First and foremost, kudos and huzzahs to both Wing Chun and Kim for shelling out wickedly awesome recaps whilst I was away in merry old London. You guys rock. No, really. You rock. No. REALLY.
Okay, so, previously on Alias: Syd and Marshall managed to steal something called "Echelon" from a computer in London, and Marshall managed to get his ass nabbed by The Sadistic Dentist Of Asian Persuasion. Will took a psych test that may or may not allow him entry into the CIA research department. Sydney met Vaughn and Alice McPlotPoint at some random bar, and Syd made googly eyes at Vaughn RIGHT IN FRONT OF HER. You know, because they're super-secret spies and shit, and that's how super-secret spies keep their lurve lust hidden from their significant others. And Faye Dunaway showed up and terrified us all with her marbleized upper lip.
Seriously. Faye's scary.
We open up on some stock footage of a satellite orbiting the planet as Sydney voice-overs, "Some people think there's a conspiracy. That the government eavesdrops on everyone. It's no conspiracy. Right now, satellites and ground stations are listening in. Faxes, email communication, phone calls, are all routed to high-speed voice and optical recognition computers. They can analyze words spoken and written in any common language on Earth. The system's called Echelon."
Okay. I had to transcribe that because, seriously? I totally had no fucking clue what Echelon was. And I totally didn't care. I mean, it's been so bloody long since the last episode aired that, quite frankly, I'd forgotten the entire plot. But, you know, that's what recaps and videotapes are for so, like, it was simple enough to go back and fill myself in with Kim's kickin' recap. Know what? STILL DIDN'T KNOW WHAT ECHELON WAS. STILL DIDN'T CARE. Know why? BECAUSE THE WRITERS DIDN'T KNOW WHAT ECHELON WAS EITHER. NOR DID THEY CARE.
And they still don't. Which is why, I'm assuming, they brought on The Expository Moment Of What The Hell Is Echelon Anyway. Thank GOD.
What was that? Oh, yeah. Still don't know what Echelon is. Still don't care.
Okay, so, Syd spills about Echelon to Will while they're hanging out in the Electric Ovary's kitchen, enjoying some strawberry shakes. Will's all, yeah, I already know about that. Sorry to ruin your little super-secret spy revelation. Oh, and way to breach all sorts of security and shit by just yammering on and on about some top-secret communication tool. Oh, yeah, and isn't Echelon illegal? "So, what, it's just like a computer that listens to and reads everything?" he finishes, slurping his shake.
“ Syd's a SPY, and she can't keep her mouth shut about DICK. Seriously. I keep better secrets than her. Even the one about Ron Livingston and how he likes to have his big toe dipped in warmed honey and licked clean. ”
"Yeah, looking for key words; the system scans two million conversations an hour," responds Syd, loading her shake with wheat germ and sea kelp and a bunch of other shit that takes all the fun right out of the shake. "Yeah, while shamelessly violating the Constitution," Will says, wondering why he didn't make a chocolate shake instead because chocolate's an aphrodisiac and he pretty much figures that in order to get Syd horizontal, he's gonna need all the outside help he can get. Syd's all, yeah, well, the NSA argues that Echelon's one of its most important weapons against terrorists. "And they don't abuse the system," she assures him, hoping Will doesn't try that whole "You want some chocolate?" routine. "Somehow, that's unreassuring [sic]," says Will, obviously thinking that poor grammar is the way to a woman's heart. "Unreassuring"? The hell? It's called Merriam-Webster, writers. LOOK IT UP. Syd goes on to say something about Gerard Cuvee and how he figured out how to hack into Echelon. "He was able to pick up secure military communications," she says as we pass into a flashback involving a building blowing up. "Because of that, he was able to locate and destroy a U.S. military lab in Dresden." Oops. Guess Gerard Cuvee having access to Echelon isn't really a GOOD thing.
"In London, we shut down Cuvee's access to Echelon and, thank God, kept it away from SD-6," she finishes. Will's all, oh, so, if someone gets Echelon, like, they become all Big Brother and shit, right? Oh, and again, nice total exposition of every last CIA and SD-6 secret there, Syd. I can't get you to make out with me or show me your boobs, but you're TOTALLY FINE with opening your big fucking mouth about every last thing having to do with the government.
Like, I get how the writers and TPTB are trying to bring us all up to speed in a matter of milliseconds, but, uh, do they have to do it in such an asstastic way? Will gets his face turned into Taipei top ramen and now he's suddenly Syd's mother confessor? I mean, ABOUT EVERYTHING? IN HER KITCHEN? Try to show a LITTLE decorum here, people. Make her give a report or something. Yeah, blah blah blah the apartment has a bug killer in it. Who fucking CARES? Syd's a SPY, and she can't keep her mouth shut about DICK. Seriously. I keep better secrets than her. Even the one about Ron Livingston and how he likes to have his big toe dipped in warmed honey and licked clean. I've never told a soul about that one.
What? Viggo! Stop reading over my shoulder! And -- wait. What's that smell? VIGGO! I told you not to come back from your fucking universal transversal or whatever the hell you call it until you reacquainted yourself with a BAR OF IRISH SPRING! You smell like raw sewage that's been left to rot beneath the left armpit of David Crosby, okay?! What? Oh, you wanna hear about Ron Livingston, do you? Yeah, well, shake hands with Mr. Bubble, dude. Because Ron has a healthy relationship with both hot water AND L'Occitane products, okay? Those two things alone are enough reason for me to toss your skuzzy arse in a vat of Pine Sol. Keep it clean, dude or we're THROUGH.
A Higher Echelon
Syd blathers something about how her best bud Marshall was pulled out of SD-6 and taken into protective custody. "The CIA's gonna give him a life. A real life. I can't tell you what a relief it is to know he's safe," she says, smiling. Yes, if by "safe" you mean "suffering at the hands of an Asian actor who most likely detests taking on the mantle of a torturous madman of Asian ethnicity, but who also really digs the hefty paycheck." Because Marshall's about as far from "safe" as Anna Nicole Smith is from "svelte."
Dark Dungeon Of Dental Dementia. Marshall's freaking the hell out in the makeshift torture chair while one of SDAP's henchmen cranks Marshall's mouth open with a relatively icky-looking dental device. SDAP sneers something about how Marshall took something that didn't belong to him and how SDAP's employer would like it back. Then he goops something out of a squeeze bottle down Marshall's throat. Ew. I don't care what it is, that shit ain't right. I can't swallow Pepto-Bismol without going through about twenty minutes of heebie-jeebies, so this scene is incredibly ooky for me.
As Marshall sputters and hacks, SDAP instructs his men to remove the dental device and tape up Marshall's mouth. Then SDAP blabbles, "Epoxy...is a binary compound. You have just ingested the resin. Alone, it's not toxic. But a combination with a hardener... " Okay. What. Is. With. The. Explanatory. Mouth. Torture. Like, it wasn't enough last week when Sloane put the glass ball in Sark's mouth and we were all, the hell? Only to have Sloane EXPLAIN to us just what the glass ball was and how it worked, and hey, did you know I graduated magna cum laude from the University of Talkative Torturers? Dr. No and I ran neck and neck, dude. Seriously. Goldfinger couldn't even touch us. What a pisher.
I mean it. Really. Doesn't anyone just beat the hell out of anyone anymore? A good solid electrode to the nuts isn't an appropriate torture technique? Are steel splinters beneath the fingernails just too archaic nowadays? Whatever happened to the old standby, razor-sharp hot skewers to the eyeballs? Huh? And where is it written that the torturer has to tell a fucking STORY while he's visiting agony upon his quarry? Guess what? If you're hammering someone's index finger with a MEAT TENDERIZER, you don't have to explain ANYTHING TO ANYONE. Like, enough with the elaborate torture schemes that require explanation, okay? Just cut off someone's ear and be done with it. One more sadistic torturer with diarrhea of the mouth and I'm paying a visit to the writing staff myself and showing them just how effective a Cholula enema can REALLY be. And I guarantee I won't have to EXPLAIN to them what it IS.
Pathetic Plot Device Diner. Will's draining bottles of ketchup as Foolio sits across from him, wondering why the makeup department decided that today was the day to try out the retro-'60s sparkly blue eyeshadow and the sluttish red lipstick on HER instead of on that extra in the disco scene that comes later in the episode. Make-up Department? Ringling Brothers called. Their circus clowns want their make-up back.
Foolio and Will are discussing the idea of impending war in the Middle East and what part Kim Jong Il will play in the whole fiasco when the writers show up, knock back a couple of shots of lighter fluid, set fire to their heads, and start screaming at Foolio and Will to STOP WITH THE INTELLIGENT, THOUGHT-PROVOKING DIALOGUE AND GET BACK TO BUSINESS, GODDAMMIT!!
Knowing that her current palette of makeup is more flammable than a pair of Frederick's of Hollywood crotchless panties, Foolio wisely decides to inform Will that Syd's sleeping off yet another business trip. Will's all, uh, yeah, right, uh, what's with the flaming head guys? Foolio's all, I don't know, dude, but maybe they'll put themselves out if I keep bitching about Sydney's fucking job, so just go with me on this one. Will's all, yeah, okay, whatever. It's just...do you think ketchup can put out flames? Foolio's all, dude? What'd I say? The whole job thing, okay? Like, it never ends! Will, finally getting with the program, is all, oooooh right! Job thing. Yeah. That used to bug me too. But, like, it's important to her, okay? Do you think this is working? Have they put their heads out yet? Foolio's all, shhhhhh! Ever since Danny died, all she does is work. But, like, there's this new guy.
Suddenly, Will's paying complete attention. "She...told you about a guy?" Foolio's all, oh, so NOW you're interested. Before, with the flaming head guys, not so much, but now that Syd might be gettin' some, you're perking up. Toad. "Yeah," she says. "Somebody from work. Michael something. You know him?" Will covers well and answers in the negative. Foolio's all, no, of course you don't know him. Because those bank bastards won't let them date 'cuz it's against the rules. Fuckers. Will's all, oh, okay. So they're not dating? Foolio's all, no, actually, because he's dating someone else. Syd's just pining away, eating all the Ben & Jerry's in the house. Poor thing. Then Foolio hands Will a card from the mailman and says something about a package of his at the post office. Will just looks at the card and then gives her the high sign that the writers have, indeed, dunked their flaming heads in buckets of H2O.
“ Kendall's all, okay, but, like, how will we know you're not signaling your operation? Huh? Answer me that! Irina's all, you won't. And Syd? Give your Uncle Kendall a global thermonuclear wedgie while we're waiting for him to give me permission to do this thing. Kendall looks at Jack as if to warn him that if Irina goes apeshit, it's Jack's fault. Jack just nods at Sydney as if to say, go ahead, honey -- rip Uncle Kendall's boxers clear up his crack. ”
Mama Hari's Den Of Delights. Syd tells her mom that they found Quicksand. Irina's all, yeah, and how's this MY problem? I told your daddy the terms. Full access, honey. No less. Syd's all, Dad fought for you on this, okay? Try not to make him think you're as big of a bitch as we all know you are.
Seconds later, Irina's led upstairs, surrounded by several marshals. Most of the CIA agents fall over themselves in order to get out of her way. Because, you know, even shackled and surrounded by a bunch of guys with guns, that Irina could still do some serious damage. She's taken over to Rick's desk. Rick looks like he just peed himself, just a little, and vacates his seat. Irina holds out her hands, obviously waiting for someone to unlock her hands, which one of the marshals does. Although, really, that's totally not necessary. My hands are practically shackled together while I type this, dudes. She's such a prima donna. Spy Mommy takes her seat at the desk and announces that she'll need to send an access code. Kendall's all, okay, but, like, how will we know you're not signaling your operation? Huh? Answer me that! Irina's all, you won't. And Syd? Give your Uncle Kendall a global thermonuclear wedgie while we're waiting for him to give me permission to do this thing. Kendall looks at Jack as if to warn him that if Irina goes apeshit, it's Jack's fault. Jack just nods at Sydney as if to say, go ahead, honey -- rip Uncle Kendall's boxers clear up his crack. Daddy says it's okay. Finally, Kendall wises up and snaps at Irina to go ahead and send the damn code. Irina starts clackety-clacking away.
After the break, we're hanging at SD-6 with Face Doneaway and one of her plush boy toys. She's leaning over him while he looks at a computer, careful not to allow the drool to drip out of her eternally gaping maw. They're watching the footage of Jack walking through the hotel lobby. Boy Toy's all, looks good to me. I mean, sure, it's been doctored but, like, anything looks normal compared to your witch hazel face. Face Doneaway just barks at him to slow it down two hundred percent. He does it, and tells her that it still looks good and that if it's faked, it's the best damn job he's ever seen. Speaking of "jobs," it looks like Face Doneaway could do with another one in order to return her face to an expression other than Permanent Snarl. She asks Boy Toy if this tape is the last of the surveillance feeds. He informs her that it is. Just then, another boy toy approaches and hands Face Doneaway a piece of paper. "I think you should see this," he says, scampering away before the poltergeist in the closet sucks him in. Face Doneaway attempts to make some sort of expression at the piece of paper but, for now, she's just going to have to stick with Permanent Snarl.
Sloane's Office Of Particularly Putrid Plotlines. Uncle Arvin's hanging at his desk, checking in with the Echelon recompiling on his desktop while he chats on the phone. He's telling someone that SD-6 should have full access to Echelon in a matter of hours. Face Doneaway bursts in and shoves the paper at Sloane, informing him that it's a forensic report. Sloane says goodbye to the person on the phone -- who appears to be Alain Christophe, the head of Alliance or something -- as Face Doneaway paces in front of his desk, occasionally touching her face as if she's afraid it's going to slide off. Which, you know, is probably pretty likely at this point. Before Sloane can even glance at the report, Face Doneaway jumps right in and announces that brain matter was found in the barrel of one of Jack's service pistols. "According to the munitions log," she tenses, "he checked out a Glock 19 compact for one day, reported a single accidental discharge and no casualties." Sloane's all, uh, I thought you were here to look into the events surrounding Auntie Em's death. Face Doneaway leans over the desk, and her face DOESN'T GAP OR FALL OR MOVE. Seriously. She looks more like Mrs. Ida Lowry in this scene than in any other. And if you don't know who "Mrs. Ida Lowry" is, go out and rent the special edition DVD of Brazil NOW.