Episode Report Card Heathen: D+ | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT Chaos Theory
By Heathen | Season 9 | Episode 1 | Aired on 09.25.2002
Mekhi Phifer vaulted to third in the credits. Accordingly, rumor has it that Mekhi Phifer’s agent gives fabulous blowjobs. The credit order is: Noah Wyle doing a grating rolling-chair tribute to Anthony Edwards, Laura Innes, Mekhi Phifer, Goran Visnjic, Maura Tierney, Sherry Stringfield, Ming-Na, Sharif Atkins, “and Paul McCrane.” I’ll bet Mekhi got so high up because he compromised some salary for visibility. And because of his agent’s deep throat.
Dr. Elizabeth “Frizz-Ease” Corday sits silently on the Tube. We’re in London. We know this because when she gets out of the Tube car, she passes Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament, and Ben is chiming and holding up a big sign that says, “You are not in London, Ontario.” Cut to the interior of a British hospital, where a resident is presenting his case to his supervisor while his peers listen. He’s giving all kinds of details, such as what the man ate for dinner and how he spent his time before disease struck him down in the prime of his pints-and-pork-eating life. Elizabeth rolls her eyes at all this seemingly superfluous info and whispers something snarky to the man beside her, which rankles her supervisor – Jim Piddock, the man who played announcer Trevor Beckwith in Best in Show. Love that actor, love that character, so we’ll call him “Trevor.” Trevor is annoyed that she’s not paying attention and decides to skip ahead to Elizabeth’s presentation as punishment. Elizabeth considers threatening Trevor with the Angel of Death’s wrath, but then remembers that with a record of suspiciously dead patients like hers, she’s bloody lucky to have a job, so instead she bites back the urge and nods stiffly.
“Mr. McKay came into the ER…” she begins as they move into her patient’s room. Trevor interrupts to remind her that they don’t have an “ER” in England. “Excuse me,” she says. “Into Casualty…” Trevor decides to interrupt her again, because the double-decker bus that drove up his rectum is illegally parked and got its tire clamped. He picks on her for not giving enough specifics, such as his race. “He’s a 63-year old Caucasian male…” Elizabeth continues tersely. “Man,” Trevor sneers. “I believe the noun for which you are searching is ‘man.’ ‘Male’ is an adjective. I have a male springer spaniel. His name is Barclay. And though I love him dearly, I would never think of bringing him to a hospital.” The residents next to Elizabeth contain their glee, but barely. “Please continue,” Trevor says, both genially and condescendingly. “Most of us speak a smattering of American.” Outright laughter ensues, with a buck-toothed baldie flashing his choppers behind Elizabeth’s right shoulder. If he’d been an inch closer, those things would’ve lopped off her earlobe. Lizzie shoots Trevor a look deadlier than Mark’s tumor.
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