Episode Report Card Demian: B- | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT Charmed Again, Part The Second
By Demian | Season 4 | Episode 2 | Aired on 10.03.2001
Why, hello there. Welcome to the second hour of the Charmed fourth-season premiere. My name is Demian, and I'll be your cruise director for this part of the evening. Just like I was your cruise director for the first part of the evening. Just like I was your cruise director for all of last season, and will be for all of this season. Rrrgh.
You know that thing I said about "comfort TV" in the last recap? Yeah, well, I take it back.
Anyway, as the second hour begins, we find ourselves back in Hell. The Smoked Bint reclines on her little altar, one hand on the Ball of Perversion, the other stroking her thigh. What a skank. The Source blazes into the foreground, and he's pissed. If you'll recall, the Smoked Bint promised that Rose McGowan's "future [would] be short-lived." Now that Fruma-Shax has been blown to bits by the Charmed Ones, the Bint would like to modify that earlier statement. Rose's "future appeared to be short-lived." She adds that "seeing into the future is not exact." So, the purpose of your existence would be…? Oh, right. Masturbation fodder for the seven heterosexual males in the viewing audience. The Source isn't having it. Now that Rose has hooked up with Piper and Phoebe to restore the Power of Three, "she'll be nearly unbeatable." Not so, claims the Bint. Doesn't The Source recall the agreement between good and evil reached centuries ago? The agreement establishing the forty-eight hour period after one's powers have been granted, during which a witch may choose either side? You know, to "protect free will"? The Source, of course, does not, as said agreement was not reached centuries ago. It was yanked out of Brad Kern's ass shortly before this scene was filmed. The Bint rises from her glowing altar to ooze her way to The Source's side. Adopting a pouty little tone of voice that barrels hell-bent towards Seductive but derails itself somewhere between Irritating and Offensive, she sing-songs a bit about Rose's current vulnerability. If The Source infiltrated Rose's daily life, read her soul, corrupted said soul, and seduced her to the Dark Side, she could very well end up a powerful force of evil. Mind you, he could still off her any time he chose. It's all up to him, you see. This is the sort of filthy talk The Source likes to hear. However, just to make sure she's knows who's boss in the underworld, he threatens her once more. "You better see into the future more clearly, Oracle, or your own future will be..." He pauses, draws a filthy blackened fingernail across her throat, then blazes out. Her own future will be -- what? Spent as OJ's next wife?
Cross-fade to a hospital room. The camera pans across various monitoring equipment before settling on Shane, asleep in the bed. Number one, I thought they were going to release him right away, and number two, I'd mock his bedhead, but I think this boy considers bedhead to be a legitimate personal grooming choice. Shane's thrashing about a bit, as if he's having a nightmare. As he shudders into a slack-jawed state of alertness, a power surge plays havoc with the electronic equipment in the room. He staggers from the bed to his feet just as The Source blazes into the room. Again with the "What the hell?" Again with the "Yes, dear. Exactly." "Who are you?" Shane demands. "For now," growls The Source, "I am you." The Source merges into Shane, in a process that seems somewhat painful for Rose's furry boy toy. Did that sound filthy? I think that sounded filthy. Anyhoo, The Shource pulls himself erect (snerk), wearing an expression of menace he stole from Jack Nicholson. At that moment, Rose's pale, egg-shaped head pops into the window on the room's door. She enters all verklempt, telling The Shource, "Something awful just happened. I -- I can't explain." The Shource looks all innocent and supportive as he coos, "It's all right, honey. I'm here now." Well, duh you're there now. You've been there all night. She's been stomping around town in stiletto heels, blowing up dark demonic forces sent from the flaming maw of Hell, while you've been lying in bed fantasizing about the night nurse. So, yeah, I'll say it: Shut up, Shource. He pulls her into an embrace, gently stroking her hair as he soothes, "It's okay." On this line, The Shource's eyes roll back into his head, shifting quickly from white to blood red to black. Sometimes, the smallest touches are the coolest. His eyes look like shiny black beetles in his skull.