Episode Report Card Sobell: B+ | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT Alexander And The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day
By Sobell | Season 3 | Episode 1 | Aired on 09.16.2007
Hey! New credits. We see a lot of shots of Sona, a few of the new people in the cast, but you know what we don't see? Shots of Dr. Sara. Oh, those of us who read Don't Do Time in the Prison of Love for book club are gonna be pissed if she's gone for good.
After a tasteful pause in the iTunes player, we resume action at the U.S. consulate in Panama City. A guy who's got great Executive Hair -- hairline only a few millimeters off from the high school mark, thick and silvering nicely -- is busy nicely asking someone on the phone if they could please move Michael to a more "moderate" facility, if it's not too much trouble, thanks everso. My, he's diplomatic. How fortunate, eh? When he gets off the phone, he tells Linc, "The good news is, as of yesterday, you're a free man. You got nothing to worry about." "Just my brother," Linc answers immediately. (Awww! It is so sweet when that big-brother instinct kicks in.) The diplomat's all, "Ye-ah..." and replies tactfully, "That's a heck of a story with you two. That even made the news down here." What, the internet delivers CNN down to Panama? 'Tis a wonderment! The diplomat then asks about L.J., and Linc is all, "Yeah, back off the kid, already." I mention this only because the whole L.J. thing makes me suspicious of this guy and whether he's part of the One World Conspiracy. Anyway, assuming Michael makes it out of Sona (he's due to be transferred in a day), it looks good that he can plead out to self-defense. Linc delicately fishes for news of the duffel bag full of money but alas, it is gone. I am also suspicious about this.
We zip back to Sona. The man who was killed the night before is still laying where he was dropped. Presumably he's serving as a warning to others? The rest of the prison courtyard features people scrubbing grills and carefully folding up tarps that collected water, so it's not like the place has descended into a total cesspool.
Michael, who had fallen asleep seated with his back against a pillar, comes to with a start. He looks around and sees Bellick -- naked but for a saggy pair of tighty-whiteys, sporting a set of mean-looking scratches on his torso and some scabby blood on his face -- limping across the courtyard in a daze. Michael quickly moves so Bellick won't see him. It wouldn't happen anyway; Bellick has run into a group of men and is begging them for water. Because they are the baddest of the bad and all, they make Bellick get down on all fours and drink from a muddy puddle like a dog. Right as Bellick's about to lap up a big swig of liquid dysentery, the lead thug splashes the water in his face. Somewhere, the ghost of Tweener is looking up from the bad rap lyrics he's composing in the afterlife, and saying, "Karma, yo."
Another gringo who's hardly wearing anything comes over and pulls up Bellick, telling him, "Get used to it, man. I haven't eaten for days." He looks it, too. The two barefoot men lurch off. I try not to think about all the different types of parasites that can enter the human body via open sores or cuts in the feet.