Props to the predicate nominative, and my sincerest apologies for treating it so shoddily last week.
Bob "Assanova" Guiney moves with purpose around Bob's Villa, throwing clothes in a bag with the reckless abandon of one who used to be fat but now is not fat and also is really good friends with his ex-wife. He emerges in the bedroom wearing a red t-shirt and wearing a black skullcap, which I guess means he already packed the most important item in his wardrobe, e.g. whatever isn't that hat. He's shooting for "simple white man's co-opting of urban culture" and instead landing squarely on "three inches lower and he's a clich cinematic bank robber." Bob carries bundles of clothes and throws them into a bag. Seeing as the only articles of clothes we've actually seen him wear since he showed up in Malibu are "a bathing suit" and "evening formalwear drenched in Meredith's tears," this middling adventure in business casual might be a little excessive. Perhaps he jammed all of those clothes in there as a stopgap to keep all of the skeletons he's hiding (such as which of Satan's many pacts he signed in blood to make himself impossibly irresistible) from clanging to the ground and making quite the ruckus. Either way, nice beige sportsjacket, Larry from Three's Company.
In a different red shirt, Bob over-backstories for the benefit of, I guess, Mary's parents, who are translating this show on a Speak 'n' Spell and are therefore five seasons behind on the central concepts of a television show entitled The Bachelor: "This stage of dating certainly gets more serious. I finally get to go to each of these ladies' hometowns and meet their families." Yes. Finally. How on earth have you held out so long, you brave, suffering soul? Remember the feeling you had when Mandela got released from prison? Well, this is just like that, except with fewer political ramifications and more beige sportsjackets. "I think that people opening up their homes and introducing their families to me is a big deal, because I think that that's probably one of the most telling signs as to whether or not I could be part of these women's lives and be a part of their families in the future." Oooh, the future! Where the dog is a robot and the hot tub is on the moon and, a thousand years on, the other girls have finally caught up in age to Mary's cryogenically frozen head.
Man, I knew the ratings for this show had been slipping for the last couple of seasons, but I wasn't aware that it had gotten so bad that they made the Bachelor book all of his own travel. Practically pulling out old copies of AAA triptychs and being all "and then, after The National Grammar Rodeo, we'll stop at the Knoxville Wigsphere," Bob files his flight plan in a way that makes for television as compelling as a locked list thread: "I'll be going to Illinois to see where Kelly Jo grew up." The expression "grew up" implies a certain amount of maturity, which...well, I still just don't know yet. "Then to Portland, Oregon, where I'll be with Meredith, her mother, father, and brother." And, if you scratch just below the surface, her Nana. "Finally, I'm going to Beverly Hills, where I'll get to spend some time with Estella and her mother." And not her father? Would this be a bad time to point out that the adjective best suited to describe her voice is "deafening"? But first, because of the whole playing-the-life-expectancy-odds thing, "I'm going to Tampa, Florida, to meet with Mary and her mother." On that cue, Mary walks down the stairs of Shady Pines (well, that's what it's called when she's in it, anyway) carrying a suitcase and a giant teddy bear, a gift from her as-yet-not-conceived child from its doting and loving never-gonna-be-its-father, given to her in that dark, cobwebby sanctum known as "Mary's crazy, crazy mind." Besides, isn't all this luggage precluding Mary from getting on that mechanized chair thing that's supposed to help her down the stairs?
“ As Bob and Kelly Jo make their departure, we're in for more hugs and more screeching cries of estrogen-drenched love. Add Bob's laugh as the obligato above all that and, well, a thousand sad dogs. I'm just saying. ”
Kelly Jo keeps her emotions locked inside the confessional room where they damn well belong, telling us, "It does suck having my dad not there to meet the man that I could spend the rest of my life with." Back in the living (or is it the dying?) room, Grandma Hooka Chaka dabs her eyes with a tissue and proclaims, "Joey would love you." Careful with the expenditure of energy, old one. You've seen how this show treats the legacy of aging grandmothers. They Shoot Nanas, Don't They?
Dinner. Kelly Jo makes a toast to "the best family [she] could ever ask for," adding that she's with a man who makes her feel "amazing." And also to "an amazing night." All Tampa has to do is change its name to "Amazing, Florida" and they can consider their corporate synergy dollars pretty damn well spent in the final analysis. I feel like that word is reserved for circus performers on unicycles twirling rings around on their arms really, really fast. Mid-'80s television shows about ghost trains riding through people's living rooms? Amazing. Grandma Hooka Chaka? Non-threateningly maternal. And a big fan of this "Joey."
Kelly Jo's mother Barbara worries to us that they were having "too good of [sic] a time," and so, back in the kitchen (or is it the dying kitchen?), she asks if she can steal Bob away onto a back lanai, just off the room they're sitting in right now. Outside, Babs (may I call you Babs?) wants Bob to know what Kelly Jo can offer him as a person: "When her father died..." Bob's pupils dilate in a well-here-we-go-again fashion. "She had the worst time of her life. You know who got me through it?" Caspar Weinberger? I have no idea. "Kelly Jo." Ooooooh. May-I-Call-You-Babs goes on to explain that, during their hard times, Kelly Jo sent her mom a lot of cards in the mail. Awwwwwwww. Cards. Bob responds that he thinks MICYB did a great job raising her daughter. She trained Kelly Jo well. Trained her to be a shill for Hallmark. Trained to her to send cards.
And, we're done here. As Bob and Kelly Jo make their departure, we're in for more hugs and more screeching cries of estrogen-drenched love. Add Bob's laugh as the obligato above all that and, well, a thousand sad dogs. I'm just saying. As they leave, Grandma Hooka Chaka goes in for one more almost-inappropriate hug, nearly crossing the lines of propriety between a big, gross, sloppy grandma kiss and an "Oh, look, Fred, she's gotten her boobies" situation. Sadly, for Bob, that's actually something she could say to him and mean. Bob deems the night "awesome" and tells us that Kelly Jo's family reminded him of his own. And, in an abrupt cut back to what I guess is Kelly Jo's apartment, Bob asks, "What do you dream about?" I guess he means to get into her deeper psyche of what her hopes for the future are, but she rambles something about how she doesn't want to hold anything back from anyone, because "who knows in the morning, you could wake up and one of those people could not be there." Because they ditched you and sent you packing? Or, wait, are you talking about death again? Bob doesn't care as long as it ends with smacky kissing. Lucky for Bob, it ends with smacky kissing.
“ Bob knows that he cares about Meredith, but he wants to make sure that they have a relationship beyond the simple fact that they've been 'grieving together.' After all, we wouldn't want a totally superficial TV relationship getting soiled with the lie of compassion, now would we? ”
I've never been to Portland, Oregon. I look forward to going in it, through it, and, in one very special visit, six feet under it. Who's ready? Readers? Posters? Bachelor fans?
Nana?
Bob recaps (again, grrrrrrr...) his past dealings with Meredith, remembering with a furrowed, my-brain-hurts brow, "Meredith and I had a one-on-one date, obviously, on the day that her grandmother passed away. And that was really difficult for me, and I'm sure it was extremely difficult for her." Yes, but you still get to go first. Bob knows that he cares about Meredith, but he wants to make sure that they have a relationship beyond the simple fact that they've been "grieving together." After all, we wouldn't want a totally superficial TV relationship getting soiled with the lie of compassion, now would we?
Bob carries his usual bouquet of duty-free flowers and shoves them into Meredith's hands as she walks through a back gate and meets Bob on the driveway. They hug, and Bob proclaims the area "great," but it's possible that he and Portland have just been grieving together, so maybe it's all a big lie. Thsey waste no time slipping into something more bathing suit-y and hopping in her pool. Bob spits a whole bunch of water on Meredith and then laughs maniacally, causing the already-damaged Meredith to contract hoof-in-mouth and a splitting migraine with startling simultaneity. She responds, "I didn't know I was dating my brother." Ew. But just wait until you see the brother. When they take a dip in his gene pool later on, at least he'll make you stop wondering why Meredith's thoughts went directly to the prospect of what gets created when siblings combine their DNA.
"I asked Bob to go see my grandmother's gravesite." Uh-oh. "And I hope it doesn't make him feel weird." Uh. Oh. ["Meredith, I am beginning to realize why you are single, because, guh?" -- Wing Chun] As the Suburban coasts past the entrance to The Skyline Memorial Gardens at sundown, Bob ruminates on, "That was the first chance she's had to visit her grandmother's gravesite. And it was with me." And now that we know who got the boot, my inability to hear the stark panic in his voice when he says that makes me sad. We should have known. We all should have known. Meredith whispers a "thanks" to Bob for coming up to Big Nana's House, and he smiles wanly and desperately thinks, "I mean, Kelly Jo's family is dead, but at least they're not quite THIS dead." This really is a bit much. Bob and Meredith walk arm in arm to the gravesite, the bouquet of flowers having grown suddenly quite a bit bigger. Meredith breaks down and lays flowers at her grandmother's grave, the ensuing confessional fascinating in light of the footage: "Maybe my grandmother had a better plan for me, and that's why I'm here." You're saying your grandmother gave her life so you could cry to Bob about it and that would bring you together? Okay, by way of example, my grandmother still puts five dollars in cash inside my birthday card every year, and that is ALL I expect from that particular familial role. I mean, my grandmother's a cool lady and all, but I wouldn't ask her to kick it just so I could meet the man of my dreams. Or, the, um, "sweet boy" of my dreams. As my grandmother calls them. Whatever. It's fine. She also doesn't seem to like Irish people very much, for some reason.
“ Mastella gets right to the point, asking what Bob is looking for in a woman. Everyone wants to find his or her mother, is what comes from his response. Have I mentioned she looks like Tootsie? ”
Big hugs and small flowers for Estella at her house in L.A. Estella reminds us that she's been on her own since she was fifteen, so she's excited to show Bob her house, rather than her parents'-minus- one-dead-Dad- equals-Mom's-house. Estella glosses over the fact that she was a total deaky wreck in Vegas, airily flitting, "I am so looking forward to having [Bob] here and kicking back and not having it be a big deal." She asks Bob if he's excited to meet her mom ("No"), and Estella predicts that Mom will cry when she walks into the house. And speaking of tears: "Of course, I would love to have my father here. That would be amazing. And in a way, I'm sure he is." But she's not going on location to a place with flowers and an etched rock to show Bob how "amazing" her relationship with her father was. Dead, sure. But still somewhat less dead than others.
Estella's mom enters the house, Bob offering her a giant hug but not a patronizing "You're so cute" even though she is scores shorter than he is. Estella's mother kisses Estella on the lips (there's a lot of this going around) and cries just so that Estella can prove the point that her mother was going to cry, dammit. Awww, but she is cute. And she looks like Tootsie. And it takes her no time at all to volunteer the information that she used to call Estella -- ech -- "Pooterbuns." Bob asks if he can call Estella "Pooterbuns." She says no. True nuff. Never discuss it again. Mastella gets right to the point, asking what Bob is looking for in a woman. Everyone wants to find his or her mother, is what comes from his response. Have I mentioned she looks like Tootsie?
An exceedingly intimate dinner ensues at Estella's, the three of them sitting around (well, not entirely around) the table, eating something I'm guessing Estella cooked. Bob delves deeper, bringing up Vegas anew, asking Estella if her Vegas freak-out was just "a moment," or indicative of a deeper pathology where she would always...what, wonder if Bob were dating all of her friends? Estella goes with Column A, rather than what would be a far more damning "Yes, I'm totally paranoid to Plathian proportions. The only time I cook for you from now on, I'm making a meal of my own head in the oven. Because I'm craaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaazy." Anyway, that's what she doesn't say. She says that getting out of the house gave her some "sanity," and, if that's what that was...wow.
Alone now, Estella asks her mother what she thinks about this knotty little dating-your-soulmate- on-television thing. Mastella says that it's hard to put it into words because she's so used to using sign language. Because her dead father was deaf, which gives her more heart-string-tugging pity points than Kelly Jo, but fewer maudlin fresh-in-the-ground pathos points than Meredith. In the Candy Bar Of Death, Estella is the creamy nougat center. So Mastella leaves her hands right on the couch and barely signs at all, telling Estella "he'd be a good man, baby." In a confessional, Mastella tells us that whatever happens happens and that Estella will be okay either way. Estella bids Bob goodbye as he tells us in a confessional, "I'm screwed. I mean, I don't know what I'm gonna do." He would have said he was "dead" by way of euphemism. But this season, that would mean he was actually dead.
“ 'I kind of go through the day not really thinking about it, and then I do start to think about the emotions involved.' The emotions involved in asking someone to marry you? And it only bugs you at night? You have the depth of a spittle wad, my puffy friend. ”
Chris "Who?"rrison welcomes Bob into The Room Of Reckoning, sitting down and asking Bob how he's feeling. Bob responds, "It's the weirdest thing." No, the weirdest thing was that time that Kangaroo Jack was the #1 movie in America. Maybe this is the second weirdest: "I kind of go through the day not really thinking about it, and then I do start to think about the emotions involved." The emotions involved in asking someone to marry you? And it only bugs you at night? You have the depth of a spittle wad, my puffy friend. Chris is all, "So you met the families, eh?" or something. Bob is amazed (natch) that each of the women has such "amazing stories" (train in the living room!) that set them apart from anyone he's ever met. Chris tells Bob that tonight will be different from all other nights, an appropriate enough setting in which Bob will be asking The Four Questions of his remaining women (a little something from the Haggadah for all you Old Testament types out there. Thanks for visiting the Catskills! Please come again!). The women have not seen each other since moving out of the house, and will not be permitted to speak to each other when they arrive at the house. Ooooh, how fabulously barbaric. Chris takes the three remaining roses downstairs as Bob undertakes the video message portion of our show. Mary sees Bob as a part of her family because of how he's old, Cuban, and adorable! Kelly Jo knew how "incredible" and "real" it was bringing Bob home to meet her family, but she's not allowed to talk to Mary, and Chris lets her know it in a creepy whisper. Meredith has feelings "bigger than the rose" and metaphors that take longer to untangle than a very brief funeral service. Estella whines that she had a great time when Bob came to meet her mom, but the real B-story here is the smooch Estella plants on Chris when she enters the house. Nah, that's not really a B-story.
Silent. Glancing. Roses. Chris Harrison. Nana? Chris explains that this has been an -- sing it with me if you know the song -- "amazing" week. He recaps (STOP IT STOP IT JUST STOP IT YOU'RE TAKING MONEY OUT OF MY POCKET AND BREAD OUT OF MY MOUTH SO STOP IT!) that the ladies all went home and Bob met their families. Reeeeeally? Now, however, Bob is "struggling" with his decision. Because there are only three roses, which means someone's packing. With line readings like that one, it's not going to be Chris. He totally had his A-game tonight.
Oh, hi Bob. "Blah blah blee blee you look beautiful blee foobity foobity foobity tough for me la la lee lee loo if I had four roses, I promise I'd give out four roses merpy merpy merpy I care about you all." I hope y'all don't mind if I dwell here one more time: hey, buddy? Tell it to Estella's dad.