“ Chris can tell it's 'real,' he tells us, when Trista and Ryan are 'eating breakfast' in their sweatpants and there are no cameras around. Trista, meanwhile, is all, 'Oh, there's a "no cameras" now?' ”
Because she's so attuned to the needs of her guests and her family (or because a helpful producer pointed the way to the intriguing subplot), Trista takes notice and approaches HRWES, asking if her sister is okay. HRWES shoots back that Jackie feels a little out of the whole celebration, and confessionalizes to us, "On the one hand, I can tell that Jackie is feeling emotional and I'm saddened to see that. On the other hand, I'm immensely elated that Trista is as happy as she is." On the one hand, awwwww. And, on the other hand, ouch.
But a father's work is never done, even when it's merely the emotional stability of his second favorite child at stake. He takes his distraught daughter aside, and they walk toward Sad Beach (the opposite direction he walked with Trista just a few choppy moments ago), where he puts his arm around her and asks what's wrong. Jackie doesn't like being "so young" and "not knowing anything." He tells her that "those people" would be totally willing to talk to her. Dude, they've been drinking since they stepped off the plane in New York. That Pete dude would probably talk to a shoe if it had an interesting enough pickup line (I imagine "I'm a shoe!" would even qualify). Jackie wails that she doesn't want them to be forced to talk to her, and HRWES tells her to strike up a conversation and, well, see what happens! And, in her defense, I know many people who have felt exactly this way before. And, on the other hand, once they turned twelve, these feelings usually started to recede somewhat.
Over by a small footbridge, Ryan, Trista, and just one camera crew, a supervising producer, and that guy who stands around and holds that big-ass light all share a wonderfully private moment between the lovebirds, as Trista and Ryan kiss and say "I love you" a lot of times. She baby-voices, "I'm so excited my friends are here," and Ryan furthers the discourse of human nature with a stultifying "I know. It's fun." Ryan doesn't think it's fun.
"I think this is a huge fairy tale for Trista and Ryan," says Katie, a college friend of Trista's who cleverly remembered that they're actually going to SEE this on TELEVISION one day. "I think that there are so many skeptics as far as whether you can meet the right person on TV," but she thinks Trista and Ryan are "the real deal." Similarly, Chris, Ryan's brother -- who is not currently romancing Trista's sister, causing a distinct lack of symmetry and I'll bet you ten dollars is one of the reasons Jackie's so upset -- shares with us that any reservations he might have had got conveniently washed away in a tide of free first-class flights and booze. He can tell it's "real," he tells us, when Trista and Ryan are "eating breakfast" in their sweatpants and there are no cameras around. Trista, meanwhile, is all, "Oh, there's a 'no cameras' now?"
Trista And Cryin'
“ Stepmom: 'When? Where?' Trista tells theme that they already know when, but that she can't tell them where. It's at the Rancho Mirage in Palm Beach, California, Cruella. Read the tabloids. I do. ”
Back at Le Meridien (St. Martin is a French-speaking island, so allow me to translate for those of you not in the know: "The Meridien." Thank me later), My Two Dads take Trista and Ryan into a plush room and sit them down on couches, telling them they have a surprise. "Are our moms here?" Trista asks. Oh, well, erm, cough. Not such a good surprise after all, I guess. My Three Moms (Ryan's mother Barbara, Trista's stepmother Carol, and Trista's poor, suffering mother Roseanne, who has to HATE this) are quick-cut down a long spiral staircase and onto couches where Trista, Ryan, and My Two Dads continue to sit. Immediately, the evil stepmom is all up in Trista's grill, confessionalizing her way back into last week's weak subplot: "We had a list." Back inside Le Meridien, Babs tells them that she doesn't want to feel like "a guest" at the wedding. Fine. Then don't come. They ask questions about invitations that Trista doesn't and can't answer. "Number 6, Item A," Cruella DeStepmom reads off of a scribbled piece of loose leaf paper, "When? Where?" Trista tells them that they already know when, but that she can't tell them where. It's at the Rancho Mirage in Palm Beach, California, Cruella. Read the tabloids. I do. When she suggests going on to "Item 7," Ryan sighs and halts and sputters through the joke, "Whose idea was it to invite the moms?" Roseanne, taking this opportunity, shoots back, "We can actually do this tomorrow." Go, RealMom! A cry of joy goes up from the couple. Trista's happy. Ryan's happy. The Sutters are happy. HRWEG muses quickly and silently on a lot of mistakes he's made in his life.
More. Partying. Shots. This is the official shower, I guess. The best man and maid of honor welcome us all to the shower, the theme of which is "Love and Lust." Well, none out of two is...well, the null set of premarital bliss, is what it is. In accordance with this, Ryan doesn't not smile once the whole night. And then -- oh, god -- Bob. "Ladies and gentlemen," he announces, the gayest Leading Player character I've seen on a stage since Pippin, the gayest of all plays, "we are going to play a little game with Trista and Ryan." A sea of stone faces meets his intro. Trista and Ryan sit to each other in two chairs, facing the audience, holding oak tag and black magic markers. Is this the ceremonial "Making Of The Premarital Shoebox Diorama" you hear so much about in traditional wedding lore? Because I can make Abraham Lincoln's boyhood home out of Popsicle sticks and a raw umber crayon faster than you can say "Other than that, how did you enjoy the play, Mr. President?" Except, sadly, no. Instead, they're playing some kind of Newlywed Game thing, except they're the only team and, mercifully, you don't have to use the word "whoopee."
Trista And Cryin'
“ They kiss, and I could join in the celebration that these two soulmates know each other as well as they do, or I could finally get on the side of the attending party and try to strike Bob dead with my mind. ”
Bob poses Question #1, which is, "Trista, what is Ryan's most annoying habit?" They both guess correctly that it's "hanging up the towels." They kiss, and I could join in the celebration that these two soulmates know each other as well as they do, or I could finally get on the side of the attending party and try to strike Bob dead with my mind. The question is about how many kids they're planning on having. Trista says two. Ryan hedges "two or three." Like it would be another number besides those, as if Trista would write, "My Mormon beliefs mean I would like as many kids as the Good Lord intends for me to have" or Ryan would write, "I would like eleven kids, one for each of the Colonel's herbs and spices, because garsh dang it if I don't love me some chicken." : "What city were you both in the first time that you had sex?" The tittering crowd is delightfully shocked by the ribald, non-whoopee-esque direction this game has taken. Where is this game taking place, anyway? I wasn't aware that Le Meredien was a Victorian drawing room that exists in The Past. Everyone calm down. Trista whispers, "I don't want to give that up," and one of the guys who I think is soon going to emerge as That Jerk Ben calls out, "You gave it up already!" Now see, that is a very funny line. Bob feels the need to piggyback on the laugh, literally hollering, "Is it me, or is it very hot in here?" It's you, you greasy freak. And not that I'm an enemy of the adverb to any extent, but you really needed to lose the "very" on that sentence. And you needed not to make a joke about how hot is was in there. When, considering the context of the event, "Take my wife, please" would actually have made a better quip than the one you made, it looks like you lost your emcee privileges. And, scarily enough, it actually would have. Ryan, protecting his wife-to-be's honor, holds up a card reading, "We haven't." Everyone is very filled with rejoicing at this answer, but I can't hear the television above my screeching Bullshit Detector to know if anything else was actually said. ["Huh? Of course they haven't, Djb: they are not married yet. Sheesh!" -- Wing Chun]
I sing the "you've died three times" end music from the videogame Jumpman as I so often do when something terrible finally ends. Bob thanks Trista and Ryan for "proving America right," and Bob tells a certain "Ben" character to clap along with the rest. He's in Ryan's wedding party, and we know this because boys are only friends with boys and girls are only friends with girls. But Ben's not happy, and he tells us that the shower was "stupid." He sits sullenly. He gives the finger to the camera. He complains that Bob shouldn't have been left to "run the show," saying that someone who was actually a good friend of Ryan's should have been able to do it. Gee, I wonder if he had anyone in particular in mind. Ryan, on the other hand, was glad for the presence of Bob. Which means that Ben difficult as he is, actually has a lot in common with us. He's a better story than what's usually going on around him and he knows it. And he really, really, really hates Bob.
Trista And Cryin'
“ The men chill out like men do to a soundtrack of the literal cumulative amalgam of every instrumental song on the Pulp Fiction soundtrack. They surf. They play volleyball. They swim. They remove, open, and drink cans of beer from their own finely-honed six-packs. ”
Chris and Sara give another toast and present Trista and Ryan with a framed photo of their families, as well as two framed quotes. One of them, Chris tells us, "pulled [him] out of an unbelievable spiral," adding, "That quote saved my life." That must have been some quote. Too bad we never get to see what it is and have ours lives saved as well. Trista's quote is from Emerson, which apparently Ryan once recited to her in one of his video messages, but, I mean, good luck finding where. And then, fireworks. Drunk people LOVE fireworks.
Finally emulating the actual series that got us all here in the first place, the girls lounge around the pool and do fuck-all while pretending that upright citizenry is for suckers and bikinis are for hot, TV-whoring them! Trista meets the other girls at the pool, pulling off her shirts and revealing the words "Ryan's Babe," written, in script, in sequins, on her ass. Did I mention the sequins? A million dollars for the shoes she'll be wearing, and we can't do better on the swimwear than a scrap of black latex and an intern with a particular knack for the Bedazzler. I mean, I know this whole series pretty much has a silent "gack" shrouding it at all times, but sometimes I really do think it's worth noting again, just to remind us that it's always, always there: gack. "Ryan's Babe." Gack.
Trista wraps up the Jackie subplot in one sentence, as we're treated to one shot of what looks like Jackie making nice with a bosomy friend of Trista's by the pool. It's not until the raw tapes of this season are released to the public that you find out that the entirety of the conversation between the two was the bridal party member sneering, "Okay, time to stop staring at my implants, Gnome." It's so not nice how they call her "Gnome."
Meanwhile, the men chill out like men do to a soundtrack of the literal cumulative amalgam of every instrumental song on the Pulp Fiction soundtrack (listen to it...it's spooky). They surf. They play volleyball. They swim. They remove, open, and drink cans of beer from their own finely-honed six-packs. Jet skis. Kayaks. Chillin'. Ah, to be a dude. Catching a rare private moment and apropos of absolutely nothing, Ryan takes out his T-Mobile cell phone and dials a number. Back at the pool, Trista's phone rings, ringing the actual jingle that you hear at the end of every T-Mobile commercial, and she picks it up, exclaiming, "I got a message from Ryan! A picture message!" Man. What a horribly depressing exercise in corporate synergy. I guess this also means that Trista and Ryan are talented enough to win Oscars, much the same as the former pitchperson of this campaign, against whom it seems they've now forced a hostile takeover. Yuck. That sucked. At least we have the comfort of knowing that those two and this show have now totally lost all of their integrity! Oh, wait.
Trista And Cryin'
“ We get a review from mightybig titty.com recapper 'Lucas,' who positively remembers his experiences with 'the blonde one,' who 'can entertain.' Check your forums, Lucas. They're out of control. ”
Chris predicts that, on a scale of 1 to 10, the bachelor party is going to rank "a twenty." At least he didn't suggest that they crank it up to eleven. Not that this sucks that much less. Anyway, we've moved to some sort of outdoor deck area, which finds Ryan and his friends doing a lot of drinking and cheering. Some dude named Sadler presents Ryan with a "ball and chain," consisting of a bowling ball painted pink emblazoned with the word "Trista" and connected to a bicycle chain. Some other dude gives Ryan a pair of underwear, which...well, fruity, wouldn't you say?
Ben continues to be a dick. "The thing about Ben," Ryan fills in, "is that he sort of has this sarcastic, witty sense of humor, and the more he drinks the more it comes out." They have a word for that where I come from, Ryan. And it's "mean drunk." When Ben stops slurring his own name long enough to start spouting off like Noel Coward I'll amend my thoughts on this, but until then we're going to strike "witty" from the list of things that the devil's poison has made Ben become.
Ryan's father stumbles through a speech about the love and devotion that comes of having children or some such insane thing, and everyone toasts him in a respectable, paternal way, except Bob, who you can juuuuuuuuust make out shouting, "Thank you, Mr. Sutter! Godspeed!" in the background because SHUT UP.
And, onto the partying, sexed-up bacchanal that is the bachelorette party. In the world's most elaborate tiki bar, a dude juggles fire and the soundtrack plays the steel-drum solo from the middle six minutes of "Just the Two of Us." More speeches and more loving as Sara demands that everyone have a good time tonight. They present her with a tiara with a long veil coming off of it, and they all giggle girlishly. A friend named Stephanie presents Trista with a game called "Sexual Chocolate." Shannon makes a speech to the effect that she met Trista when "she was trying to steal [Stephanie's] boyfriend from [her]." Trista retorts, "No!" Or some such equally clever rejoinder. The first person to tell me correctly what the hell Shannon is doing there gets a free T-Mobile phone.
And, strippers. Two latex-clad chicas enter the dudes' party, and Ryan identifies them as "the first wave of strippers," like they're the kamikaze front-line offensive in The Titty Wars. They dance and grind and we get a review from mightybigtitty.com (because, under the circumstances, there's no way we could call it "televisionwithouttitty") recapper "Lucas," who positively remembers his experiences with "the blonde one," who "can entertain." Check your forums, Lucas. They're out of control.
Trista And Cryin'
“ I'm leaving out the moment where Bob makes a gay-themed joke in Russ's direction -- because (a) ew, and (b) I've been cutting high- pitched Bob some sexuality slack, but, sometimes, pot meet kettle, is all I'm saying. ”
"Tonight we have a dare checklist!" Sara presents Trista with a list of wacky things that she has to do tonight, just as Trista did for her when she planned Sara's wedding five years ago. Totally unimaginative AND with a million dollars of corporate cash behind it. This ought to be...synthetic.
Dare #1: Write your married name in lipstick on a guy's butt. She does. "Sutter." With a smiley face underneath it. Whoo! Chicks are so cuuuuuuute!
Dare #2: Drink a body shot off a shirtless guy. She does. Whoo! Sisters are doing it for themselves!
Dare #3: Get a pair of guys underwear. Amy -- wow, I didn't even know she was there -- muses, "I'm really surprised that all of these guys are volunteering to, like, take off their underwear and do all these crazy things with Trista!" And don't look at the cameras, the lights, or the staged scenarios to explain it. Because they've got nothing to do with it. What? They don't.
Trista takes a picture to some guy's butt. In the good news column, this moment is a quickie refresher course of "Lowest Common Denominator," for those of you who haven't thought of it since third grade. Which is apparently where all of these people will see each other.
Something weird, meanwhile, is happening with the dudes. Some guy named "Josh" tells us, "It's just one of my convictions and one of my commitments to my faith and to my wife just not to be a part of that." Dear Prudith, won't you come out and play? There's a whole cabal of guys down by the beach who refuse to be up in the room with the strippers, and Chris has to go down and beg them -- BEG THEM -- to go watch some hot young ass with the bachelor boy. But for some reason they won't. Ryan tells us that "a real separation" opened between the guys at this point, and that he felt responsible. Leaving out the moment where Bob makes a gay-themed joke in Russ's direction -- because (a) ew, and (b) I've been cutting high-pitched Bob some sexuality slack, but, sometimes, pot meet kettle, is all I'm saying -- a drunken Ryan begs them to come back into the stripper tent. What the hell is going on? What kind of group of pussy-ass losers is this? He's sitting in a chair telling them, "I understand everybody's point of view." What point of view? Isn't this a bachelor party? When did everyone convert to the temperance-loving religion of Dorkism? Free booty! On display! For free! And suddenly everyone's all, "Tithe! Tithe! Let's drink a Fresca and listen to Creed." Straight men. Can they do anything right?
For reasons I think you'll instantly understand, there's a late-breaking nickname christening from "Ryan" to "Cryin'." Carry on.
Everyone consoles Cryin', who is really upset that people didn't want to watch the strippers. I'm still not following. And even less so when a second wave of strippers makes its way in and suddenly no one has a problem with it anymore. My brows are so furrowed with confusion and concern it's like I suddenly have two televisions right to each other. A new TV! Thank you, Uncle Fleissy!
Trista And Cryin'
“ Ryan wanders drunkenly out of the camera's gaze, turning back to the attending crews and yelling that staple line of put- upon reality- show contestants everywhere, 'This is my life!' That's right. So stop looking at me like it's my fault. ”
The ladies, meanwhile, are having NO problem with this bacchanal of sex and death (well, neither). A guy strips to his boxers and jumps in the pool. Trista teaches two guys a dance from her Miami Heat days. Don't they mean her "physical therapy specialist" days?
Two of the wedding girls go spy on the Eyes Wide Shut (meaning: steeped in misbegotten symbolism but secretly really boring) moment unfolding with the guys, promising that what she's seen (and what we haven't) is not for Trista's eyes, and that she "won't be mentioning" any of what she saw to her. Well. Mission accomplished.
This juxtaposition is giving me whiplash! Oh, now Trista gets a stripper. And all of the women are fine with it. And no one is uncomfortable. One of them is in a fireman's costume. Jackie proclaims the entire situation "gross." You said it, sister, not me.
The two girls lure Cryin' away from the main set, teasing and flirting and blah. They amble off with Cryin' as, back at the bachelorette party, Shannon screams, "Let's go find the guys!" Whoo! Cryin', meanwhile, is sitting in the dark with the two strippers, who are all over him and telling him they won't get him in any trouble. But Pete and another guy come over to rescue him, telling us all earnestly, "I don't think Ryan's love for Trista needs to be tested by a girl in a catsuit." Not that there's much competition, but that wins Best Line big-time. Back with the guys, Cryin' proclaims the entire situation "stressful," and he takes off. He wanders drunkenly out of the camera's gaze, turning back to the attending crews and yelling that staple line of put-upon reality-show contestants everywhere, "This is my life!" That's right. So stop looking at me like it's my fault.
Fun turns to boozy turns to strippers turns to, somehow, rain. Wow. God watches The Bachelor. What an emotional tipping point. The ladies come to crash the party and discover that Cryin' is missing. Trista becomes very upset and starts to cry, worrying that she knows he wants and needs her. Trista walks off by herself, still walking slowly enough that the cameras can get a mark on her, into the hotel and into a bathroom, where we can hear her wailing with sadness behind the closed door. Wow. It is pouring down emotionally appropriate rain!
But not where Cryin' in, off wandering in totally dry circumstances, on a tiny island! That really is the smallest low pressure system in the history of The Sadlands. He walks cobblestone streets by himself, stopping to pet a stray dog along with way (awwwwwwwww!) before quickly returning to the bar. And...there he is. Two hours, we learn, he was gone. Concerned glances abound, everyone happy to see him except a seriously wasted Ben, who slurs something about how now "he's our friend again." Ben's famewhoring is impressive because it's so ambitious.
And, finally, reunited (and it feels so good). Knowing as if by instinct where she would be, Ryan walks into the hotel lobby just as Trista exits the bathroom. "Nothing else mattered anymore" at that moment, Ryan tells us, because "she was back." Conventional wisdom shouldn't even BOTHER having to point out that she wasn't the one who left.