Meredith "Count Bland-ula" Phillips (that is her last name, right? I've never used it once. Where am I? Who are these people? What's going on? Who took my pants? I miss my fly-fly, dada!) sits on her bed packing colorful yellow clothing she must be saving for an upcoming "Come As Your Favorite Color That Isn't, In Fact, Just The Absence Of All Color" costume party. Poor Meredith. It seems that just as she's arrived at her manse, already the cruel demigods of reality television are casting her back into the cold, cold world. So what happens now? Another suitcase in another hall. So what happens now? Take your picture off another wall. Where am I going to? You'll get by you always have before. Where am I going to? Meredith. Don't ask...anymore.
You won't have to ask anymore, Meredith, because you're going on an all-expense-paid trip to scenic, tropical Puerto Rico! She tells us, "I'm really excited to go on these overnight dates with these guys" in a monotone vocal cadence that indicates that her excitement for the situation is somewhere between the range of "I just spilt tomato juice all over myself during the first twenty minutes of a flight to Tokyo" and "my puppy is in a coma real, real bad." Nevertheless, she soldiers on, really selling it: "I'm gonna learn a lot about these guys, which is a great thing." Unless you learn that one dude lives with his mom. Or that another dude only wants to speak through the universal language of lurve. Or that yet another dude has incurable vampire brow. Anyway, Meredith, good luck with all that "learning."
We discover through her continued "confessional filibuster" (one wonders how I've never used that expression before) that Meredith has "invited" (because "by contractual decree" has such a judicial ring to it) each of the remaining guys to three different Puerto Rican cities for her overnight, intimate one-on-one dates. Three different Puerto Rican cities? Puerto Rico has three cities now? Wait. WAIT. I'm just kidding. I've actually been to that self-styled "commonwealth" many times, and I know much about its rich history and the inability of its people to participate in the electoral process for reasons I can't completely understand. A proud and registered citizen of the mainland, Meredith casts her vote for Ian to meet her in San Juan, Chad to kick it in Isla Verde, and Matthew to not win in Dorado. Now I know Puerto Rico isn't exactly the biggest rock on earth, but I have to say that, from my own experience, I know there's only, like, twenty miles separating the two farthest cities on this itinerary, those cities being San Juan and Dorado. And if the "Isla Verde" is the same overdeveloped, touristy Isla Verde I stayed in when I was there, that town is literally about seven miles away from San Juan and means, translated into English, "San Juan, but shitty."
“ A closed emotional book. An ambiguous backstory. Seemingly no family. A facility with languages. Or, at least, their dominant accents and 'r' rolls. It is clear to me now. Ian is a big fat spy. ”
Ah, Puerto Rico. It's nice to be back. Reality television hasn't taken me to this overhyped island paradise for quite some time now. Over three thousand miles from Meredith's manse -- even though there are far nicer island paradises much closer to the sunniest city on earth -- flags of the Motherland (is this really the Motherland for anyone? Isn't this more like the Auntland?) fly high, discount airlines transport Floridian tourists, and waves crash on the beach in slow motion. Those must be some bored-ass surfers on those there slow-crashing waves. We zero in on a stately old castle that I know from years of family vacations as "El Morro," which we went to every year for our one misguided shot of "tourism" until we went for the last time when I was in high school, couldn't find the parking lot we thought we'd parked in like six times previously (which is actually true, since in 1992 the grounds were restored to their eighteenth-century majesty and the parking lots were all removed), drove around futilely for an hour, had my sister's boyfriend (and future brother-in-law) tell my mother that being with my family was like being trapped inside of an episode of I Love Lucy, parked illegally, and came back an hour later to find all four of our tires slashed. Anyway, that's where our romantic scene is set. Oh, and once it kept out the Dutch.
Ian rounds a corner and spots Meredith on the fort grounds, shouting out a generally pleased "How are you?" The dude is, like, fluent in Spanish and Portuguese and he can't even grace her with a foreign "hello" whilst in a Spanish-speaking land? Halfway around the world she flies to be here and she'd have a better chance of having someone whisper sweet Spanish nothings in her ear if she'd gone on an intimate overnight date with Sesame Street.
Flouncing on the green, green grass where my family's rented Impala once stood so many years before, Meredith and Ian take the advice I've been subliminally offering to this entire season as they just go fly a kite, already. No, that's really what they're doing. Flying kites. In shitty-looking weather. Knowing full well that the only way to save themselves from the most boring episode of this show ever is by inadvertently discovering electricity. Meredith tells us in a confessional that she feels "relaxed," and just as sure as the floating booze cruise they call Earth will keep on turning, we cut to the couple with a picnic blanket spread out as they enjoy themselves some fine champagne. Ian toasts "to a day in Puerto Rico, baby," but he roles his "r" so you know his language training is utterly authentic. In yet another strained confessional, Ian sticks to the talking points, saying, "It's been hard for me to open up. But it's time, really, to sort of let her know how I'm feeling. Hopefully, she'll be able to tell me, too." A closed emotional book. An ambiguous backstory. Seemingly no family. A facility with languages. Or, at least, their dominant accents and "r" rolls. It is clear to me now. Ian is a big fat spy.
“ Ian tells her how 'nice' it was of her to say that, and Meredith tells her that she isn't just being nice. That makes Ian wants to cram his tongue down her throat. I find love between consenting adults confusing and full of mixed signals. ”
The spy who...loved? Back on the blanket, Ian asks Meredith what she's worried about in her relationship with him. What "relationship" is that, exactly? Oh. You're right. I'm sorry. Trifling concerns like that they fully don't actually know each other at all are so fourteen seasons ago. Meredith suddenly finds the importance of being earnest, and floats a love biscuit (okay, ew. Sorry), sweet-talking, "Lately, I haven't really been worrying about anything. Except when I'm going to see you ." Ian tells her how "nice" it was of her to say that, and Meredith tells her that she isn't just being nice. That makes Ian wants to cram his tongue down her throat. I find love between consenting adults confusing and full of mixed signals.
"As long as I see what I see and I believe what I see, that's all good," Ian tells Meredith lovingly. The duck flies at midnight. Spy.
The happy couple strolls down the cobblestone streets of old San Juan, Ian offering an "Hola, Seor" to a delighted native. Nice try, Spyro Gyro. We can hear the Berlitz inflection of your learning your first two Spanish words on your flight from L.A. "Hola, Seor" is like walking into a hotel lobby in Paris and dropping the "Bonjour!" bomb and then getting mad that no one will talk to you in English. In a confessional, Meredith indicates "strong feelings for Ian," but says she intends to use this date "to find out if he stands out above the rest." They stand under some enormously phallic tower in the middle of some town square, Ian handing her a flower and asking, "Will you accept this rose?" Just like on that TV show! She laughs and smooches him, sharing with us, "The only person I'd want to walk through Old San Juan with is Ian." Ain't that just the reality-television jaunt through the tropics for you? Puerto Rican marriage, Haitian divorce.
"I invited Ian over to a mansion in Old San Juan," Meredith tells us as we're treated to shots of Ian walking up to Meredith's door. Oh, stop implying all of this autonomy, for crying out loud. You didn't invite him to anything. "I'd just seen him, but I missed him already." A short-term memory like that and this new couple is going to be doomed to having their first date...fifty times! Cue "Hey Ya" and a vomiting walrus and Rob Schneider getting poked with a pointy stick. The end.
A gaudy live-action pink flamingo in a Meredith costume pulls open a giant wooden door behind which is usually a hunchback mispronouncing "Dracooooooooolya." But behind this door is the answer to why Meredith isn't often seen in bright colors or feathers or ice-skating costumes from primetime ice-skating specials enjoyed by our grandmothers and slightly gay uncles. What the hell is she wearing? Ian asks the same question, but in a much more please-sleep-with-me kind of way, noting through poorly concealed horror, "Wow, look at you." Dude, she must be feeling self-conscious enough already. Don't rub it in that you get to wear your own drab street clothes and she's product-placing for a lawn furniture retailer on Daytona Beach.