TV Recap: American Horror Story, S108 "Rubberman"

Once again, an aptly named episode rolls around as "American Horror Story" begins its eighth episode, promising "Rubberman" for all. The opening shot is no less than the titular character, stalking the hallways as he's been apt to doing lately in small glimpses. The fear of the Rubberman so far has been in his few, subtle -- and a not-so-subtle encounter with Vivien -- appearances, lending a brooding quality to his appeal so that the shit's proximity to the fan can be measured by if that shiny bit of latex has appeared down the hall. Like when you can tell a boss battle is about to start in your video-game because suddenly everybody's dropping health items. So, when the identity is revealed...

But first, we see the real estate woman looking inappropriately unhappy about the fact that she's sliding that 'Sold' sign up above the For Sale post she probably keeps in her trunk for this house. Inside, there's somewhat less than the owners stalking about. Unless you count being irrepressibly possessive after death as proof of ownership. In what is likely a christening for new owners, the doctor's wife -- this episode was riddled with me forgetting everyone's name -- wanders around insulting the gross decoration choices that have taken over her house. We can't see who she's talking to but he lays on her a sympathetic hand, acknowledging her lonesome wail: "Where's my baby?"

A timely flashback to the Rubberman introducing himself to Vivien seems to point a big shiny arrow: here. Here is your baby. We even doubled your order for you. After the reminiscing on baby-making, we get to follow the rubber-clad baby-daddy to the bathroom where he disrobes at the face, revealing that of Tate. And all before the credits that I consistently skip through.

While the audience has had time during commercials to drive over to Twitter and express their shock/awe/disappointment/general feeling of let-down at seeing the previously enigmatic and frighteningly inhuman representation of our inner sado-masochism given a human face, Vivien is still pretty riled up about everything that's been going on with her. Marcy (that's her name!) feels free to blame it on hormones, since mockery is always a good way to approach a pregnant lady, but Moira gets a bit snippy over the real estate agent's close-mindedness.

In the next of what will be a series of smooth transitions, we're shown the one who has Zachary Quinto's face lamenting that he also feels crazy -- and cheated on, and unloved, and generally paranoid -- proving that the house has decided that he's the woman in the relationship. And no one's surprised. His best girlie friend lays on him the truth that relationships have to be fought for, especially ones with hunky guys from old lawyer shows, but her advice seemed slightly off: hey, you're uncomfortable with kinky behavior? Well, better get over it if you want to kowtow to your cheating boyfriend's needs. That's a way to to a healthy relationship right there.

But Zachary Quinto -- oh, Chad, thank you, dialogue -- is a gamely fellow, so he does the open-minded boyfriend thing and visits a fetish shop. When he says he's not into pain, the rather casual and intuitive shop-keep suggests that maybe Patrick wants to top for once, oh, and here's a full-body latex suit that you may never be able to get out of once you're in. Because, really, can you imagine sweating in that thing? Anyway, ZQ-Chad buys the suit. Obviously.

Back in Avenue Q, the dead mistress of the cheating dad (naaaames) decides it's time to lay the truth on the original lady ghost because it's incredibly tiring listening to her cry all the time. Gotta say, the girlfriend has come to terms with this all fairly quickly. Her tale of here's-the-facts reveals how some of the ghosts spend their time when they're not on-camera, including that Moira and the girlfriend have some issues with each other's lifestyles, and Hayden (oh, hey, girlfriend's name) may have some deep-seated unresolved issues versus cheating husbands that she takes out on Constance's former flame Eric-Close's-face by sexing and then repeatedly stabbing him. It turns out, this gets pretty unsatisfactory pretty fast when she lies down to cuddle with the dead body only to have it wake up and decide he's peckish. Through all this, she convinces the lady ghost that they need to take back what's rightfully theirs: some babies. Her plan? Prove that Vivien's crazy so she's never able to keep them. Hayden should probably use some of her dead down time to come up with a back-up that doesn't involve the baby's mother leaving the house before she ever gives birth. Oh, and, Vivien was totally right earlier about who was trying to steal her life.

Hayden begins enacting her plan just after that with all the regular signs, proving that she's a classic horror fan. Stuff breaks, lights flicker, and laughter echoes down the corridor. As Vivien staggers and gasps and runs about, she makes a loop back to the bathroom and sees the rubber mask lying there in wait. It's appearance cues another smooth transition to Tate sliding the face mask on right before he goes to dispose of Chad in the bobbing for apples bin. Seen that. But this time, we're treated to his slightly longer struggle with Patrick, whose constant days at the gym can't save him from getting his head bashed against the table. We can only hope that's what killed him, and not Tate's instant instinct to roll him over and tug his pants down while holding a fire-place poker...

Jump to Patrick's body dropping down the basement stands into lady ghost's proximity. She decides not to comment on the nice view of blood on Patrick's backside, so neither will we. Instead, she wants to know what's up from Tate, who reveals that he offed the unhappy couple because they were backing out on their plans to have a baby, and he's bound and determined to get her one. Mommy issues, etc, etc. By now, the mood is quite set for his purpose with Vivien later, but we're given an interlude into Violet trying to play fetch with Beau. Ben catches her talking to thin air and summons her upstairs for a 'talk' about how she's been missing school, the naughty girl. As Violet grows defensive, Ben goes into therapy-mode, which is probably the last thing you want to do to your daughter. Violet throws his affair in his face -- at which point she mentions that Moira is an old lady in her eyes, but Ben doesn't have time to pick up on that fact when she storms moodily out.

Speaking of Moira, she's fixing Vivien some of that tea she promised way back in their first scene, listening to Vivien blame the drugs she's been taking. Instead of drugs, Moira has a better answer: men. "Since the beginning of time, men find reasons to lock women away," she laments, recalling the tale of "The Yellow Wallpaper" and some creepy things that happened to creepy people once. After expounding liberally on the faults of men, including the estranged Mister of the house, Moira asks: "May I speak freely, Mrs. Harmon?" As opposed to... what he's been doing this entire time? 'Free speech', as it is, turns into a confession that there's spirits in the house, and if Vivien knows what's good for her and her babies, she'll book it.

In a shockingly un-television-like move, Vivien listens. Immediately. So immediately that she springs upon Violet in her bed and announces that they're up and out of there. They even get so far as the car before Violet notices Tate giving her the sad-face. She gets in the car, but, surprise! There're some dead home intruders in the back-seat. Violet and Vivien bolt back into the house and Hayden's ghost smiles, clearly quite pleased with herself and how well she seems to have tamed the other ghosts into caring about her angry quest.

Ben's first reaction to this is to bitch about how Vivien was trying to separate him from his family, the horrible wench, managing to completely ignore that there were crazy people in the car. It's a good thing Vivien has a track-record for being crazy now or he might look like a terrible person. When Vivien comes to her own defense, Ben begins to therapy her too, because he remembers how well that worked with his daughter. It works really well with Vivien, too, obviously. She suggests he talk to said daughter to prove her point.

So. Apparently, Violet and Tate had some sex while we weren't looking. A rather prudish and cheap out for the typically unabashed show. Speaking on the very nature of his being, Tate reassures her that he'll "always be here", if that's what she wants. I'm willing to venture that this is true even if she didn't want it, as he didn't do a very good job of leaving her alone back when she was less committed about this relationship. Violet has a better concern: "They'll always be here, too, won't they?" But Tate claims that they can't hurt them. He clearly hasn't been kept abreast of Hayden's fun-ventures. In fact, he's pretty adamant that Violet not reveal her crazy belief in ghosts so that she isn't taken away from him to the funny farm.

Just in time for Violet to be called downstairs to be witness to her mother's defense. Fresh off her post-coital sharing time with Tate, Violet lies through her teeth about having seen the dead people. Ben excuses her, and demands to stay the night, following Vivien's insistence that she's seen Hayden around. She accuses Ben of being in cahoots with his former fling and of leaving the rubber mask around. Ben reveals that he's never worn the suit; he threw it out. Dun dun.

Hayden's little game moves onto Tate after all. But he's having none of her climbing into his lap, claiming 'love' as his out. This doesn't rub Hayden too well, probably because she's spiteful towards all relationship things, and men in general. There's gotta be a reason she keeps sex-stabbing Eric Close. Besides the fact that she clearly was kind of unstable to start. But it's probably just the undead baby hormones, right! Actually... there could be a whole situation there relating to those women who steal other people's babies after losing one because of their depression -- and other things that should probably be researched before being referenced...

Vivien decides she's taking things into her own hands when she invites Marcy over to tell her that they're leaving tomorrow, and that's it. Her really rather brutal verbal abuse of Marcy gets called out and they start to fight, but Vivien collapses in the throes of pregnancy illness. Excep-- psych! As Marcy's off to fetch her water, Vivien steals something from the agent's purse and asks that she get some time to lie down. Marcy lets herself out, and we see that Vivien has stolen her gun. Good things are on the horizon, clearly.

In the bedroom, Vivien goes through the checklist of all small children everywhere: she checks under the bed, behind the curtains, and in the closet for monsters. She's barely into the covers -- in fact, she's just perfectly comfortable when it happens; ghosts are bastards -- when there's a noise. Rubberman! Vivien presses the panic button, helping to pay for the security guard's luxurious lifestyle (has that been used in every episode now?), and then proceeds to shoot her husband. See! Good things.

A patched-up Ben seems to be recovering just fine, though, when Luke barges in and gets super on his case. It's fairly obvious where his bias lies, as he spills all of Ben's secrets to the police who start to wonder if they've let this guy drug his wife after all. Ben has a right to be suspicious of the situation, but he's utterly tactless about leaping down Ben's throats, earning him no points for not remaining reasonable for a single second.

Vivien's drugged, so what does she care. Except that Hayden is there to wake her up with a startling yell. Vivien tries to agree with her, but it comes down to what Hayden wants -- "what's in your womb." Vivien's having none of this: "You're sick," she says, but Hayden counters, "No, I'm dead!" and introduces her to the father of her children: Rubberman! Tate wrestles Vivien into the position only for him to suddenly turn into Ben. Oh, and Luke is there, too. Just in time to listen to Vivien freak out about two people being there who aren't there.

The whole room becomes silent like a funeral, as the policemen step pointedly inside. No words, but the cool dawning on Vivien what is occurring. Violet stands in, a wide-eyed witness to her mother's trial -- one that she helped lead her to -- a veritable Judas, staring at what she's done but unable to speak up, even as Vivien is escorted out of the room and down the stairs. Slow-motion lets us watch the wash of relief or acceptance as Vivien descends the stairs, finally taken from a house she could not escape by her own power, until she lost it all, even over her own mind.

Violet watches, and is given the last reassurance every lying teenager wants to hear from a proud father: "You told the truth." Whoops. It'll weigh heavy on her, this betrayal of parent for boyfriend. Speaking of: Tate approaches from behind, fluidly stepping in as Ben steps out -- Violet's one life replaced by the one she's chosen. "It's okay; I'm here," says Tate, and the house's architecture frames the happy couple.

The epilogue is no surprise, but a cool commentary, punctuating a purpose, as Tate hauls Chad into the basement and causes him to stir. He and Moira coldly discuss the purpose of framing the job as a murder/suicide while Chad reaches poignantly out for his dead boyfriend's hand. Murder heals all grievances for a moment. Until Tate brutally sends the bullet through his chest, trapping him forever in a cycle of paranoia and disgust for the boyfriend whose hand he can never grasp.

Can't say that Hayden's plan seems particularly sound... but only more episodes will show for sure -- and, well. The fact that the writers can basically have it work out however they need, despite. All in all, "Rubberman" tells a fluid story, revealing many missing scenes and gaps, but the unmasking of its most iconic and inhuman menace can't help but feel like a slight let-down, as "American Horror Story" begins to unfold more as a story about the craze that descends on people in relationships than strictly supernatural forces.

TV Recap: The Walking Dead S206, "Secrets"

"Everything's food for something else." From the mouths of babes. It's Carl's flippant air of survivalist nature that runs as catalyst for Lori's inevitable decision in The Walking Dead's episode 6, "Secrets". There has never been a more appropriate episode title. But, as we found out, Walking Dead writers aren't interested in stringing us painfully along with secrets that shamble on like the walkers that are so prevalently missing from the show -- they're interested in exploring what effect these secrets have on the people who must work with them. We're shown a bevy of secret-keepers, and how they deal with their pesky issues.

First up is Glenn, who couldn't lie to save his life, but at least he's honest about it -- although, really, at that point, what choice does he have. The problem with Glenn's inability to lie is that he also has an ability to look like he isn't covering something up. He's easy prey for Dale's cool intuitiveness, which we'll explore in more depth later. Glenn's progression is an interesting one, as he offers a hand to Lori, acting in both the interest of the child and of his perceived friendship with the woman. Nevermind that she asked him to go pick up some birth control pills.

Taking Maggie along on the venture with him proves troublesome when she's angry at him, then disagreeing with him, then bitching about his friends, then almost killed. But at least after she's done chucking things at Lori, she admits she has feelings for him. The most notable point comes from this last confrontation, where Maggie gives Glenn's passive character the kick in the ass he's been needing: "You're walker bait," she says, after telling him he's a better leader than he lets the team give him credit for. She also uses the term "walker", which she had, minutes ago, denounced him for saying.

Glenn's dangerously fraught journey into the town with Maggie didn't just allow her to express her feelings, but demonstrated the continued tension of one lifestyle versus the other. Directly after Maggie described the walkers as "people", she was attacked by one. In saving her, Glenn also seemed to be pointing out the flaws in her point-of-view; though he has been seen as the "weakest" member of his own group, to those with Hershel's blinders on, he is still a brutal killer, who is able to do what it takes to survive. (Although, can we take a second to wonder, again, why the shelves are so low in the pharmacy? Some things are understandable, but how many other women seriously needed to raid the pregnancy test collection before Lori.)

Off elsewhere, Rick and the menfolk are making plans. They huddle over a map, still absorbed in the task of determining where a frightened Sophia might be hiding. Based on Darryl's discovery last episode, they have a point to work from. But don't expect to hear much from Darryl on that; after a tiny apology from Andrea, he won't be showing up again.

We should be honestly surprised any of them allowed guns after what happened before, but okay. They've promised to behave so clearly things'll be different, right? Sure. At least Rick demonstrates that he's the only television character who learns from the previous episode by requiring all supposedly Hershel-approved endeavors to be run by Hershel. Revolutionary.

This leads us to Lori's protest that Carl be allowed to learn how to fire. At this point, the kid's already been shot -- as she herself says -- he might as well know how to fire. The odds are fairly high that the need will come up eventually, and a kid who's trained is better than a kid flopping around traumatized by the thought of a weapon. Learning to use one doesn't mean he has to walk around with one in his pants (sorry, Carl). We are, however, left wondering how actually comforting it is to hear that Shane used to teach younger kids how to fire. The argument makes Lori have to be the 'bad guy' again, but she folds, insisting that Carl treat this as serious as it is.

Once they get firing, Andrea proves herself to be a rather keen natural marksman, which presses all of Shane's manly buttons. Their courtship continues in the vein of Andrea seeking a bit of that danger and swagger that Shane projects, while Shane probes Andrea (not literally; yet) for a like-mind. When he gets her out alone and tests those boundaries by riling her up when she can't hit a moving target, Andrea balks. She's unable to surpass her sentimental psyche that says bringing up Amy is too sensitive in order to break into the survivalist, brutally uncaring world that Shane wants her to join him in. Also, at this point, I have to ask: at what point are they learning, and at what point are they just wasting bullets?

The courtship ritual moved on to Shane chasing Andrea down in his car -- this very familiar sight from more romantic venues was a surprising vision of the world they left behind. A man and a woman having an argument. It was as simple as that. Oh, until they journeyed into the walker-infested suburbia (social commentary?) and Andrea had to prove herself under fire. Or, that she could fire. Under fire. She proved it; and it's pretty obvious that she liked it. She even decided to show Shane just how much she liked it on the ride back. Regretfully, for some of us, that meant with sex, and not a bullet to the head.

Dale's the unexpected hero of this episode, emerging while everyone else is away having their own personal dramas or firing their guns off. Gleaning information from Glenn was perhaps not too difficult, but the cool, non-confrontational approach he takes when talking to Hershel about the walkers in the barn shows a sophistication the rest of the group sorely lacks. He even offers to contribute by making sure the area is secure, rather than jumping down Hershel's throat that they all be shot.

While everyone else blusters around, Dale is able to come at Hershel without that build-up of butting heads. Though Rick is docile and generally puppy-doggish, he's also a younger man, in his prime, and a leader who works towards the desires and benefits of his own group. This is a challenging picture to an older gentleman who just wants his own family and to do things his own way. However, no matter how calmly Dale presents his case, Hershel poses a question for both him and viewer: "Rick's a man of conscience; but are you so sure about everyone in your group?"

The magical power of Dale's intuition didn't stop there. He also smoothly approached the topic of Lori's pregnancy, expressing little actual surprise over her revelation that she'd been with Shane. Once again, he handled the passing of secrets with composure and sensitivity. He just wasn't able to reassure her that this was the best place to pop out a baby. Don't sweat that one, Dale. Instead, he moved onto the next person in need of a little intuitive wake-up call: Shane. Unfortunately, a romp in the front seat wasn't enough to mellow the cap-wearing cop once Dale approached in father-mode. Dale confronted Shane over the possibility that Otis hadn't 'died in the way Shane suggested. "I know what kind of man you are" he levels. Shane's own "a little boy lived because of what went down that night" condemned him as well as anything else -- his non-specificity pointing a giant glaring headlight at his lie of omission. And, yes: we think you're the kind of guy who threatens other guys while trying to sound insulted that it's suggested you're that kind of guy.

Last on the stop of the secret train was Lori's conflict with telling Rick that she was pregnant, and if she wanted to have the baby. Flying by the highly controversial abortion attempt, more of note was her confrontation with her husband earlier: "Were you gonna tell me?" accuses Lori, when Rick is revealed to have concealed the information that Hershel wants them gone. That one'll come back to bite her later. Testing the waters of trust isn't exactly wise when you're holding onto a big one, yourself. In fact, she had the balls to ask "Does it matter?" when Rick asked her how long she'd been keeping the secret of her pregnancy from him. Really, she of all people should have known that was an extremely stupid question.

Perhaps the single most amazing thing about "Secrets", however, (besides Dale and his magic) was that things got said. Not a lot else happened, as is theme with this current season -- but secrets were outed, and people acted responsibly about them. Rick tried to reason out why his wife slept with another man. Possibly because he is made out of empathy and eats understanding for breakfast. There is likely to be fall-out from this in the next episode, but that's what makes The Walking Dead's explorations continue to be quality writing: people learn, people evolve (except you, Shane), secrets get to be said, and then we know that we'll get to watch how that affects everyone.

Till next time: exactly how much did Glenn's vaguely foreshadowing-sounding "I always do [come back]" alarm you?

TV Recap: Dexter, "Sin Of Omission" S6E8

Dexter's characteristic narrative picks up the episode expunging on the innocent nature of children -- trusting everything and everyone -- but maybe what he really should have been expounding on is the relationship between a brother and sister. That's certainly what Dexter's Season 6, Episode 8, "Sin Of Omission" seemed to be circling around, while Dexter circled the DDK killer.

Having newly returned from his unscheduled hiatus in Nebraska, Dexter attempts to apologize to his sister. He uses his newly minted -- and perished -- best friend's death, along with that of his wife, for his weepy doe-eyed defense, while Debra points out that his unauthorized but unpunished vacation will make it appear like he's being given preferential treatment. Plus, you know. The maniac out there offing people. But Dexter's careless use of Debra's blinders when it comes to her brother is more the touchy subject. And it's truly a tough situation for both of them. Their pointedness, and her sighing acceptance of his apology (how many of you could tell she knew she was going to forgive him?) continues their relationship as one of the better parts of the show.

But things aren't going to be getting easier. Because let's jump to Travis being affectionately adorable with his own sister -- a clear indicator that everything's going to end poorly. It's a tried and true process, especially since Professor Gellar has nothing better to do than stand around in people's backyards. He's clearly suffering some kind of separation anxiety, but Travis wants none to do with it. His age-old attempt to get his sister to take an impromptu vacation tanks on the usual note. Because that worked out so well for Dexter, too.

Meanwhile, our sad sister-lying anti-hero has found himself at a funeral where he gains a particular twitchy nose as Brother Sam's ashes are spread. It looks vaguely like he may be feeling emotions. And is drastically allergic to them. Also, his curiously proud thought that Sam's message may have helped him because he didn't kill Jonah seems to fall vaguely flat when considering that he did, in fact, kill Kyle, the actual person Sam asked him to forgive. But good try, Dex. But... no.

So Dexter decides to use his newfound powers of not killing certain people when it's emotionally convenient to approach Travis, laying out such blatant lies as "I'll take care of it" and that the police don't need to know. Gives you strange visions of a future where Dexter works for hire. Got a problem? Not anymore you won't!

At this juncture, "Sin Of Omission" offers us a side case to take a breather on. A call-girl has gotten herself dead, thanks in all part to the solid combination of drugs and slippery surfaces. Dexter proves that he's still actually really good at his job when he decides to show up, and new black detective proves that he's starting to fit in by showing displeasure at LaGuerta's surprise appearance. For lecturing Debra so hard on how a lieutenant doesn't go to the crime scenes, she's not really setting a great example. No one's surprised.

Back at homebase, some things happen with Dexter's new fanboy -- that guy from the righteously cancelled "Better With You" -- which are mostly throwaway, and even more likely to have bearing later when things explode in a dark and morbid fashion. This is "Dexter", after all, and lest we not forget that Fanboy is working on an alarmingly accurate 3D version of the station. More importantly for our episode theme, however, Batista's sister arrives with an agenda her overprotective brother can't quite accept. Their banter is somewhat predictable, but continues the thread of siblings and their -- occasionally convoluted -- attempts to shelter one another. But whereas Dexter or Travis' is born of the need to shield from darkness, Batista is shouldered with the common dating problem.

As Dexter indulged in a bit of illicit research, concerned over the police's ability to actually do their jobs, it has to be pondered how poorly Dexter's habits reflect on the station. His somewhat selfish aim to off the city's most infamous serial killers continuously leaves the police out in the cold, appearing crippingly unable to catch even the slightest one. He should possibly be concerned with how the public is going to run him and everyone else out of there with pitchforks if they don't catch somebody once in a while.

In some filler, LaGuerta confronts Debra with some more of her passive-aggressive bullshit, and Travis is forcefully reunited with his mentor, but the most poignant, again, is Debra's questioning of Travis' sister. In just a few words, the woman gets across exactly what situation Debra can look forward to -- is in now. It should've been slapping her across the face. When faced with early trauma, brother shuts himself off and won't speak up about his feelings? Debra thinks that the woman probably knows something -- not necessarily that Travis is a killer -- but is hiding it? Does this blind-spot for a brother's darkness resonate at all with her? Cause it should. Her later joke with the therapist about believing Dexter will one day kill her can be laughed off, but not by the viewing audience, who might feel a bit of a jar for that potential foreshadowing. "Sin Of Omission" makes it feel as though we are temptingly growing closer to that inevitable moment when Debra accepts -- because, in a way, don't you think she knows something's up? -- that her brother is not who she thinks he is. Oh, and he kills people.

And, of course, her therapist has a point -- but not one that will serve Dexter. Driving Debra home to give her brother some potential venting time only causes her to see him as he leaves for parts unknown, unable to explain to her where he's going. His continued "something's come up" and "gotta go somewhere" are no longer going to cut it, as Debra feels increasingly let down by a relationship she's coming to depend too heartily on. Her need to stand over Dexter and vent to him every single tiny frustration in her life gives her a crutch that she'll soon pick up and beat him over the head with for not reciprocating. It feels definitely like she's no longer going to let him get away with as much shit as before.

But this episode manages to mix the sweet with the bitter. Her emotional "It's not a burden for me to be there for you" rings heartfelt and thoughtful to the family condition. Too bad she forgot that she has an emotionless lump for a brother. Dexter hasn't though; he has no compunctions leaving her in the lurch to go hunt down Gellar. On the bright side, he manages to phrase it as going to "rescue Travis", so we manage not to hold it too much against him. This time. Or else we are merely reminded that we are rooting for a guy whose urges to kill are stronger than his human feelings.

Oh, and, Quinn is drunk (he should realize he's at his lowest point when even Masuka displays more restraint and better judgment), LaGuerta has some dirty laundry (no one's surprised), and Batista scares Better With You off of his sister.

But perhaps the most gut-wrenching part was also the most inevitable: the reveal of Travis' sister as the whore of Babylon, Gellar's latest victim. The episode strung it out as long as possible, pulling away at the curtain, only to have her trussed up in a mask. Debra's reaction was meant to be our own: a gasp of recognition and guilt. And here ends the line of Travis' attempts to protect his sister, the last powerful emotion he was able to cling to, and begins an even more dangerous one: vengeance. In trying to get back his disciple, Gellar has created a powerful enemy -- whose allegiance with Dexter marks the end of the episode.

One sister down. What does this say about Debra's chances?

Fairytales in Movies: A Hollywood Ever After

"Trends are undoubtedly a Hollywood affair, and recent productions make it clear that re-envisioned fairytales is one that has been plucked and embraced whole-heartedly. With two Snow White theatrical releases on the horizon — and one red-headed step-child going straight to video — two fairytale-rooted television shows, and the announcement of a pair of Beauty and the Beast projects, it’s evident that the time is ripe for the reign of princesses, the sweeping romanticism of happy endings. But the creative trend is not to satisfy the wistful child’s spirit in all of us, as instead a second pattern has formed: the ‘dark’ retelling...."

[ Read more at Picktainment.com ]

Star Wars, Comics, & Ray Park: The Day I Had The Best Idea Ever

I know, I know, I owe you guys some movie reviews; but since there's only five of you or something, I don't feel all that bad. We're gonna take a little detour towards What Happened To Me This Weekend instead.

Also, this post is sponsored by Your Mother Buying You Pizza.



Last Friday, I was sitting on the internet -- doing something very productive and responsible -- when my Twitter alerted me that I had a message. I'm sure I finished whatever productive and responsible thing I was doing before checking it. The point is-- the message was from a friend who'd seen a message that actor and all-around hotstuff Ray Park would be at some place called Frank 'n Sons comic store on Saturday, the 20th. Who was I to ignore a call of destiny like that? Saturday, the 20th, was the next day. So I went right to the business of looking up this Frank and something place. The name actually came up as Frank 'n Sons Collectible Show and turned out to be AN ENTIRE WAREHOUSE OF COMIC RELATED GOODS.

I found this part out when I drove there and an hour and a half later was greeted by a gigantic warehouse, a gaggle of Stormtroopers (official term for multiple Stormtroopers in one area, fun fact), and the equally gigantic traffic pile-up its lack of parking space created. Eventually, though, I found some overflow and strode by way back to the quite obvious celebration.



After loitering outside to see if I could see anything really exciting worth sticking around for, I decided to head into the building proper and check this thing out.



As it turns out, a "collectible show" is kind of like a convention that is open regular business hours. Walking into the entrance, past vendors of hot-dogs and tacos, I was immediately greeted with the fact that I couldn't go anyway because thirteen people wanted to stand back and take photos of Darth Vader. So, exactly like a convention.

They'd basically put all the Star Wars event stuff right in the entryway so it was easy to find and also sure to create as much of a human traffic pile-up as possible to the point where you have to physically force people around you to go in another direction. So... exactly like a convention.



... and I got a picture of Darth Vader. I mean, hell, why not, I was stuck there, wasn't I?



Notice how all my pictures are slightly out of focus and yellow-tinted? exactly like a convention!



Also, this girl who I bothered for a picture for reasons obvious to my family members.

Following this Celebration-flashback moment, I decided to get myself a look-see at what the rest of the building held in store. Ha, get it-- cause it's a store. Anyway, I started to do a loop around the entire outside. The place is basically filled to the brim with booths of varying sizes pretty much filled to bursting with trading cards, illegal movies, comic books, action figures, anime posters, figurines, old Barbie dolls, a surprising amount of Disney Princess propaganda, and, of course--



... tables for the gamers.

Evidence of all that other stuff, now showing:







In the milisecond it took to take this picture, the screen went from showing all the rangers to just Tommy's face. I know, I like it better this way, too.









Hahahaha. ... Twilight Barbies suck.

... yeah, I definitely only took that picture to do that.





This is probably my favorite action figure ever. As a child, I know I wouldn't have needed anything else in the world once I had a zombie Spiderman holding his own detached leg. I mean. Really. We were all missing out in our younger years, and we didn't even know that this empty hole we felt but couldn't ever reach was just waiting for zombie Spiderman holding his own detached leg.

(He's got a leg off.)



"What's with all the Belle stuff?" you might ask.



"Seriously, get back to the Star Wars part."



"I'm so eff'n serious, take your freaky obsession with Beauty and the Beast and get off the internet."

Well, too bad. Those were for my sister. And so is this:



But not this. This is just for some girl who knows my sister:



And this is for me:



And this is OF me:



By now you might have guessed that I had company. That's right. Sometime while I was wondering around, the girl I'd invited and then forgotten to tell her where I'd be standing to wait for her found me anyway. Her name's Taryn and she has the debatable pleasure/no other choice but to work with me at our mutual non-paying office. But Taryn didn't find me until after I-- Oh, damn. I seem to have left out part of the story.

Okay, forget all that shit about dolls -- but not the first part, because that was real -- just the-- you know what. Remember when I was doing that circuit all the way around? Well, I finished it. And I ended up back where I started. (There's something depressing and philosophical in that)

That place was here:



Staring at some dude's cool artwork. There were three... possibly four or more of them there -- all with tables set up to display their art. Mostly people show off trade cards at these sorts of things and sell them for a lot more money than I imagine trade cards are worth, but since they also take custom orders and sit there and work on them in front of you so you can see how painstakingly awesome it takes to make one of them... I guess they get away with it. Unlike me getting away with that sentence.

The point is, I struck up a conversation with these fine gentlemen and usurped most of the space in front of both of their tables with little to no shame. We learned all about each other, and I got a free comic book series out of calling myself a writer, so I'd say it went pretty well. In fact, I spent quite some time there. Standing right there. Looking right at this view:



Do you see anything notable about this picture? No, it's not the head of the man using a tiny-ass paintbrush to paint a kick-ass picture of Darth Vader. Here, let's give you a more obvious and slightly less camera-blurry try:



Is that... I don't know... RAY PARK STANDING RIGHT THERE? HOW LONG HAS THAT BEEN GOING ON? -- that's pretty much what my brain did once I realized that's whose ass I was generously staring at whenever I glanced up to get a feel of the room. Somewhere, somehow, Ray Park had ninja'd himself into the room and there was already a line of people forming who'd become aware of this fact slightly faster than I had.

This was also about the time Taryn showed up, so I suggested we get into that line. It wasn't very clear where it ended, so we transfered ourselves around the area several times -- once, I awkwardly opted we not stand at the very end because then we'd have to bustle past the other, less known actor who I had no desire to pay for a signature from, much less anything for him to sign. Up to this point, I hadn't had anything for Ray Park to sign, either, but I solved that by purchasing an over-priced trade card from that artist whose head you observed in that other photo if you weren't too busy recognizing Ray Park's ass before I could.

So it's now the part of the show called: Watch Me Get Closer to Ray Park Like A Stalker Getting More Courageous Right Before He Hits A Stresser And Resorts To Physical Measures (I'm going to regret my sense of humor should any of Mr. Park's associates ever Google this and get just the right combination of letters in the short summary you get from your search queries)











At which point, it was my turn, and there WAS a picture taken, but it's for posterity and not, in fact, sharing on the internet. You guys can all shut it, because you already got that dorktastic picture of me wearing the sunglasses from Watchmen, so. Yeah.

On a more normal, well-adjusted note, Ray was a doll and he shook everyone's hands and politely pretended I didn't look like a pale, exerciseless wonder when he asked if I practiced martial arts after I told him his combat skills were kickass. I dodged past the topic by also informing him that he was, quote, woefully underused in Heroes, to which he agreed. We then decided that there was still hope for him next season because he was (useless spoiler warning format) not dead. Since this was Heroes we were talking about, we probably could have come to this conclusion even if he WAS (useless spoiler warning format for something not even a spoiler) dead. Unless they decided Sylar didn't have enough screen-time or they needed another uselessly dramatic real-death to make up for all the uselessly dramatic just-kidding deaths. Again, Heroes.

I walked off afterwards in a kind of glow of happiness having to do with how I didn't just blurt out OMGIAREFANCANITOUCHYOU, and because Taryn wanted to get a look around the place. We'd made a second circuit, and she'd bought me a corn-dog before my brain decided to alert me that I SHOULD HAVE DONE SOMETHING HEROESMUSH RELATED. HeroesMUSH, as it were, is the community of awesome and yet rightfully scary internet friends I have that roleplay Heroes related things with me. This community likely fuels my last ill-omened attachments to the fandom far better than the show itself could do. Plus, one of them had told me about Ray Park being here in the first place, so I rightfully owed them. Plus, I wanted to see all their text-faces when I showed them later.

So, I flipped open my notepad I keep in my purse and cleverly scrawled out a 'hello' to them on one page. Then I added the internet's version of a heart because, why not, and poor Mr. Park probably wouldn't realize what it was until it was too late anyway.

Now, the dilemma here was that 1) I'd already been in the autograph line and would look odd jumping in it again, and 2) I'm frightened of things.

Taryn got to watch as I inched my way closer and closer, debating inwardly about whether or not I'd actually do this thing and did I feel it was worth the potential surprise and admiration of my friends to suffer the potential embarrassment of being called out for budging in line a second time. If I'd known the reaction HeroesMUSH would have then like I do now, I probably would have done something a lot racier. The point is, I didn't know, and 2) I'm frightened of things.

Somehow, someway ( much like how Ray Park got into this building in the first place ), I wiggled my way towards the front of the line and waited until everyone was distracted by some asshole busting into the line to film some celebratory handing over of a honorary membership plaque to insert myself into the front of the line like I'd been there the whole time. I apparently did this with enough authority because, while being filmed, Ray glanced over to me, apologized for being a second, and said he'd be right with me. On the one hand, huzzah, I'd successfully infiltrated the line. On the other hand... I was clearly forgettable enough to get away with it.

Some Asians dudes who'd also sort of busted their way into the line looked like they were about to overrule me, though, as the cameraman waltzed off, and they'd even opened their mouths and started to talk -- when I started to talk LOUDER. That's right, I, who am 2) frightened of things, thrust out the notepad and asked very quickly and importantly if I could just get one more fast picture and would he hold this for it. He glanced at the writing first, though, which was wise of him, and asked me what it was for. I blurted out about how it was a greeting to my friends so he took me at my word and flashed his best 'saying hi to your friends' face, which I am fairly positive is the face the creators of emoticons meant when they invented :D.



Everyone on the game basically flipped the fuck out at the sight of this picture and it now adorns the front page to the game. I'm fairly certain I've never been more happy to have had the courage to do something in my life. Also, I'm keeping that page in my notepad and assaulting every Heroes star I can run across to make this awesome moment into an awesome trend.

Oh, and here's Stalker Watches Ray Park Get A Plaque, for your viewing pleasure:







It's like an old-time flip-book, ain't it folks?

Afterwards, I basically chilled out with the artists some more -- which included having Ray Park ninja himself right next to me at one point (amazingly, I stayed calm and just sort of nonchalantly glanced over at him) -- and got a bunch of business cards and the booth number of a guy who's so fantastically British that the BBC sends him real Doctor Who memorabilia. I'm seeing it already, my next birthday: A real jacket worn by David Tennant... what's that? An apartment? Who needs it! I'll be the best Doctor ever.

But yes. I spoke a lot, Taryn listened a lot, and then we watched that kid actor take cute pictures with the Mandalorians.







The name Daniel Logan sprung to mind just now. So maybe that's Daniel Logan. Which doesn't sound foreign enough for the odd accent he has that I couldn't place.

Basically, after that, the shindig was over because I'd spent so much time chatting up the same two-three artists, so Taryn and I split ways and I walked back to the car and drove the hour and a half home dying to already be there so I could share my :D picture with the rest of the internet. And now it's with you guys. I hope you feel as special having witnessed that as I did taking it. Now get out of here and find out for me where Brea Grant will be in the next week.

Oh, and here's the card. It will now go in a place of honor next to my one of Biggs signed by Garrick Hagan. Are we sensing a pattern? I love patterns.



Now I'm going to go complain about this Joaquin guy who Quality Checked the second lava cake out of my Dominos' order.

Movies: My Run To The Oscars, The Shortlist

This announcement is a bit overdue, but here it is:

A while back, after seeing an article in Entertainment Weekly about "25 Movies You Should See Before The Oscars", I then and there decided to make a Run To The Oscars (March 7th, 2010). In previous years, I was interested but not very invested in the Oscars because, after Return Of the King swept up, annihilated, chewed up, spit out, and then liberally mocked the competition during its year, I really didn't see many of the movies nominated. Most of what I had seen fell into the sci-fi/fantasy categories, meaning they'd be up for Sound Editing or Costumes, if that, and then were never spoken of again.

This year, though, I have a list. A list which is now narrowed in a bit more that the actual nominees have been announced. It runs as such:

The List as it appeared in the Entertainment Weekly article
I've gone ahead and added what they've been nominated for, if anything, so I can keep that in mind while watching.

Up in the Air (George Clooney for Best Actor, Vera Farmiga for Supporting Actress, Anna Kendrick for Supporting Actress, Best Director, Best Motion Picture, Adapted Screenplay)
Avatar * (Art Direction, Cinematography, Best Director, Film Editing, Original Score, Best Motion Picture, Sound Editing, Sound Mixing, Visual Effects)
The Hurt Locker * (Jeremy Renner for Best Actor, Cinematography, Best Director, Film Editing, Original Score, Best Motion Picture, Sound Editing, Sound Mixing, Original Screenplay)
Precious (Gabourey Sidibe for Best Actress, Mo'Nique for Supporting Actress, Best Director, Film Editing, Best Motion Picture, Adapted Screenplay)
Inglourious Basterds * (Christoph Waltz for Supporting Actor, Cinematography, Best Director, Film Editing, Best Motion Picture, Sound Editing, Sound Mixing, Original Screenplay)
Invictus (Morgan Freeman for Best Actor, Matt Damon for Supporting Actor)
An Education (Carey Mulligan for Best Actress, Best Motion Picture, Adapted Screenplay)
Up (Animated Feature, Original Score, Best Motion Picture, Sound Editing, Original Screenplay)
A Serious Man (Best Motion Picture, Original Screenplay)
The Messenger (Woody Harrelson for Supporting Actor, Original Screenplay)
Julie & Julia (Meryl Streep for Best Actress)
A Single Man (Colin Firth for Best Actor)
Crazy Heart (Jeff Bridges for Best Actor, Maggie Gyllenhaal for Supporting Actress, Original Song)
The Last Station (Christopher Plummer for Supporting Actor, Helen Mirren for Best Actress
Nine (Penelope Cruz for Supporting Actress, Art Direction, Costume Design, Original Song
Star Trek * (Makeup, Sound Editing, Sound Mixing, Visual Effects)
District 9 * (Film Editing, Best Motion Picture, Visual Effects, Adapted Screenplay)
Fantastic Mr. Fox (Animated Feature, Original Score)
The Lovely Bones (Stanley Tucci for Supporting Actor
(500) Days of Summer
It's Complicated
The Young Victoria (Art Direction, Costume Design, Makeup)
Bright Star
The Informant


Because some of these films are still in theaters, or not released on Netflix until later March, the list will likely remain incomplete, so I'm focusing in on the really important ones so far. Actually, I made the mistake of starting with all the ones I was interested in seeing outside of wanting to complete the list, so... the next few weeks might lack in inspiration unless I'm really surprised.

The ones I've currently watched have *s next to them, and their individual reviews will follow. Till then, here's a short, hopefully frequently updated Shortlist you can use for easy reference:

THE SHORTLIST

Avatar * B. A grade for pure visual effects, if anything else. The plot is tried, but no untrue, but the greatest criminal activity is the highly underused but potentially huge characters. B is really for beautiful, beautiful, Beautiful.

The Hurt Locker * B+. Gritty, intense, with a brilliant sense of pacing inside individual scenes that doesn't quite make it to the whole picture. Very real deliveries from all actors. I support Jeremy Renner's nomination in this.

Inglourious Basterds * B-. Inventive storytelling, gratuitous use of violence, humorous caricatures that somehow still fill the screen. Yeah, it's Tarantino. Very brutal in its uncut gore, unforgiving, but a good round of fun if you don't take things personally. Holy crap, Christoph Waltz for his role. You'll never love and hate to be creeped out by another bad guy more.

Star Trek * C+, B. Fantastically fun, full of action and gumption. Unfortunately, also full of a less charming and more pushy-brat Kirk. Between him and an equally angsty Spock, there's no time for anyone else. Also, death by lens flare.

District 9 * A. The set-up and documentary style pulls you into an every day story about illegal aliens, from space. Earthy yet otherworldly, meaningful and visual. A fresh cast of faces you won't have to recognize from other films.


"Up" is currently in the queue.


1 month and 7 days left.

Life: I Believe I Can See The Future; Because I Repeat The Same Routine

At 7:00 AM this morning, I was in my car, illegally planted by the curb, eagle-eye watching the cars parked in a more legal fashion along both sides of my street in furtive hope that one of them would soon leave, allowing me to squeeze into its vacated spot. At least once, I was not fast enough spinning my car around to the other side and someone pushier than me waltzed in instead. By 7:40, I was camped out behind the car of a woman walking towards it with her purse, with my blinker insistently informing anyone hopefully waiting behind me that this one was friggin' mine.

The funny (read: not) part of this, of course, being that I would be moving my car again later the same morning to drive to work. By the time I returned home, the dance would begin again. It's really the only thing so far that's regularly frustrated me about living here. Because the roomy parking lot directly next to our building requires you to be out by morning, we're forced to play this ridiculous game battling too many cars for too few metered spaces out on the street.

As for the rest of the life, the blogposts have slowed because I've been gathering enough to even say. Life has become a repetitive schedule of familiars, and mostly all in the good way.

My mornings see me in one of two offices where I go about trying to find things to do or people to pay me to do them. More than half of those days, I'm out by 2 PM, home by 3:30 PM with the help of some lovely traffic, and it isn't usually too terrible making a few rotations around the block before a parking spot becomes available. This, however, does not usually endear me to wanting to move it again until I utterly have to.

The rest of my time has become divided between two options, both of which are centered around their ability to give me internets. They are as follows:

1) The Starbucks I Can Walk To From My Apartment

Not wanting to move my car makes this walking-distance business a favorite. However, guilt compels me to buy something when I go there so, it costs me money. Also, when it rains, I'm not so much encouraged to go out walking. However, since the latter only applies to APOCALYPSE WEEK, it doesn't quite count.



APOCALYPSE WEEK, as it were, was a full week of rain. Rain, not so bad. Torrential downpours of biblical proportion... slightly more so. You can't even see the rain right in that picture, but I assure you is it going almost straight sideways and at speeds that could stab you in the neck. Rain like this drives Californians crazy, as it turns out, and I'm fairly certain that half of the state remained cradled in their homes out of fear during that week because traffic was terrific, ignoring that you were thundering through huge slippery puddles and had a visibility of little to none.

It was, actually, this WEEK that allowed me to discover option #2, nestled in this shopping mall connected by this courtyard which I'm positive looks better when it's not raining but I haven't bothered to take another picture so you're just gonna have to deal.



2) Borders That Has Free Parking

That's right. Free. Parking. In a garage. And for this, I will forever love them. Not to mention that they are comfy, not powered solely by their A/C, and are full of books which I love a good deal more than coffee, which I do not like at all. Borders is not without its down-points, however.



For instance, though I discovered this perfect cozy spot on a windowsill behind some bookshelves where all anyone could see of me was my feet and I felt secret and alone... there was no outlet in sight. Okay, there was an outlet. But it didn't work. So I'm not counting it. Therefore, no outlet. Approximately one and a half hours after sitting down, I was forced from my comfort zone to find a source of electricity.



In Borders, you have about two options (if you want seating... which, I don't always get around to). The first is the coffee shop below which is quite like Starbucks and where you will be surrounded by a similar crowd all going for the same spots. It is also here that you're apparently presenting yourself to be approached by anyone in the vicinity willy-nilly.

The second option are the chairs along the stairs where you can probably get an outlet if you manage to claim a seat on the outsides near the pillar. I like these chairs. Mostly because I'm allowed to turn them around backwards and use the railing as a foot-rest.

This position is especially endeared to me now because it allowed an Encounter. This is what I'm counting as my first real Celebrity Sighting because the first one was someone I didn't know, and the second one was someone no one else knows. So that kind of defeats the purpose.

No, this one was bona-fide. Because, I was chilling out in my seat with my feet up on the railing and my computer in my lap and, you know, something really epically important on my screen, when a tall lanky form bounded up the stairs. Perhaps he was followed or lead by the attendant he later began talking to... I don't know, why would I be watching the attendant... the point is, I thought I recognized the face despite that it was being partially blocked by a cleverly worn hat. In my sheer surprise, I yanked my headphones off to see if hearing the voice would cement it. And it did. The face? Matthew Lillard. I'm so very sure of it. Check out this tiny-ass, highly questionable evidence.



I whipped open my backpack to take instant proof of this sighting only to find I'd cleverly left my iPhone at home where it would do me loads of good sitting on my desk like a shiny paperweight. So I had to snap this one with my phone where I was instantly reminded that I hadn't turned the sound off because it resonated the store with its extremely obvious "shutter" sound. After this, I was pretty much too paranoid to look up to see if I'd been pointed out for my paparazzi-impression. So I just watched. And lamented that I wasn't obnoxious enough to harass someone who looked like he was in a hurry and didn't feel like being noticed like he wasn't a normal person on a hunt for a good book.

Unfortunately, Borders closes at 9PM. This is early. Not only is this early, but it is part of their new 'winter' hours. These hours are so very new that, without fail, every time they make an announcement over the PA about how they are closing in half an hour and it is eight-thirty someone near me makes a surprised exclamation about how they're closing early. Without fail. Either that or, like me, they are just so irritated by this fact that they feel they must announce it out-loud in similar surprise.


So days sort of blur together as one giant choice between deciding whether to go to Starbucks, freeze, but have one more precious hour of online time, or go to Borders, be comfy in a chair but have to leave in a herd by nine.

Oh. Though, there was this one nice day where my sister and I decided to go to Sprinkles to get her a celebratory birthday cupcake. Then she said we should find a nice place along the beach to sit down and eat them. So I plunked down in the passenger seat with the cupcakes in my lap and we drove for a while... a really, actually, incredibly long while. Apparently, no place all along Malibu was satisfactory because we ended up not on the coast at all but entering Camarillo before the day was over. I comically asked my mother what she'd like from this venture into our old place of living but, since we only stopped right at the limits to get gas and turn around, the snapshots are all out the window of various places along the beach instead.

Enjoy anyway. Because they're just that pretty. And I don't feel like saying anything about them.














Actually, one more thing.



This is what I did on Saturday while other people I happen to know were, like, shoveling or something. I was planted in the lovely courtyard outside the walkable-distance movie theater I just discovered, ruminating over my first 3D movie experience (AND HOW MUCH IT COST ME) and sipping on this delicious Coldstone Cake N' Shake.

You may now commence being jealous.



Then you can reassure yourselves by checking your bank account and being secure in the knowledge that you are less broke than me. I guarantee this is true.