully, he can work through his issues ON CAMERA! And he’s claims, he’s “not some pretty white boy.” Um, sorry, hun, you are!

*Greg. The Chosen One. He is an epic asshole, who calls women “associates” and regular people “peasants.” He has a hatred of lines and pretty much everything else that doesn’t have him being the center of attention. He will provide loads of drama. Oh and he’s GORGEOUS! Thanks, Internet voters!

The Ten Things I Loved About Episode 1.

1. Will wiping himself down to get rid of the dreaded Stripper Cooties after he found out Brianna was a stripper.
2. Sarah being angry that Dave doesn’t think her relationship is serious…and then her flirting insanely with Will five minutes after entering the house.
3. Kim’s accent. I can’t barely understand her ig’nant comments! So that’s what southern accents are for! (*ducks flying objects**)
4. Obligatory naked swimming!
5. Joey’s aerodynamic hair. It’s shellacked to the point of being indestructible!
6. Joey telling Brianna that the bad people in her life are poison, and telling her she needs to get Asshole Ex out of her life. He really seems like a sweetheart.
7. Greg calling his roommate “peasants.” He’s hip to the American Caste System!
8. The collection of Warhol-esque celeb mugshots on the walls of the ugliest RW house ever! Dave made sure he pointed out LiLo’s for Kim!
9. Greg proclaimed he won’t speak to the other members in the house because they don’t like him. On the first DAY. LMFAO!
10. The preview for next week’s episode, where Kim tells Brianna not to “get ghetto!” I hope someone not in the house just runs up and cold-clocks her for that!

This season looks like it’ll be more drunken insanity and mindless stupidity, and I’m stoked! I haven’t been this excited about a new season of “RW” since “RW: Paris!”