Episode Report Card Demian: F | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT A Call To Many Crappy Arm-Like Digital Inserts Of Discontent
By Demian | Season 7 | Episode 1 | Aired on 09.11.2004
Golden Gate Bridge. Barbas flames in atop the support tower to find Stupid Uncle Phil -- remember him? Yeah, me neither -- meditating in the same place upon which he was so violently attacked that morning. Just die already, Stupid Uncle Phil. Barbas flames out immediately, the Dolt sporks into Barbas's place, and again with the questions and the stupidity and the hammy overacting and The Angrily Constipated Chimpanzee Face Of Unwatchable Ire And Rage and you know what? Just reread the parallel paragraph from the pre-credits sequence, only when you get to the part where the Dolt relents, pretend I instead described to you how the Dolt's sporking bolts of Stupid-Elder-killing electricity leave Zoloft in a bitty pile of ash atop the bridge. Spectral Barbas gloats for a bit before flickering out, and...wait a minute! Shakti Piper opened up an enormous wound in the demon's gut not five scenes ago. Who the hell did Barbas summon to heal that, huh? And when the hell did he find time to do it? God, this episode sucks, and I'm actually thinking most of the blame can be laid at the feet of those marketing wizards at the WB. It's becoming pretty clear this was meant to be another of Charmed's two-hour extravaganzas, but the production staff were forced at the last minute to slice it down to an hour, and the disjointed end result is just ass. Not that the two-hour version necessarily would have been any better, but still. God, I hate this show. Oh, by the way: The stricken Dolt just got his massive ass smacked around but good by the final commercial break.
Not!warts and Mrs. Winterbourne and crates and boring! Shakti Piper and her Many Crappy Arm-Like Digital Inserts Of Demian's Discontent stand in the center of the library, with the anguished Dolt slumped on the floor off to one side. Tool is wearing a pair of brown leather loafers with white socks. Stupid Dolt. Raige's Moustache skitters in and pauses to agonize over the stupid Dolt, but Shakti Piper and her Many Crappy Arm-Like Digital Inserts Of Demian's Discontent propel her towards a pile of books on a nearby table. Raige's Moustache flips quickly through the topmost volume and recites the following spell:
We call upon the mortal ways
And gods who guide but may not stay:
We seek those of divinity
To separate from and set them free.
The lower four Crappy Arm-Like Digital Inserts Of Demian's Discontent dissolve into a glowy golden cloud of Hindu mojo that rises from Piper's body as a similar cloud erupts from the stupid Dolt's limp form. The two clouds join and shoot up towards the library ceiling, dissipating rapidly as they go until they've vanished. Raige's Moustache gazes on anxiously as Piper gently inquires of the stupid Dolt, "Are you all right?" The stupid Dolt waves his hand around in the air before slouching even further towards the floor. "Piper," Raige's Moustache begins, but Piper curtly orders her off, first to find Phoebe, then to vanquish Barbas with that potion that's not supposed to work, because you need a demonic ex-husband to banish Barbas to the Waste Land. Or wherever. It's getting to be too much of a chore to keep all of this show's contradictory stories straight. Raige obediently and immediately orbs out, leaving Piper alone at last with the de-possessed and dejected Dolt. She wordlessly kneels down beside him and waits for him to speak. "I killed another Elder," he finally admits, and nope! Not gonna look at Brian Krause's face for the rest of the episode, and I mean it this time. Remember how I said way back when that Krause was one of those blond doofus stoner surfer fratboys who hang on to their youthful looks for an unusually lengthy period of time, only to have it all catch up with them in what seems to be a single day? Today's the day. Dude's so haggard in these shots, he looks old enough to be my grandfather. And my grandfather was born in 1893. Do the math. In any event, Piper comforts her rapidly aging, gargoyle-faced ex-husband as best she can, promising that "nobody else has to know" because -- shout it if you know it! -- Withholding Vital Information From Each Other Has Always Worked So Well For Them In The Past. Ass. This show is ass.