The task: create a 30-second spot and print campaign for Lamborghini. The judges on this one are Linda Kaplan Thaler, a CEO ad exec, and the U.S. head of operations for the client. Chris -- the giant NFL guy I like, with the ears -- volunteers for Excel's PM, based on his ad experience, and immediately regrets it when Markus starts his usual weird, awkward, needy crap. First with the group, then with Chris specifically, then -- at a really inopportune time -- the client rep himself, floating a lame slogan ("Smooth as silk"), which Chris had already expressly forbidden. Mr. Lamborghini gives an emphatic but hilariously disinterested "No." Meanwhile, Marshawn's PM for Capital Edge, and Alla transforms herself into some kind of DP on their video shoot. She can really do anything. Marshawn takes "delegation" to a whole new level, basically appearing onscreen at not one single point in the entire episode.
Chris and the Excel boys try to work around Markus, who goes completely balls-out nuts, capering around and shouting nonsensical orders and contradicting Chris at every turn, until finally he has his walkie-talkie taken away. Seriously. Chris's irritation with Markus last week proves to be only an acorn of his reaction to Markus now, which is as a mighty oak. Which is on fire. With rage. Stripped of all responsibilities, Markus contents himself with standing around on the edges of things and being weird and intrusive. Mark heads up Excel's print ad campaign, making various screwed-up decisions you (and Markus, whom everybody ignores) can see coming from a mile away. Even as your laughter fades from watching these six ex-football players trying to master the finer points of graphic design, circle-jerking over their own artistic brilliance, and squealing things like "Love it!" and "That's hot!" at each other constantly.
Capital Edge makes their presentation first, andâ¦that is weird. They're all dressed in black and holding up posters while whirling around to shout different words from their campaign ("Decadence!" "Passion!" "Ego-Driven!") and it's just so unbelievably queer, it's like watching karaoke, like they're singing that song from Chicago about how they killed their husbandsâ¦only about a car. However, their actual commercial really impresses both judges, and even George basically approves.
Randal returns from the funeral for the Excel presentation, which team clearly thinks they're so totally awesome. Chris talks and talks about nothing at all ("Water isâ¦clearâ¦which is pure and delicateâ¦but it's also, umâ¦powerful") and the execs are not at all impressed. Once everyone's together, they point out how Excel's entire presentation required all kind of crazy explanations and one million words. By contrast, Capital Edge's was clear and cool. Markus jumps in all about how he hated the Excel campaign all along and totally agrees with the judges that he is part of a team of ass-clowns, which Trump points out is a dick move, and it totally is, but also the right call.
Everybody but Kristi votes for an exemption week for Marshawn, and then Team Capital Edge gets toâ¦play ice hockey with the New York Islanders at Nassau Coliseum. That's the worst damned prize I've ever heard of. That's like on Apprentice: Martha when the winners got to do community service as their prize. Sucky. Especially for Rebecca, who sprains or maybe breaks her ankle. Toral accompanies her to the ER, and is adorable. Rebecca looks a whole lot like Natty Gann.
Back in the boardroom, George tells Excel they are all jackasses because they assumed they'd win because it was sports cars, but A) no it wasn't, and B) shut up, show, because you totally did too: ice hockey? Come on.
Carolyn goes after them because of their cruddy print campaign, and Mark takes the blame for every single mistake, and rightly so. Chris thinks Markus should be fired, and Trump points out again that Markus -- while a total douchebag, and he's not denying that in any way -- was actually right, for once. Trump tells Chris not to bring him into the boardroom for the firing. Trump then goes down the line instructing each and every person not to let Chris bring Markus back into the boardroom, because Markus was right and everybody else was wrong. Result: Chris brings Markus into the boardroom. Nobody else, just Markus. Yeah. So you know what happens then: Chris gets fired. And I can't even feel bad about it, because Donald was basically begging you not to do the thing you just did.
week: Rebecca's ankle swells further, and Jen M. does pushups for a creepy old man.
Trump takes us on a quick and shouty trip back to Crazyville with Melissa and Markus from last week, and then we see Kristi's return to the suite. Inside, the women are assuring the men that Melissa is "toast," which bums Chris out because Kristi is the stronger player, and he wants them gone. Kristi comes in and everybody screams, and she interviews that she really thought she was going home. She's clearly riding a wave of adrenaline as she enters, her doofy honking laughter echoing off the walls. It's great, and the relief is just as palpable as it was last week. She tells Marshawn -- and the room at large -- that Melissa got about a hundred times crazier in the boardroom. This is her being polite, see, and low-balling it. Marshawn tells her, "We'll talk about it later," with a very significant look in her eyes, regarding the fact that the walls have ears and mostly very broad shoulders, but Kristi's so hyped she doesn't even really get it. "I'm done talking about it! Time for task number two!" It's fairly cute, and I like her, so I'm sympathetic to her spazziness after the heavy few minutes she's just had.
On the glamorous rooftop terrace of Trump Park Avenue, the women are all wearing coral and pink and orange, and I remember that they dressed alike last week too. I hope this is a conscious team choice, because it's slightly intimidating. Also fun, because you get to see how Alla will tailor her entirely insane wardrobe to the team theme each week. Trump talks about how the Park Avenue building has only just been built, since this is the building where Omarosa got hit on the head and also attacked by racists. Trump cracks a "joke" about this, and Josh laughs. Markus laughs too, kind of. Marshawn? Not at all.
Excel and Capital Edge then learn about their second task. The men all get excited when they hear the word Lamborghini, and start -- to the man -- bouncing stupidly on their heels. Each team has to create a 30-second promotional spot and a print ad campaign using two Lamborghinis, a camera crew, and an editing suite. (I guess the printing press is implied.) He's screaming this information like there's a chopper directly above him. The first judge this week is Linda Kaplan Thaler, the CEO and Chief Creative Officer of Kaplan Thaler Group, "one of the country's hottest advertising agencies." She introduces herself by telling them she wants a "big bang idea." She's joined by Ehren Bragg, the head of U.S. operations for Lamborghini. He's an oily American Eurotrash type with stubby legs and a dorky haircut. Trump reminds everybody that Markus is not exempt, due to being a total tool, and Josh and Chris grin smugly, because he is their loser nemesis and they've been giving wedgies to Markuses since before their first lunch money shakedown.
The teams break, and Markus yaks at Josh about how he sells cars and has a car dealership. Josh actually listens instead of turning bodily away from him like you should always do, and alerts Chris to this fact. See Josh try. Mark -- the creepy-looking hayseed guy who thinks Carolyn would settle down and submit to his authority if Trump weren't around -- interviews that, clearly, "the edge is to the men" because "we all understand the concept, understand the product" and they all, as persons with male genitalia, have dreamed about having a Lamborghini since they were ten years old. Basically, they've already obviously [REDACTED! SHOCKING SPOILER ALERT!] due to a sudden attack of mob prickishness.
In the van, Chris asks if anybody has a "passion" about being PM on this task. He tells us his passion arises from the fact that in real life he's in advertising. You'd never know. I mean, actually you totally would, because he has advertising faults -- concentration on hype and group circle-jerking and explaining the campaign instead of letting it speak for itself. But you'd never know based on the hour of your life. Everybody doesn't care so now he's the PM. He and James have some kind of weird unspoken brotherly thing where they pass an empty water bottle back and forth while he's talking. Who's James? I still have no idea.
The first objective, he tells us, is to meet with the two judges. Heading into the meeting, at the Kaplan Thaler Group, he interviews us that he told them he didn't want to go in with any preconceived ideas about the campaign at all -- they need to find out what Lamborghini wants before they bum-rush them with all kinds of crazy (or utterly lame) ideas. No slogans, no campaigns, nothing. (He's clearly paraphrasing with some hindsight here, because I doubt he was that clear-cut about it, at the time, or at least left enough to the imagination that someone without the sense of an antelope could intentionally fuck it up as badly as Markus is about to.) So, but he's also got the advertising virtues in this regard, letting the client inform Excel's creative process instead of being pushy, and he's really good with the interpersonal and leadership stuff when it comes to actually navigating in that arena. He's damned charming, especially when he's telling you to shut your ass up.
Markus, of course, immediately approaches him with this whispering, toadlike "I already have what I think is a winning slogan." Chris is just a little showy with his condescension here, but God. It's fucking earned. "Before we meet with them you have a winning slogan? Really?" Markus and sarcasm have met, but not formally. "Yes."
They're standing in the hallway outside the CEO's office, okay, and Markus is coming to him with this crap, and he wants to "share it with the group and her and just bounce it off" Chris or whatever. Chris bottom-lines it: "I don't want to be surprised. What is it? Just say it." He's doing a really good job of making an effort to elicit this worthless information from Markus, who's even more ass-kissy and hangdog than usual. "…Smooth as silk," Markus says, and waits for Chris's mind to come shooting out of his excellent pointy ears. Cut to Creepy Mark looking like he might throw up a little, or start crying, because Markus is painful to be around. Chris continues to be awesome: "I think that might be a little premature, let me just say I think it's great, I like that you have that, but it might not be the best idea to come up with a slogan before you meet with the client." Like I just fucking said. Markus isn't getting it and it's clear he thinks he's getting sidelined. Chris interviews that he was very wary of thinking in terms of clichés, and of course (his emphasis) "Markus immediately comes up with a slogan." A lame, generic one.
Quick Quiz! Your Project Manager makes a simple request: Don't come up with any pitches before the client tells us what they've got in mind. And even then, don't be lame, and please keep your mouth shut for once. Do you…A. Secretly think of sixteen awesome slogans or pitches and hold onto them in your genius brain, hoping you'll get at least one opening from what the client says, and then jump in with it, making the team look great?
B. Think of a totally clichéd campaign that has nothing to do with anything except maybe Cigar Aficionado magazine, or possibly the manager's materials at the Godiva kiosk in the mall?
C. Take your PM aside in the hallway and tell him the awesome idea you just had even though he asked you not to, just to make sure that he knows you aren't listening to a damn word he says?
D. Spring it on the client while they're speaking, so that you make your PM look like an ass?
E. Imply that the entire team is on board with your idea, making them all look like idiots and giving the client the impression that they're wasting their time with weird walleyed amateurs with terrible, assy ideas, and thus pre-judge whatever eventual campaign the team actually comes up with?If you answered anything but A., but especially if you answered B. through E., inclusive, stop reading here. I don't want you even reading this recap, Markus.
Lamborghini Guy Ehren is sleazy as hell and telling them about how this is the beginning of the rebirth of Lamborghini. Markus immediately jumps in there with "an idea" he'd "talked to with his teammates," making it seem like A) they all signed on for it and B) he's somehow in charge. "…Smooth as silk," Markus says, and waits for Linda and Ehren's heads to start spinning around like plates. Given nothing, he asks if Ehren's feeling the imagery, and he goes on and on. Ehren says, not unkindly: "No." Markus trails off by kissing some more ass in what you call an ass-kissing "cool down" when you're doing ass-kissing aerobics. Of which he is the kung fu master. Chris interviews that this did retarded damage to "our team synergy," for the reasons stated above, but also because it was the exact opposite of what Chris demanded as the PM, and it pissed him off on top of being embarrassing and terribly awkward for everyone involved.
Marshawn, Capital Edge's project manager, says that walking in there as a group of women means that they have to counterbalance with a campaign built on "strength." That's the weirdest thing about marketing: you and me in the audience will never see the team that pitches the right campaign -- only the resulting advertising -- but if you're in the pitch, you're part of it, as far as the client's decisions. They take a lot of shots of the inside of the car, the engine, lots of angles inside and outside. Marshawn puts Alla in charge of directing the video, and Alla grabs hold with both Russian peasant hands, instructing the camera crew on exactly what she wants, in stills and video, and does all kinds of Director of Photography stuff with her hands and sound effects. She interviews that she is incredibly professional and "can take control of the situation." It's awesome, what she produces, and the rest of the team is impressed. It's especially cool because she's dressed crazily, with a pink fur. Pink fur! She's dressed like a foot, and it's not even a typo when I say that! Actually, everyone is dressed insanely, even Marshawn, who's wearing these crazy brown flared pants with lots of fabric hanging off like autumn leaves, like fringe you might see on a figure skater. I mean, they all look great, it's just very flamboyant. Especially the Spa Queen of Vegas. Pink fur!
Kristi strikes a somewhat sour note bitching about Marshawn not taking an active part in the task, but…I think it's because Kristi is a Down In It person, and will spend the day being Down In It, while Marshawn I think probably saw the video as the lesser part of the task, since she spends the whole time supervising the print ads and letting Alla, Kristi, and Jen M. worry about the video. If asked, I would venture the theory that this is because the video is over in 30 seconds, while the client is going to be looking at the posters the entire time, so I can see the point that there's more meaning inherent in the print shots, because they have to carry the message long after the TV spot is gone and the judges start asking questions. They're permanent, tangible, visible. That's just a theory, but I like it, because what we've seen of these two ladies' personalities fits.
There's a title graphic so that we can learn about Trump's Wisdom. This week we are told to "Be Flexible," and Trump explains to us that "in business it's important to adapt." There's stock footage of him on a conference call, displaying less "flexibility" than, say, "monotone decreeing." None of this has to do with anything. You must "show flexibility and be able to make a change," he states, and then retires to his naturally smug, brain-dead squint and stares at the camera for a while. It's icky.
Josh and Chris talk about the video project, and even though these two are the team captains all the damn time, everybody seems pretty involved. They want to rent a vintage Lamborghini going through a tunnel -- okay? -- and then it will turn into the new model they're advertising. The whole "rebirth" thing. Chris finds out from their client advisor (or maybe someone associated with the show) that they can't stop traffic, and immediately starts strategizing a way around this. Chris interviews that Markus picked up a walkie-talkie from somewhere, and -- I'm sure breathlessly -- asked that he be the one to coordinate with the drivers. "How hard could that be? How hard?" he asks.
Super-hard, Chris. And see, this is the problem right here, because as much of a fucking train wreck as Markus is generally, he's specifically an interrupter of the ADD flavor, and also positively arrogant in his oblivion. This means that coordinating between the team, the drivers, and the videographer -- lots of voices he can't relate to each other because he's not listening in the first place -- is going to be beyond him. Obviously. His only worth, the only thing he's good at besides sucking, is in being critical and deductive, and that's what he should be doing, playing Devil's Advocate. He'd be so happy if you gave him a thing and said, "What's wrong with this?" That's all you'd have to do, and he'd give you great and useful feedback, and besides that, he's going to do it anyway. If he were ten years younger he'd be more computer-savvy and would have become a great systems analyst, and he would be right now working in one of those weird Asperger farms in NorCal where they don't believe in social skills.
So Markus is yakking into the walkie about the weather and shit, and ignoring everything else, because focus is his downfall. Chris finally has to shout to get his attention, telling him to just send the driver down…at the light. Markus, not hearing the full sentence because that's him, just throws out a hand dramatically and walkies, "Yeah, do it," and then looks to Chris like, "See, I'm being helpful and commanding. I'm a real man just like you guys. Now can I play basketball with you guys? Please?" Chris is like, "No, not that, not yet. God." Markus tries to belay the order, but of course the driver is still talking, and it's so instantly shambolic and irritating that everyone is fed up already. Chris tries to explain again the very fucking simple thing that he wants the driver to do, and three words into the sentence, Markus wanders off talking into the walkie again. I want to kick him so hard. Have you ever worked with this guy? I know you have. God. And if you are this guy, I'm not apologizing, because if you knew it, you'd shape up, so as far as you're concerned I'm not talking about you anyway. (PS: I'm totally not! I think you're great!)
Over footage of Markus wandering around explaining nothing to nobody, Josh again gives his always cute but less and less interesting opinion on Markus: "He runs interference? You might even think he works with the women's team...when we're all rowing in the same direction, he's actually out of the boat looking for another boat to get into." And talking his lame ass off about it, too. Later, Chris will repeat this almost word for word, and that's interesting, because I think Josh is exactly the player I think he is, and week we'll see his words coming out of some other Excelmate's face. Someone asks everyone at the shoot to disregard all the things that Markus says. Markus literally wanders into the street and Josh gets even more irritated; Chris is willing to just ignore him until Josh points out that he's standing in the middle of the shot. Josh calls him back over to the group and Markus comes running, and he even runs like a jackass.
Chris takes Markus's phone away and Markus throws it to him, underhanded -- just as Chris tells him not to throw it. That's this whole episode: Markus doing the precisely wrong thing at the exact same time that you're telling him what not to do. Chris tells the driver to ignore anything Markus says for the rest of the day, and interviews to us the result, that Markus literally has zero responsibilities for the rest of the day. They get their shot and it's beautiful, the sun setting as the car zooms past. "If you can't have the responsibility and the wherewithal to direct traffic, how in the world can you run one of Donald Trump's businesses?" He complains that he can't trust his faith in the task as PM with Markus around, and there are silent shots of him looking awfully poetic and thoughtful and thugged out. They wrap and everyone's happy, except for Markus, who's, like, willfully avoiding being a team player at all costs, now bugging a camera operator and ignoring everybody.
Marshawn discusses the print stuff with Felisha, and interviews that she's concerned about the print ads more because of the deadline. She feels confident with Alla, Jen M., and Kristi being responsible for the video. We see Alla two-waying to Marshawn about how she's staying with the print team. The Three Blonde Video Ladies are grossed out by this and Kristi interviews that the video is 90% of the task -- not taking part in it is "crazy." George calls the video "a little too hodgepodge," but thinks it gets the point across. I'm not questioning George, but I think that might be slightly warped by his old-man brain. "MTV and video games will rot your mind" and all that grandpa stuff. "No bee-bee-bee-bee-beeps."
Alla and the video people are having a lovely brainstorm, running with each other's ideas. Alla -- who is worth $12 million and knows a little bit about the consumer here -- is trying to explain that in this market, the normal rules about aspiration don't apply. Lamborghini buyers don't need to be convinced that they deserve luxury, or that they need it to keep up with the Joneses, or justify their purchases to themselves. You never hear this kind of consumer saying, "I deserve this," she says, and I never thought about it that way. Alla is awesome. Jen M., agreeing, is like, "Do you [have to] ask permission?" and Alla loves it. They high five. "Do you need permission?" George is inscrutable. Alla tells us that Marshawn did a good job of delegating, but gave insignificant input. Kristi and Alla practice their boardroom speeches -- I hate when people do this, and both teams do a lot of it this week, preemptively explaining themselves to themselves in order to cover their own doubt -- about how Marshawn doesn't care about the task and how they had to step up and make "an executive decision." Jen M. has slightly more trepidation in this exercise, but I imagine it's compelling for all three, since they were there the whole time. Kristi said they edited for ten hours and is upset that Marshawn never even came to check out the video. I don't know, though; that seems short-sighted considering they must have been in at least moderate communication with her throughout the day.
Mark and Brian work with a KTG print advertising executive -- Mark interviews really excitedly about how the guy's "second to none," like, how would you even know, and then we watch them play with Photoshop for a while. It's pretty irritating because you can't reach inside the TV and help, or take over, or smack them. Especially that last, when they reveal their big slogan: "The Rebirth of Italian Intimidation." Mussolini and Gandolfini, okay. That's where you go with that. Italian Intimidation? Those are the options. My highly-quotable friend Anna: "Not that the Gandolfini/Mussolini thing isn't sexy. It's just not high-market sexy."
The fellas argue about capitalizing on…something…and Mark sharp-focuses on like the capital letter "I" in "Italian." Ignoring the semiotic racism on either side of it completely, not to mention the fact that "Italian" is in a completely different font from everything else and that the ad is ugly as hell. They shrink the offending "I" (pluck it out!) and Mark says that this "pops." He says that it looked like a "backwards seven" and that now it flows, and looks, better. It's that same deal, selling themselves to themselves, just going for a palimpsest of confusion and bad judgment, scribbled over itself with the force of a gallon of espresso. Carolyn watches, bemused, as they all circle-jerk about how it's "beautiful" and "hot," and she interviews that they are so excited and generally moronically into this that they're going to miss some flaws: "Certainly some flaws that I saw."
Then the dudes spend a thousand years fighting over this poster: A green Lamborghini with the words "Green With Envy." written over it. Okay, A, that means the car is envious; B, it looks exactly like a VW ad; and C, nobody would ever be envious of a car that color. Mostly A, though, because no matter what, the car is green. It's stupid. Mark is confusing here, because he interviews how Markus has this huge problem with it because it suggests, any way you slice it, that the car is green with envy. Mark seems to agree, in the interview, but he immediately says that he and Chris decided to keep it anyway. Markus wants at least a question mark at the end, and yes, that would be better, but the car is…still green. Anyway, it's boring, and then they all talk each other up and get all frothing and fratty with each other. They do that thing where instead of talking about the thing, they talk about the talking about the thing, and try to sell it to themselves, rather than addressing the underpinnings of the crappiness. Just like in the last scene. This is why I don't work for a regular company anymore, because meetings like this make me want to kick a baby in the face. Masturbatory, ephemeral, time-wasting, stupid. Mark assures us of their victory, at this point in his interview, and we fade out on him laughing in slow motion, tipping his head back, flush with hubris.
Randal dresses and flies off to his grandmother's funeral. Josh -- whose awesomeness, it would seem, is mostly located in his glasses, which some kind of coolness Delilah has taken away, because now he just looks like a pudgy blonde that should have his own sitcom where his wife is hot -- hugs him goodbye and he gets on the chopper, noting that (as though they have options) the team is being very supportive. We accompany him to the church, and watch him go inside, then we go to the gravesite and watch them put her in the ground. Why? He tells us he will be inspired by her memory, and there are lots of shots of him looking sad. This is so fucking cheap. I hope you love Randal, you guys, because he's going to be in the final.
Capital Edge is the first team to show their campaign, and…boy howdy. They file in, all wearing black, as the music goes paramilitary. They stand in a row, four on the left and four on the right, facing inwards, and then one by one they snap their heads toward the judges like a drill team number. As totally queer as it sounds, it's vastly worse to actually watch, because they all have vastly different accents and give their one-word lines in vastly different weird ways. Alla goes, "Power," and she sounds like a madam who smokes all day. Kristi, with her very heavy Dawsonville GA accent, says, "Envy," and it sounds like she's spelling "E-N-V" and has three syllables. Jen W. (I think) says, "Prestige," kind of hysterically, and also with a slightly southern accent. Felisha says, "Decadence," somewhat decadently and a little creepy. Rebecca says, "Adrenaline," and hers is the best reading -- she says it intensely, like she's giving you an order in German, but with the all-black clothing and everything it comes closest to the point, which I would think would be: not sending you into howls of laughter. Toral's nostrils flare as she emotes, "Passion," and it's somewhat passionate, the way she says this, but also like she's informing you of terrible news or threatening your life. Marshawn says, "Ego-Driven," and of course she sells it really well because she's a public speaking person, but it doesn't really matter because of the total Whiskey Tango Foxtrot of that phrase. Last is my lovely Jen M., who spits out "Lamborghini" like an insane person, like she's either about to start laughing, or start crying, or like she's just livid at you and that word is a filthy curse, or like she's one of those pissy schizophrenics that comes off rude all the time. I watched this single second of this episode maybe fifty times, and I'm going to go watch it again right now. Hang on. Hee! "Lamborghini, motherfucker." HA! She's so awesome. They play the commercial, and it's cheap-looking but cool in terms of the copy and concept, which is what's important. "Are you in…CONTROL?" "Are you…WORTHY?" The judges are loving it. "Are you…INTIMIDATED?" "Do you need permission?" And then, under the logo: "Prove It." I love that. The judges clap.
What's Your Automotive Personality Type?
1. Are you in control? Yes or No.
2. Are you worthy? Yes or No.
3. Are you intimidated? Yes or No.
4. Do you need permission? Yes or No.
Answer Key: Give yourself ten points for each matching answer.
1. Yes.
2. Yes.
3. No.
4. No.
Your results:
30 - 40: You and I both know you already have a Lamborghini anyway, so stop screwing around and get back on task.
20 - 30: Stop asking for permission and go for it! It doesn't matter if you deserve it, or even if you can afford it! Aspiration in advertising is so last month.
10 - 20: Can I interest you in this delightful used Audi?
00 - 10: Prove it, Markus.
Trump's rolling up in his car talking to nobody, I'm sure, about how he's going to the ad agency to check on them. Inside, Chris is wrapping it all up and getting everybody stoked, and Josh is looking a little harried. Creepy Dumb Mark tells us how they're totally going to "win it, and win it big" and how nice that will be for Randal, to be able to share their prize that's totally in the bag, no question, no way. Mark is itching to go on my list. God. Randal comes in just before they give their presentation, and Chris sweetly interviews that having him back in time was a great energy boost for everyone. They enter the room, and Chris gives them this totally fake cheesy sales pitch, and then the ad: it starts with zooming sounds, and there's a slo-mo black-and-white shot of what I guess is a vintage Lamborghini. Lamborghinis of all ages are the exact same amount of hideous and nobody can expect me to know the difference, so don't bug me about it. The judges look bored, and there's an awesome shot where Markus snaps his head over, stares at them freakishly, and then snaps back, all in time to the music. The car turns yellow, and I guess into a new kind of ugly Lamborghini, very excitingly.
Chris gives his speech and describes the "Green With Envy" poster in such a way where he...reads it. Word by word, he goes through the whole copy, stands there for a second, and then moves on to the print ad, which is also ugly and stupid-looking, and then gives a really long speech on the concept of "water," as in H2O, as in the most boring thing in the universe, but I guess he tries to spice it up by mentioning that water is wet, and clear, and sometimes causes catastrophes. Ehren, the Lamborghini Twit, looks bored and unsure, but the guys just grin smugly the entire time. Especially James (I think), who has this nervous, sharky smirk every second of every day. He's like that little kid down the street where you just want to shake them and be like, "What did you do? Just tell me what you did! You're clearly hiding something! Tell me you didn't kill any pets or do anything gross in my house while I was out."
The men file out and Linda says sagely, "There's the difference between men and women: men say it, women feel it." Ehren agrees, and normally that kind of talk gets on my nerves, but the guys were acting so frigging guy the whole time that I kind of agree. Capital Edge's video was moderately exciting, but the only feeling you get from Chris talking is that he's a lot smarter-looking than he speaks. Which isn't true, but he duffed it, bad, and spent the whole time telling them what they were looking at, and how super-awesome it was, instead of, you know, presenting it in any real fashion. Trump comes in, and the judges immediately tell him there's a clear winner. "James" continues to smirk weirdly and I don't think he's a bad chap, but somebody should slap that face right off him. Trump welcomes Randal back to the fold, and asks if everything was "okay." Like, yeah, my grandma had a fabulous time. Randal thanks Trump on behalf of his family, and Trump calls it a great honor, and it's nice.
Linda says that Excel "put a lot of thought into" their campaign, but the problem was that "everything was words." Exactly. Ehren brings up the whole stupid "Green With Envy" thing and Markus fully interrupts both judges to give a gasbag speech about "exactly, exactly" and how that was "exactly [his] problem." Trump looks perturbed as Markus rants on and on about what a terrible idea his team had, and all the guys are stunned and grossed out. Trump asks them if they feel he's being a team player here, and everybody is like, "No way." I would have cobra'd his ass so fast right there. "Markus, you can leave. Now. Walk out of this room and don't look back, my 'multipreneurial' friend."
Linda then brings up the lowercase "Italian," and Trump asks whether or not Team Excel respects Italians. Mark allows that he does, but that he didn't want it to overshadow the L in Lamborghini or the I in Intimidation. Linda says that "at the end of the day" (DRINK!), it's about "making the consumer feel something," and that the Capital Edge video made her heart beat a little faster. Ehren concurs, the women squeal, and the men look destroyed. Duh, Team Excel.
Trump addresses Marshawn: "You're the Project Manager." She replies, "With honor," which I love because it's so totally Marshawn, and Kristi makes a stinkface. Trump asks the team to vote on her exemption for week, and the first people to vote yes are…Jen M. and Alla. At which point Kristi might as well have given in, because what's your point? Trump reads Kristi's expression, though, and asks if he's correct in thinking that Kristi is voting no. "She led well, she listened, she spoke to...but she never got her feet wet," Kristi tries to explain, and it's rough because she just comes off like a total bitch even though I don't think that's her intention. For the second week, I'm giving her that pass -- I realize this -- but it won't last forever. Trump: "Marshawn, with the exception of Kristi, you're exempt." Ouch. He's totally giving Kristi hell at the same time that he's not at all giving her hell about it. The women all flip out about their win, right up until the nanosecond when the prize is revealed, and then their smiles turn fake and all the boys start crying: they're going to be playing hockey with the New York Islanders at Nassau Coliseum. Dear Donald Trump and Patron Saint of TWoP: No thank you. Love, Jacob.
Kristi, cute and in uniform, explains that she knows nothing about hockey except that they throw each other against the ice, "which I love" (which I, in turn, love), and then skips down the hallway and tries to get everybody singing "Eye Of The Tiger," which she calls "the Rocky music," but…nobody can remember how it goes, and it sounds like she's singing "Mairzie Doats." They then play hockey. Capital Edge gets the first shot, and then Rebecca breaks her ankle. Terrible pain is apparent in her voice and face as she tells us what happened. They ice her down in the manager's office, and Toral comes in with her lunch on a paper plate, which she gnaws on while they discuss it. Somehow this is totally adorable, I have no idea how she pulls it off but it's really cute. Rebecca interviews that Toral coming in to talk to her was totally "stepping up," which for some reason makes me laugh because they always say that, but they mean something different, like going the extra mile taskwise, and so it's like she's just using this term they're all constantly throwing around because they're already rats in a cage. Rebecca has this great face, an angry but humorous "this is such bullshit" smile, the entire time. I think I really like her. I said that last week too. She seems to have a hardcoreness within that we have only seen so far in spurts. She interviews, "I'm going to the doctor tomorrow and I really hope there's a quick fix for this." That's like her whole take: "This is bullshit and I would like it to not be an obstacle." That's good. She's good.
Free Expression: On a piece of 8½ x 11" paper, lined or unlined, express your current career situation. You can draw a picture, write a poem, even doodle mindlessly while a total freak regales you with his tales of mistreatment at the hands of every single damn person he's ever met in his entire stupid life! Bonus points if your doodle includes a man choking on a gibbet with his eyes popping out and a tiny arrow pointing to his head labeled "Stupidface."
In the suite, Chris and Josh have a private circle-jerking session on the best way to talk shit about Markus in the Boardroom and shore up any doubts Chris might have about he did as a PM. It's not pretty, even though I like Chris and Josh the best. They ultimately agree that the best spin is that Markus is "out of his league." Which is true, but not as true as "out of his tree, plus totally sucky." Meanwhile, Markus is lecturing Toral about nothing at all, and she's bored as shit but being a good sport. He lectures us in interview about the Green With Envy thing and how it sucks and should have been fixed "even if you use that weak campaign," and that bugs me, because: "Smooth As Silk"? Lame doctor, heal thyself. Toral nods boredly as he harangues her about how he's not about "fraternity" or "exclusion." Neither were they, jackass. You did that. Toral nods boredly some more with that "I'm clearly just being nice" half-smile. I do no such thing as he interviews that he's not worried about the Boardroom because he "looks forward to the dance." God, what a plug of a person.
Let's talk about Mean Girls for a second. Chris and Josh are being mean. Yes. Because somebody was mean to them, once, and it made them better, more acceptable, cooler, more successful, more socially able. I'm thinking it was when they were young, because they're quite good at it. And this is where frat boys like this come from: intelligently-applied pack meanness. But not just frat boys: senators, trustees, moguls. Act the fool, get slapped, you stop acting like a tool. You start looking around at other people, realize that acting normal and boring and superficial doesn't mean you have to change your insides, and that you can still think whatever you want, and then you fucking shape up.
And then the beauty part, where you realize the majority of all people are doing the exact same thing, playing the "I'm boring" game, and that the most put-together looking, shallow-seeming, Happy Hour-going, Oahu-vacationing, Express-wearing, hour-a-day exercising, forensic procedural-watching, beautiful mannequin of a person that sits in the cubicle door? Bites her toenails, or is a Xena freak, or only eats the white part of candy corn and has a two-year-old yellow and orange pile of gross in her top left desk drawer, or named her dog "Glomer," or knows all the words to "Buffalo Stance" and will sing them without provocation after a single minty mojito, or whatever awesome thing, and you are missing out on a great new friend if you believe in the existence of iPod People with no souls, because there is no such damned thing.
It's only the arrogance of dorks like Markus that refuse this -- because they honestly feel they're better than every single person around them is wrong, and that they're actually performing to spec -- that keeps them from humbling themselves for the two seconds necessary to introspect and realize that being a total jackass all day is at odds with their desire to be liked, included, or given the approval they so desperately need. This is why I have no respect or sympathy for Markus, because this kind of dorkiness is narcissistic. If you start thinking everybody else is crazy? Or an asshole, or stupid, or whatever. That's the number one sign that you are crazy. Or an asshole, or willfully blind. I know Trump wants us to consider "flexibility" and this isn't what he meant, but God, Markus. I just got rid of Constantine a few months ago, for Pete's sake! You are killing me. Killing my heart!
Okay, that was relatively short. So Trump comes in with a tuxedo and tells them they don't rate him changing into office clothes, and Chris tells him they lost because of lots of vaguely-defined "distractions." George jumps first, saying that the whole team is responsible, and really that they all lost the task in the first minute, up on the roof, with the high-fiving and the "Men Sell Cars And Women Have Babies" crap. "The problem is that you were cocky," he says. For starters, I say. And it sucks, because I thought Chris was awesome about 85% of the whole episode. Trump doesn't ask questions, he makes statements: "Who came up with the ad campaign." Chris explains that it was a collective project. Markus raises his hand, nobody cares. (Still! You're 41! It's called pattern recognition and it's God's special gift to you!) Trump: "The 'i' in 'Italian'?" Mark says his explanation from before for that one, verbatim. Trump: "That was terrible." Mark's like, "Yeah." Trump: "Green With Envy?" Markus looks sickened, but in this ass-sniffing way where he's like personally offended on Trump's behalf. Mark starts with some freshman-year art history essay crap and Markus angrily shakes his head. Trump: "That was you too." Mark's like, "Yup."
Carolyn jumps at the actual issue qua the presentation itself: "You had to explain about everything about your ad." All the graphics, the copy, all the details. Chris gives a somewhat obnoxious tiny speech about how he wanted to make sure the judges -- who, just to remind you, are a top American ad exec and the client -- understood the finer points and "subtleties" of their not-so-subtle campaign. Markus, of course, looks like a goddamned martyr this whole time. See, if it was that much of a problem, you could have figured out a way to address it, jackass, and saved your team, but that would entail being able to read people or speaking properly instead of like you're the guy from A Confederacy Of Dunces. Carolyn interrupts Chris: "I think it's quite boring." Chris mumbles "Okay" and shuts up, and looks very ill.
Trump asks Josh who should be fired, and of course Josh is like, "Duh, Markus!" Markus shakes his head like he's saying, "That's an incorrect answer." Trump calls on Josh even though he doesn't need to -- and I had a professor do this to me in college, force me to say terrible, terrible things out loud about a classmate who happened to be a douchebag, and it took ten minutes, and like Trump here, he was really just using me to get to the actual Markus in this situation, but I can't tell you I felt all that bad about it. I mean, I didn't relish it, and I don't think Josh does either, now that Trump's forcing him to call Markus a total jerk-off in front of everybody. Trump: "You think he's a total disaster." Josh is all, "…A complete disaster, yes." He calls Markus a distraction and says he put them off their collective game. Real bullies are social outcasts. This is just social Darwinism, and it's an imperfect system, but it generally works. Trump: "Hey, Markus? Why do all these people dislike you?" Markus, oblivious, starts in: "I don't think it's dislike…I think there's a clique here…" But it's a clique consisting of every single person, Markus! Trump suggests there's a lack of respect at issue, hoping to shame him further, but Markus blows everybody's mind just a little bit more: "Respect? Why? I've been a great performer." Markus offers that it was Chris who did the bad job with this task, and Josh face-palms. Chris tries to give a good example of Markus's utter uselessness, but Trump just cuts him off. "You know what? It doesn't matter, because you're obviously bringing Markus back with you." He directly tells Chris that this would not be "a wise thing to do," because after all, Markus didn't like the campaign. Trump hates Markus from a loyalty standpoint, but ultimately, the team did lose the task, and Markus obviously did not share this losing vision. James finally drops the weird grin and looks confused and sick at this abrupt turnaround from what his Senior Brothers of the Excel Frat brainwashed him into thinking was going to happen. Markus throws out these huge drama hands like, "I know, right?"
Chris complains that Markus "absolutely destroys team cohesiveness [sic]," and Carolyn jumps at this one too. "But that's not the reason for this loss. The reason for this loss is a lack of creativity, so why don't you tell us who was responsible for the creative portion of this task?" Markus looks smugly over at Chris like her "us" her totally includes him. Markus and his best friends Carolyn and Trump would like an answer, please. Chris lays it out nicely: he was responsible for the video element, and he placed Mark in charge of the photo element. I like that he -- I mean, he's already about to go too far, and that's sad, but I like this -- even here, he's being a good little PM and noting his ultimate responsibility for everything. Trump: "So you're bringing back Mark." No, sir. Of course not. George and Josh, in separate cuts, both see where this is headed. Clay tells Trump that Markus should be fired, and Markus looks shocked. His overbaked reactions to everything are really insulting to watch. He just doesn't know what to do with his face, or his hands, or his body, or his boundless saboteur energy. None of it. The whole thing is this physical plea to be part of the in crowd, which in the boardroom is Trump and the Viceroys, just this hugely overdone dramatic thing where he's just scandalized by the low level of people he's being forced to work with and it's so, so stupid.
Clay continues to say that Markus also talks too much, and Markus gets angry, interrupting him and yelling about how that's not true this week. Clay gets some punk rock points here by wordlessly pointing to Markus, who's busy…talking too much about how he doesn't talk too much. Trump asks again whether he means it, considering that he was right about the campaign, and Clay says, "Yes sir." Adam nods subtly. Trump asks James, who swoops into a speech about the things they could have done better, but Trump just demands a name, and that name is Chris.
Trump asks whom Chris has chosen to come back with him. "Markus." Who else? "Just Markus." Just Markus? "Yes." So you only want to bring in Markus. "Yes, sir." That's four times he asked, Chris. In addition to telling you more than once not to do this, that it's an unwise idea, and questioning all of your teammates for saying Markus as well. So more like twenty times. That's like begging, for Donald Trump. As they leave, Carolyn's like, "You dumb idiot ass."
On the Robin couch, Markus looks dissatisfied as usual, because why on Earth can't everyone see what a genius he is, and just do what he says, and let him play with the walkie and be all smooth? As silk?
Essay Question: Imagine you're a real estate mogul with hair like carpet and a constant cheek-sucking look of disdain and confusion. You're presented with three candidates for employment: An irritating and creepy Good Ole Boy with no design sense and a belief that women are kind of retarded, who actually cost the team the account; a good-looking and smart Christmas Tree farmer and former NFL player who manages his teammates well, except when they directly contradict him in front of the client; and a waste of time in every sense who effects everyone around him like one of those gopher things that gives invisible rays of chalkboard-screeching bad vibes. Choose two.3. Throw up your hands and come up with a tired and played-out Omarosa joke, and call it a day.1. Discuss what you would do if all three of these people entered your boardroom for possible termination. Who would you fire? Explain your reasoning. How else would you use this opportunity? Use specific examples of backhanded insults and power-brokering you'd utilize to take them all down a peg.
2. What if only two of these candidates came into the boardroom? Which two would you hope and pray they might be? What would you do if the Project Manager screwed himself over for no clear reason? Special attention should be paid to referencing Colby from Survivor, any past boneheaded Apprentices that have done crap like this, or those irritating people on reality shows that say they want to go home to save a fellow contestant, but are totally lying and chicken out.
4. Make a case that it should have been the other team in trouble, entirely because of that embarrassing and awkward drill team routine they did.
5. Make a case that Markus should have been fired at the beginning of the episode when he sold everybody down the river for no reason other than his congenital need to kiss as much ass as possible in every situation. You can enrich your word power by using the following vocabulary terms: "choad," "hapless," "assclown," "martyriffic," or "bitchslap."
I start getting mad at Chris because I like him, I think he's smart and good-looking and a good leader and a worthy player of this game, and Markus is the opposite of those things, and Chris has just insured that Markus will be here week. Markus had this whole thing on his website, like, as of yesterday, that was just episode-by-episode, point-by-point bitching incoherently about how wrongfully he was treated, portrayed, made a joke of, senselessly maligned -- it makes no sense and goes on and on and anyway it's gone now, so I can't quote him liberally here, like I wanted to. You know I love rambling, tangential, stream-of-consciousness stuff like that, right? I just wish I'd copy-pasted it like I thought I should. Stupid Markus. That's so Markus, to put up a ranting, whiny website and then have to take it down on Trump's orders. Like, why can't anybody ever give him a break or whatever. Argh.
Carolyn speaks to Trump and George, saying almost exactly my inner thoughts: "I was behind Chris, I thought he was a great leader…the critical error was in not picking anybody who's responsible. Dumb move." George points out that we have a problem with Markus because he's horrible but...he simply wasn't the reason they lost: Mark was. Like all three of them told Chris's dumb ass over and over and over, mere moments ago.
The guys come back in and Carolyn just looks bored at the very idea of going through with this charade. Trump calls it "amazing" that it's Chris and Markus in the boardroom, considering it was all Mark's fault. Markus nods, like he's in good with Trump and it's going to be so sad to have to bitch Chris out together. Chris starts in about how he at many points had to stop all forward momentum to reel Markus back in and get going again, and that hurt the team. Markus interrupts, again, with a "From the very beginning, I was marginalized," like that's a plus for him, and Carolyn is awesome: "Why. Why can't you get along with this team?" Trump is like, "Seriously." He asks who did this marginalizing and Markus, exasperated, is like, "Chris did, Daddy!" Chris tries to explain how a team is only as good as its weakest player, but George makes the best point of the night: basically, that by shunting him to the side at the beginning of the task, Chris has lost the option of blaming Markus for anything that followed. I think that's where he's headed with it, and it's a really good point, so we're going to say that's what he is implying.
Chris protests that in fact Markus was given certain responsibilities, which he fucked up in a really irritating manner, and Markus denies. Chris goes back to the "team synergy" well for the fifty-first time, and Trump -- bored with this, because no matter how many times you say it, it's not the point -- again points out that Mark ruined everything, and Chris should have brought him in. Chris says the uncategorizable "I believed in him, so his mistake is mine," which is a little too little a little too late, and Trump is like, "Fine, so they were your mistakes." Trump bitches a little about how he can't believe that Chris has put him into this position, since "nobody likes" Markus and he's "a disaster," but that ultimately Trump asked for a "smart business decision" and Chris came across with "an emotional one." The emotion of despising the despicable, but Trump's right. For the second week in a row. "I told you to bring Mark, and you didn't. You didn't." Trump slams the table with his palm and it's very impressive. "You're fired, Chris." At least Markus doesn't smile. As they stand, Trump shouts a good-natured and very welcome, "You got great potential, man. Get out of here." To Markus, he shakes his head. "I don't see you lasting long." Because Markus can't let all that Dale Carnegie he read obsessively and refused to internalize go to waste, he tools it up with an "I'll prove you wrong." Trump dismisses him with this face like, "God, just leave."
Chris thanks Trump and the Viceroys, and everybody looks pretty bummed that he forced them do this. Chris gets on the elevator and looks very sad, and it's…very sad. Inside, Trump's like, "I hated to fire him. I think he's great!" George is supportive: "He brought it on himself. You gave him all kinds of opportunities." Trump mournfully trumps, "We…had no choice." Markus obliviously schleps his luggage back up to the suite, which greets him with silent horror, and Chris takes his taxi time to…not learn anything from this experience whatsoever: "Markus will not last." He then spins an involved metaphor about his days in crew, how if one guy's not rowing, you just spin in place, but with Markus, he's not only not rowing, but he's not got a paddle, he's facing the other way, drinking a martini, and talking to the captain. I would add, "And trying to make the captain like him more than the rest of the crew like one of those kids in elementary school who was always friends with, like, lunch ladies and the school nurse."
The moral of the story, if such a thing there be, is this: the Markuses of the world may or may not be lost causes, but if you let it control you, you're just reinforcing his persecution complex. Get out of the line of fire, keep your priorities straight, and don't let the truly terminally irritating under your skin. And by extension, you can avoid the toxic perimeter of the actual assholes of the world the exact same way. Be flexible! And if you're a Markus, or suspect you might be, please spend the twenty-four hours acting as boring and normal and GAP as possible, and see if people don't suddenly stop being jerks. Be flexible! Just follow our simple plan and before you know it, and this is a guarantee, you'll find: you're hired. And suddenly cute, fun, and popular!