If you're wondering why nothing happened on this week's episode, look no further than the six minutes and fifty-five seconds worth of "previously"s that my notoriously diva attitude once again precludes me from recapping. Oh, fine. Previously: Guys wore skullcaps and consumed alcoholic beverages we can both literally and colloquially describe as "fruity" because of how damn gay they are. Like, as in they come with a slice of pineapple. And a frilly umbrella. And some hot man-man porn.
Also, previously. Ian is a spy.
Meredith "The Turtleneck And The Hair" Phillips wanders dreamily through a riverside skyline. The color palette of her outfit is taken from the special "Pacific Northwest" edition of Crayola crayons, and the specific shade of Meredith's jacket is known to locals as "The Steely Portland Sky That Shapes The Tragically Dark Sensibility Of Those Who Spend Their Formative Years Shackled In By Its Unrelenting Cloud Prison." Children rendering this image on construction paper might be encouraged by the nearest optimistic adult to offset Meredith's camouflaging by coloring her pants in the far warmer "Seasonal Affective Disorder Heat Lamp," rather than the dire black she's actually wearing. Anyway, I've heard it's a beautiful city.
"I'm here in my hometown of Portland, where I'm bringing home two great guys," Meredith says by way of introduction, without explaining, in that case, what that means happened to Ian and Matthew, har har hardy hardy har. Thank you. I'm here all week. Try the veal. "It's really difficult," she continues, "that I have such strong feelings for Ian and Matthew." Oh, I know. The poor thing. Waking up every morning on those three-billion thread count sheets in a mansion and brushing your teeth with coconut milk and drying off after a hot shower by slipping on a robe made only of the finest baby flesh. But at least all of these amenities -- not to mention the attending television cameras -- give a clear indication of what her life will be like with the person she chooses. So. Y'know. There's that. "I'm torn between which path I want to go down," her inner monologue continues on, the voices in her head thankfully filling her head with cheap Frost-ian metaphor rather than a command to listen to The White Album and then smite all of her enemies. Good thing that hasn't happened. YET.
But for right now, we know just which path Meredith will walk down. She strolls on some kind of dock near a bridge, still on the water ("Portland! It's the Venice of Portland!" So say all the brochures, anyway), and meets Matthew. The two trade a big-ass, tenderizing hug, and they stroll hand-in-hand toward a two-story yacht-like thing called "Crystal Dolphin," sketched along the back with what must have been thousands of dollars in retainer fees for Portland's only "Edwardian Script IT" calligraphy expert.
“ Meredith erupts, 'You are so cute!' Is one of the producers holding up a copy of Tiger Beat magazine featuring adorable moptop cover model Jonathan Taylor Thomas behind Matthew's head? Because you rarely hear an adult woman just bust out with that type of 'squeeeee!' love unless she's full-on wasted. ”
"I want to meet her family," Matthew confessionalizes from the top of the boat, sporadic shots doubtlessly filmed between inconveniencing rain squalls. "I want to find out how this girl has become who she is." By hitting all six numbers in the genetic Powerball, complete with supplementary bonus numbers, is how.
Back on the boat, Meredith and Matthew coo and smile and hold hands and review for our edification who Matthew will be meeting today: Meredith's mother and father, and her brother, Matt. "That's why I call you Matthew!" Meredith chirps, and the collective audience -- save a few V.C. Andrews fanfic lovers -- shudder with the societal of stigma of it all.
"I'm ready to consider marriage, but I want to know if that's what she wants," Matthew tells us in his never-ending stream of declarative first-person statements. Inside the Crystal Dolphin (which sounds like it would be title of a Court TV expos about the decline and fall of full frontal Vegas strip clubs), Matthew has his arm around Meredith, and she doesn't so much know what to do with her hands on account of not having a drink in one of them. Oh, wait. There it is on the table. He tells her that he wants to know what's going on inside of her head real, real bad, but he knows she can't always tell him. "You're a smart man," she replies with certitude. Hey. There's no reason to talk down to the dude just because he's from Texas. Matthew replies with an honest "I don't know," and flashes teeth so blindingly bright they shine like lanterns, and suddenly visible is the spray-paint on the back of his head that I can see through his eyes reading, "No. No, I'm not." Meredith, meanwhile, has some further, vaguer thoughts of her own, when she tells us, "There's a fine line between saying too much and saying too little." And here we go again with the gag order that the producers put on the final episode, to keep us guessing right until the very end, even if Andrew had already made up his mind about choosing Jen over that other pointy girl, gotten engaged, and broken up with her, all before the episode has even aired. It's a dramatic gambit that makes any educated viewer combat the sheer longness of these two hours with the airtight logic, "Well then, what's stopping me from just tuning in five minutes from the end, then? Nothing. NOTHING! Oh, look! There's an 'outside,' now! My grandmother always told me she used to play there when she was little, but I thought she was talking about a computer game or something."
Matthew is sipping on some coffee-looking beverage out of glass mug (don't be fooled, America. That thing is dirty with the devil's poison), and he meets Meredith's eyes just as she erupts, "You are so cute!" Is one of the producers holding up a copy of Tiger Beat magazine featuring adorable moptop cover model Jonathan Taylor Thomas behind Matthew's head? Because you rarely hear an adult woman just bust out with that type of "squeeeee!" love unless she's full-on wasted. Matthew, for his part, gets all surprised and squints his eyes so hard I wonder if a racist children's rhyme has led to someone's putting pee pee in Matthew's Coke. He responds, bewildered, "What?" Meredith shakes her head with continued delight, and in a confessional, she shares, "There is nothing about Matthew I don't love." Except for "Matthew." She adds that he's the guy she's "always dreamed of," and of course they've snipped off the more revealing follow-up, "But now that I've found him, I'm wondering how much he can offer in the 'casually distant, emotionally blackmailing' arena."
“ 'My first impression was the term "glamour boy."' It WAS? Like, from the somewhat less famous Living Colour B-side? Good ol' boy? Yes. Glamour Boy? Not unless you're grading on a curb of 'guys in room named Matt.' ”
Matthew carries flowers from the Phillips's front lawn up to the house. The first person to meet Meredith at the door of her home is the aforementioned brother Matt, whose responsibility it is that Matthew had to acquire an extra syllable whenever Meredith refers to him. And, having met this brother Matt before, it remains a wonder to me that a different Matt has been forced to add the illuminating letters "ew" to his name. Isn't it weird that Bob met these people? I don't remember Meredith even making it that far. Matthew is introduced to Meredith's mother (Evil Sandy Duncan, and her name is actually Sandy!), her father (Santa), her brother (the "ew" tolls for thee, Matt), and her Uncle Steve (Steve). Matthew confessionalizes that, to his Southern-friend delight, everyone was smiling. Nevertheless, he says that the early goings were "still kinda tough," and we land on Brother Matt, decked out in a pilly maroon scoop neck sweatshirt made by the original Chess King himself before he got a staff to help him out with the sewing and the pilling and things. Matt rolls up the sleeves on the Members Only jacket he's only metaphorically wearing and leaps right into the talking points: "What makes you think you're the best for Meradee?" First of all, stop calling her that. It's not a nickname if it's the same number of syllables as the actual name. Matthew responds that he's going to give an answer Matt might not be expecting, and I cross my fingers in the hope that he'll snark his way out of Sincerity Land in which he resides and just snipe back, "Because the law says you can't have her, punk." Instead he tells him, "I don't know," and in a confessional Brother Matt admits, "Why are there so many songs about rainbows?" Oh, wait. He doesn't say that. I must have gotten thrown off by the throaty, froglike timbre of his voice. Instead, he says, "My first impression was the term 'glamour boy.'" It WAS? Like, from the somewhat less famous Living Colour B-side? Good ol' boy? Yes. Glamour Boy? Not unless you're grading on a curb of "guys in room named Matt." Matthew is all, "I ain't no glamour boy," and then he screams, "I'm fierce!" and Matt reclaims the recapping thread with the continuing observation, "He had much more intelligence and personality than I first expected." Good news for Matthew. Now what do you mean my credit's no good?
Dinner. Some fantastically, um, "entrenched suburbanite" (trust me, that's a really nice way of saying something without me trotting out an expression no one wants to hear me use) casserole is spatulaed onto plates as we discover why ambiguous Uncle Steve has been invited: for his fantastic manual dexterity. (In fact, both myself and my friend Beth, with whom I watched this episode, didn't even remember that poor Uncle Steve was even AT the first dinner.) Santa kicks it off with questions, asking Matthew if his intentions were good coming into this whole mess. "I'm to the point where I don't really date casually," Matthew responds sincerely, furrowing his brow. Wait. Hang on. Just creating a macro for the words "Matthew responds sincerely, furrowing his brow." I've got a strange feeling I'm going to be needing it. Santa Dad asks what the "connection" is between the two of them, because reality television has become a meta-language unto itself at this point, like Esperanto or the plot of the "Toxic" video. And also, because he knew if he asked about Matthew's "journey," the poor boy would only see fit to respond, "You mean, from farm boy to Glamour Boy? Well, see, it all started on a simple scratch of land back in Friendswood, Texas." But instead, they sit rapt as Matthew responds sincerely, furrowing his brow, droning on about how he feels when Meredith looks at him. He feels very fortunate that he's stayed in the game even this long. "Because she can axe me any time she wants!" Even the usually pensive Uncle Steve gets a rousing chuckle out of that one. In the absence of knowing anything about him, I'm just going to ascribe random personality characteristics to Uncle Steve. Earlier, he was "usually pensive." Now I see him as "cautiously boyish." And later, "made of chunky peanut butter."