Episode Report Card Erin: B- | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT Truly, Madly, Deeply
By Erin | Season 2 | Episode 18 | Aired on 03.15.2003
Little Sarkie plays with his laptop (hee!) while Sloane and Irina exchange information and vaguely menacing niceties. She says something about contacts, he asks how she is, she says that the extraction went well, he says he meant how is SHE, et cetera. When Sloane asks about her well-being, Sark kind of glances at her as if to say, "How you gonna handle THIS one, Mom?" Irina just smiles beautifully at Sloane and says that she's happy to see him again. Sloane's all, yeah, I was just thinking the exact same thing! Isn't that funny? Sark doesn't think it's funny, and his rather piercing glance at Sloane suggests as much. I'm thinking that the triangular layout of this scene, Irina at one end, Sloane at the other, Sark in the middle, is completely intentional and done solely for the purpose of making us all think, "Happy Little Eeeevil Spy Family." And, like, Sark keeps looking back and forth between both of them, as if he's Syd back on that train when Jack and Irina were discussing naked toast burning or something.
Sloane gets down to business and asks about the genetic database. Irina says something about acquiring it and handing it over to Sloane. Yeah. I don't know what the hell is going on. Sloane blabs about being in Tuscany with Emily, and Irina asks how she is. Oh, what-EVER. Get to the part where Irina threatens Sloane's ass! Sloane speeds up this process by blithering about how Emily misses Syd and how much they both loved her. "As if she were our own," he slimes. Ew! Shut up, Dr. Skeevil.
Irina's face just drops, and this veil of steel comes down. She makes this sort of extraneous hand gesture to Sark and goes, "Excuse us." The HELL? What has HAPPENED to the Sark who assassinated the head of the K-Directorate? He used to shoot people in cold blood, and now he's reduced to a computer jockey who takes dismissive gestures without blinking an eye? I am NOT digging this at ALL.
Once Sarkie slinks off with this rather annoyed expression on his face (and justifiably so), Irina leans forward and is all, okay, buddy, I'm onto you. You think you can wander around here and pull off this "devoted husband my wife is my world" fucking booshit, but I see right through you, you sadistic little warthog. Sloane's all, ooh, aren't we a bit hinky this evening? I suggest you take a fucking nap and step off the Sloane Slander, okay?
Irina's all, oh, I'll step off, alright. I'll step off a platform ONTO YOUR FUCKING POINTY LITTLE HEAD. And while we're at it, mention your so-called "love" for Sydney again, and I'll rip your testicles off, dip them in tempura batter, deep-fry them, and serve them to you on a plate of your own chest hair, okay? Sloane just looks at her contemptuously, instructs her again to get some rest, and leaves. Irina smolders out the window and we're left to wonder whether Sloane's actually Sydney's father or whether Sloane just wishes he'd actually been Sydney's father instead of Jack. Neither option is particularly appealing, if you ask me.
Conference Room Of Endless Expositions. Kendall's ca-ca-ing about Irina and Sloane and how, due to Jack's "intimate knowledge" of Irina (hee!), Langley's seen fit to give Jack operational control of this operation. Heh. Jack has Kendall's joooob! Jack has Kendall's joooob! Neener neener neener! That's right, Kendall! Sit yo ass down! SIT! Jumpin' Jack Bristow's at the helm! (This should in no way suggest that I am not a fan of Terry O'Quinn; quite the contrary. I love him. I dig him the most. Call me, Terry!)