Episode Report Card Jacob Clifton: A | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT A Stupidly Tilting Planet
By Jacob Clifton | Season 2 | Episode 19 | Aired on 03.02.2006
In Apollo's quarters on Pegasus, he's totally eating noodles! Nice. The pasta of the fathers will be visited upon their sons, once they get their shit together. Starbuck enters and they act all playground. She's all dressed up and ready to go, she's just so itchy and prepared and gung-ho, it's awesome. This is her last thing. You knew it would be, heading into the fire: take that last hit off the concept of being whole, just in case she dies in a hail of bullets. Apollo: "Um...I just wanted to say, um...uh...good hunting." She thanks him, and there's a wonderfully Apollo moment: "Yeah, it's a good plan. It's a good plan. Sharon should be able to jump you into the atmosphere a couple of clicks above the surface." And Starbuck smiles, because that's just so Apollo. "...Down below the Cylon dradis. I know the plan, Lee. I wrote it." He smiles and looks down. She and Bill should have taught a Commander Orientation seminar to the Pegasus crew: "Yeah, he doesn't actually think you're a subliterate moron, he just thinks in specs." "I gotta go," she says, and Apollo takes a moment: "I hope you find him, Kara. I really do." His smile is heartbreaking: beautiful, loving, resigned, supportive. And since it's them, Starbuck's way too adrenalized to pick up on half of the eighteen things he just said, with his mouth and face. "So do I," she says. And gets it. Apollo watches her go. It's rough. How many times, how many ways, can you say goodbye? Without feeling like a total D.Q.? Starbuck and Apollo will one day figure that out and then we'll all know once and for all. They are nothing if not dedicated researchers of the finer points of that. Like how, one day, the owl won't stop counting and just crunch down, and he'll have done us a great service on that day. And then the metaphor goes to a weird place where the Tootsie-Roll center of their relationship is gooey and gets stuck in your teeth. But you know. That works too, really.
Back on Colonial One -- I miss Billy more, here, than anywhere else -- Tory's reading to Roslin from The Colonial Dispatch, as Roslin waves other nameless aides away: "Last night's debate only solidified the perception that Dr. Baltar, for all his charm, is essentially an empty suit when it comes to matters of substantial policy." Roslin smiles that it's "nice" when the press gets it right. Because Madame Airlock should know from warping the Fourth Estate, considering that she and Tom Zarek were all set to detour the entire process in favor of a religiously-motivated coup against the acting government, using cynical cheap-tricks emotional agitprop no less, a mere few months back. Hubris, girl. "Don't forget, the radical religious charge is dangerous," says Tory. And fucking apt, caver. "It may be a low blow from a desperate man, but it's the only issue he's managed to get any traction on. He will keep exploiting it." Tory manages to keep from adding, "...which is entirely your fault, George W. Koresh." Roslin smiles, resting calmly in the bosom of the truly lost: "He's gotta come up with something much, much bigger than that. If he wants to make it the central issue of his campaign, it's not going to work."
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