Props to David and Miranda, for dinner and a choice viewing locale that, for once, wasn't the well-worn ass-groove on my couch in my apartment. Oh, ass-groove. Sometimes I think you're the only one who knows me at all. Hmmm. Also, props to ass-groove.
Ching-ching-a-ching-ching, strummity-strum-strum-strum goes the skipping record of a soundtrack that comprises the aural wallpaper for every music cue on this show. The generic, easy-listening quality of it calls to mind not the unfolding drama of complex and televised emotional developments, but more the sense memory of watching safety instructions on a plane shortly before take-off. Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for flying Bachelor Air. Please see that all carry-on luggage is stowed in the overhead compartments. In case of emergency, Bob Guiney's ego can be used a flotation device. If that is not available, please note the giant pink slippers in your seatback pocket, which can be used as a raft that only floats to Fire Island. Enjoy your flight.
"Fellas, if you would, come join me in the living room, please," shouts the angstier-than-usual voice of Chris "Host Of Compelling Show Past" Harrison, as the remaining Bachelor 15 grunt and scratch and amble toward the steps, because these are real men and that is what real men do. Except for "sensitive" Elliot, who is not a real man. And neither is "delicate" Rick. Nor is "square-faced" Matthew. Two of them because they're just a little gay. One of them because he's geometry. See if you can figure out which one is which!
Grunting, scratching, preening, and calculating the dimensions of a four-sided shape in order to end up with a regular octagon when you connect the outside vertices of the figure, the men make their way downstairs. The sit around on a plush collection of sofas and divans, as Chris welcomes them to Boymerica and asks them what they think. A general murmur of pleased assent is his reply, save for one or two lispy "this giant ottoman simply will not do"-type things that must just be my imagination. Because one of the hallmarks of this show is that everyone who is ever on it only does it for all the right reasons of finding love, Chris believes that they've never seen this show before. So, a recitation of the rules. Again. But wait! They're different! But not different enough. Not really different at all: "We usually start with three group dates. This time it's a little different. There are only two group dates, and one very special one-on-one date." Oh, fabulous. A one-on-one date with a guy Meredith doesn't know at all, and two dates teeming with guys we'll never get to know at all. Dually effective in the way that these changes are barely concessional surface changes, and yet they still manage to be bad. Well done.
“ Chris unsheathes his cell phone, and if you turn your TVs up reeeeally loud, you can just barely make him out saying, 'Hi, is Aaron Abramson there? I've called him to explain the nature of the white rose.' Because he's calling everyone in the phone book is why. ”
"This is where that white rose comes into play," Chris notes, desperately trying to wrestle me back onto the linear recapping thread. A cut over to Rick sitting on the couch, and...um, you guys? Is Rick wearing a bowler hat? And is he wearing that bowler hat on television? And, if so -- if he is, in fact wearing a bowler hat, and he is in fact wearing said bowler hat on television -- well, then, why is the Gus Van Sant shot-by-shot remake of The Gold Rush taking place in Southern California? There isn't even any snow there! But no matter...that little tramp has got some tricks up his sleeve yet: "By giving you that white rose, Meredith decided you're the man she wanted to spend intimate one-on-one time with first," Chris explains, which we knew last time when he explained it to Meredith. And which we'll hear again when Meredith explains it again to the guys. I'm glad the white rose is a fun new experiment that the producers clearly seem to think is working, but we could use a couple fewer moments of dawning about the nature of the white rose. Meanwhile, over the din of the guys applauding Rick's efforts, Chris unsheathes his cell phone and runs over to the craft-service table, and if you turn your TVs up reeeeally loud, you can just barely make him out saying, "Hi, is Aaron Abramson there? I've called him to explain the nature of the white rose." Because he's calling everyone in the phone book is why.
"I think I got the white rose because Meredith and I had a connection," Rick autopilots, too busy wondering if Meredith is going to enjoy his menu selection of "Vaudevillian Mime Shoe" to actually hazard saying anything meaningful. "When we looked into each other's eyes, I think that we could see each others' souls." Wow. He must feel pretty passionate about whatever he's on this show to sell, because he's got those broad-based talking points for extra screen time down pat, he does. "See each other's souls"? Shut up, Chaplin. Shut up, the great dick...tator.
The rest of the suckers will find out where they're going and who is invited...well, right now. Chris removes a VHS tape from the top of a mantel behind him and tosses it off to, um...oh, let's just call the thirteen guys whose names I don't know yet "Harold." The tape goes sailing through the air and into...er, "Harold's" hands, and it lands with a big, plastic crack right on "Harold's" lap. Whoa, Chris. Watch out with that tape. That shit is analog, and it's got a ton of moving parts. Why are you still using VHS tapes, anyway? Trying to avoid piracy with screeners during awards season for group-date video messages? I can't believe they haven't been banned altogether.
Chris takes his leave to thunderous exit applause. So I guess all you need to become famous in this country now is to say the words "I am famous I am famous I am famous" like how Islamic law allows men to divorce their wives?
“ 'Hey, guys. Do you feel the need for speed?' I'm sorry, is this a flashback sequence of the introduction to the first group date from Bachelorette '86? You take our breath away, Meredith. Take our breath awaaaaaay. ”
Meredith "Like Bland Through The Hourglass" Phillips appears on the screen within a screen of this tricked-out Max Headroom fantasy, wearing -- no shit -- a black and pink bustier and holding what appears to be a racing helmet. A million fingers hover over a million mouse-clicks of a million sports fetish websites, readying themselves to click the "Make Screencap" button so essential to the advancement of their trade. And, sure enough, Meredith definitely plays up as much sex appeal as the hottest "amorphous ball of negative energy I see when I look at her" I've ever seen, as she reads the copy: "Hey, guys. Do you feel the need for speed?" I'm sorry, is this a flashback sequence of the introduction to the first group date from Bachelorette '86? You take our breath away, Meredith. Take our breath awaaaaaay. "Marcus, Rod, Matt, Chad, Ryan M., Sean, and Harold, grab your helmets and get ready to hit the dirt. Oh, and I hope you're not afraid of heights." Wait. Is there really a Rod? Meredith's stiff body language makes me wonder if we've made any progress since Frances O'Connor tried to return Haley Joel Osment to the robot lab in A.I. as she blows a kiss and promises, "See you soon." The guys whoop because it takes almost no incentive at all to encourage this group to whoop. Rick just looks around confused, as if wondering about the long-term effects of "talkies" on his chosen vocation.
Harold's also got his talking points down pat, as, in a Midwest accent that's taken up permanent residence in the hollow of the words "doin'," "most," and "alone," he tells us, "I'm excited to find out what we're doin', but the thing I'm most excited about is seeing Meredith and getting some alone time with her." ["I read in a newspaper here that Harold is Canadian, so he's actually even more midwestern than you thought." -- Wing Chun] Out in a limo, Meredith cops to never having been "on a date with seven men." Neither have most of us, dear, but if you're looking for some primary source information in order to prepare, I'd imagine that the vast majority of "dates with seven guys" also take place on the cheap VHS tapes you so seem to favor.
Following the wafting stench of desperation and hair gel seeping out from underneath the cracks in the door, Meredith approaches the house to find all seven guys waiting for her like slobbering dogs at the door. I mean, I know these guys have all filled out applications, gotten blood tests, been psychologically screened, and left their homes and jobs all for the possibility of getting engaged to a girl they'd never met before, but still, you guys...way to play hard to get, here.