"Fellas, good morning," says reality-show host and perpetual Chess King clothing model "It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like" Chris Harrison from his bully pulpit at the front of the guys' house living room. This week, we learn, there will be "three dates: a special one-on-one date, and then something we've never done before." A new mysterious burnt sienna-colored rose? Elimination by Russian Roulette? The shocking reveal that all ten remaining guys are actually made of candy? Let the almost tangible bounds of suspense release me from their actually decidedly metaphorically iron grip, Chris! "Two men..." -- I like where this is going so faaa-ar -- "...one lady." That's it? Are they that afraid of messing with the formula that that really constitutes "something we've never done before"? Again, y'all, no one's suggesting that you scrap the old recipe entirely and end up marketing New Bachelor and Crystal Bachelor to an audience whose tastes haven't evolved enough to enjoy it. But this right here is nothing more than changing the can design and expecting us to swallow the same flat beverage for years until the audience one day just puts that thing down and retches, "What the hell is this, Tab?" Is that really what you want, you guys? Reality programming in an ugly pink can?
Why yes, thanks, I can frame literally any debate within the parameters of the 1980s cola wars. Ask me sometime about how the Axis Powers of World War II were the collective "Shasta" of the warring 1940s.
Anyway.
Back in the living room, Chris lays out the rest of the week for the guys: "As for the third date, seven of you on one date." Guys throw looks around the living room that would erupt over into the verbal realm of "ruzzah" and "ruzzah" if they were allowed so much as one more second of "It was one of you who poisoned Mr. Body, in the living room, with the group date!" Agatha-Christie-esque suspicious glaring ensues.
Chris (is he still there? He's become so innocuous I tend to forget who he is in between instances of typing his name) continues on, explaining that the dates have been split up: "You guys remember before the show, you all underwent personality tests." And not only do we not get to see them taking the tests, but we also don't get to know anything about the tests or what was on them. Therefore, the activity which basically serves from here forward as the catalyst on which all future action in this episode is based is relegated to the level of the technical awards they hand out before they give the real awards in front of an actual viewing audience. Anyway, we're told, Meredith has taken the exact same test, which in that case apparently consisted of the singular question, "Do you like boys?" And the person who is deemed most compatible with Meredith by a hasty and arbitrary decision from a cabal of producers desperately trying to inject some drama into this dying season (er, sorry. I meant "by a highly regarded and clinically proven personality test") will be revealed by a video invitation. Guaranteed to be there or it's free, Chris fishes the unlabeled VHS tape off the mantel, and throws it at some guy sitting close to Chris, whose position to a potted palm frond makes me continually mistake one for the other. Let's say that the results of his personality are, "He doesn't have one." No, wait, it's Ryan R. Man, if only he would do something memorable to set himself apart from the rest of the contestants. And, hi. Couldn't they fancy up the tapes a bit? It looks like they're going to pop it in the VCR, become mesmerized by a grainy black & white house on a cliff and a girl staring into a well, and then they'll all die in seven days.
“ 'A night of good fortune awaits us. We'll ride through the streets in a rickshaw and be entertained by dragons.' Wow! Dangerous, non- motorized archaic transportation and monsters! Have you been reading my dream diary again? ”
Popping the tape in the VCR, we discover Meredith wearing a blue Asian-fusion (that's "Asian" fused with "clich wardrobe stereotype," that is) shirt-y thing and letting us know that the guy who can rent it tonight and go home happy is...Ian! "A night of good fortune awaits us. We'll ride through the streets in a rickshaw and be entertained by dragons." Wow! Dangerous, non-motorized archaic transportation and monsters! Have you been reading my dream diary again? Ian gives a vague glance around that I'll just take the liberty of translating: "Y'all sure I can't just go to the Mighty Ducks game?" Meredith takes a quick breath and dives back in with the parting shot I'm sure will possess just as much passion and raw sexuality as we've come to expect from her: "And I hope you know how to use chopsticks." The tape fades, and the rest of the guys throw out the perfunctory "Awwww, yeah"s and "Hooo, boy"s they're expected to make with at this point. Yeah! Chopsticks mean sex! But then, I guess from a group of ten gentlemen who are utterly used to ending every fortune cookie they've seen since they were twelve with "in bed," fetishizing even the utensils shouldn't come as that much of a surprise.
In a confessional, Ian cops to feeling "at ease" about the results of the Magic 8-Ball test. Tonight, he'll be looking to see if there's a "connection" between him and Meredith to see "if she's the one." In bed!
Yeah, he'll probably win. Meredith shows up at the house and gives Ian a big hug, telling us simultaneously in a confessional, "I'm very happy I'm going on this date with him." Maybe that's because her confessional glimpsed out the window of the time-space continuum and she watched herself showing up at the house to discover Ryan R. sprawled out shirtless on the living room sofa with a blanket (with what looks like only a blanket) covering his lower half, looking like he's posing for the new version of the International Male catalogue. "Come on," he can almost hear his agent (oh, they've all got one) urging him, "it's just like the Abercrombie catalogue...but for ugly people!"
“ 'My mom is -- was -- Swedish,' Ian ventures, hoping Meredith will zero in on the confusing tense construction of the sentence rather than the content. And she bites, parsing the 'was/is' dichotomy rather than being all, 'How interesting! You know the national anthem of Sweden is, of course, "Du Gamla, Du Fria."' ”
In the back of stretch rickshaw with a Plexiglas retaining wall between the people enjoying the trip and the person pulling it (as well it should be), Ian kicks off the conversation is a way he knows Meredith would understand best: "My mom is -- was -- Swedish," he ventures, hoping she'll zero in on the confusing tense construction of the sentence rather than the content. And she bites, parsing the "was/is" dichotomy rather than being all, "How interesting! You know the national anthem of Sweden is, of course, 'Du Gamla, Du Fria.'" Then again, it's not like there's anything that inherently interesting about Sweden worth discussing, I suppose. It's not like he tried to capture her interest with "my mother was an axe murderer" or "my mother was a unicorn" or something. That's why, I guess, Meredith is more interested in the fact that Ian's mother only seems to exist somewhere deeeeeep in the recesses of the past tense. "'Was'?" she asks, and Ian admits, "She passed away when I was three years old." The "awwwwwwwww" track is cranked up to Michelle-Tanner- sneezes-for- the-first-time- and-isn't-it- adoooooooorable proportions, as the world's viewing audience who is quickly falling for Ian collective produce an "awwwwwww" with so much breath support that it speeds up the world's jet streams and blows the pink flamingos on my lawn right into each other, causing a terrible tangle. But wait! It gets worse! For the emotional ace known as "vague and unsubstantiated human developmental statistics" has yet to rear its head. Until now! Ian goes on: "What's really sad is that your memory only really develops when you're four years old, so I don't remember anything." Meredith knows just how he feels, except for the "losing your mother" part and the "my formative mind has erased all trace of her existence from my long-term memory" part. But that doesn't stop her from volleying back with that last track on Television Tragedy's Greatest Hits, right after Princess Diana and Zapruder: "My grandmother was Swedish." Uff da! A Nana reference right in the middle of it all? But Ian doesn't mind, and in a confessional tells us that she made him feel totally comfortable as a result of her utter Nana-fying of the conversation. Hey, guys? When I was in fourth grade, I had a guinea pig named "Fuzzy." And, well, I don't think I have to tell you how that worked out. Hey, is there enough champagne for me to have a glass?
Down in a completely empty Chinatown, a few shots of a Meredith and Ian find them at a really tiny parade celebrating the ringing in of The Year Of The Dead Matronly Figure (it's very rare...it's like a Chinese leap year thing). They're then being dragged in a rickshaw by a real live Asian man (way to keep it authentic and vaguely racist at the same time!) and into a fancy restaurant. Once inside, Ian yells for service, "What's the specialty of the house?" But since it looks like Meredith and Ian have fallen into that Twilight Zone episode where they're the only people left on an otherwise desolate landscape, Meredith is forced to banter, "You're sittin' right to her." And since that's just about enough for conversation not including the word "journey," Ian pulls the sheet marked "From The Blood-Stained Quill Of Mike Fleiss" out of his pocket and just resorts to the word-for-word script: "Do you see yourself married by the end of this?" Ian promises "on the record" that he wouldn't propose to someone if he didn't feel absolutely ready to be married. He's here "to find a girlfriend," he stammers, and Meredith agrees in a confessional, "It still is really early," like it's the first time she's thought of the fact that they've known each other the amount of time it takes to heat up a bowl of wonton soup that that they'll never get served because this town is empty of human life and you can stay on that train all you want, but the stop is always going to be Centerville, Centerville, Centerville.
“ 'Maybe some people didn't even answer that psych test honestly.' For instance, on question #23, 'Would you remove your body mic in a violent, yanking fashion before eating the flesh and brains of human babies,' Ryan R. checked off the implicating, 'Somewhat likely.' ”
The second date box shows up, and we find Meredith on the tape wearing a dress the exact same color she is, pretending not to die of embarrassment trying to sell these lines: "Todd and Ryan M., all aboard. Let's ride the rail and go see if we have any animal magnetism." Centerville, Centerville, Centerville. In a confessional, Ryan R. starts to develop a bit of a thug-like presence, spinning conspiracy yarns ["hey, that's your job!" -- Wing Chun]: "Maybe some people didn't even answer that psych test honestly." For instance, on question #23, "Would you remove your body mic in a violent, yanking fashion before eating the flesh and brains of human babies," Ryan R. checked off the implicating, "Somewhat likely." I guess this means that Ryan M. and Todd just lied about their answers. You guys? How is Meredith supposed to get to know the real you this way?
The stress level in the house has increased somewhat as we return to what was apparently a house-wide pool game, already in progress. The hair-pulling histrionic drama takes a turn for the unladylike when Sean openly accuses Rick of calling this game show a "game." Which, I, huh? "This isn't a game!" This is a game. "This isn't who's gonna win." This is totally who's gonna win. Sean rants on, promising that he's not intimidated by Rick, which is something we need clarified, simply due to the frequency with which tall men brandishing pool cues wearing backwards baseball caps and mafia-compromised noses are scared of short orange men known around his industry as "The Al Bundy Of The Pink Novelty Slipper." Rick shoots back, "I'm not competing with anybody!" You are. You ARE competing with EVERYBODY.
"Did you have anything to do with me being here today?" Ian asks Meredith, and is disappointed when she tells him no. However, she was "hoping" he would be the one chosen, and they snuggle up on an empty (surprise!) bench. Ian can't believe she has to go on other dates, and wishes the whole thing could just end right now. Well, we've heard that one before and it never manages to come true. They stop by a wishing well -- called, wait for it, "Chinatown Wishing Well" -- and Ian tells us that his wish was "to spend more time with Meredith." Dude, go spend some time with her. She's right behind you. They kiss and are generally nice to each other, and Ian expresses some amount of certainty that he'll still be around at the end of the Rose Ceremony. Ian thinks in this "game," there can never be something to count on. Forget it, Jake. It's Chinatown.
A knock on the Men's Room (that's my temporary nonsensical name for the house because I'm almost done with my third recap in three straight days and, quite frankly, my brain is made of jam and I just accidentally spelled "Men's" with a "4") door reveals that it's two-on-one date time with Meredith, Todd, and Ryan M., who we'll just call "Ryan" for the sake of convenience because he's the only Ryan on this date and the only Ryan not tethered to a fire hydrant and frothing at the mouth. That Ryan is the other Ryan. This Ryan is the Ryan who knows all the words in the English language and has to say them all really quickly in a row without stopping as soon as he says even one of those words, like Cartman when he's cued with the first two words of "Come Sail Away" and can't stop until he's finished the entire song. That's right. I've just called Ryan a fat piece of construction paper, and that's just what I'll keep calling him until he...sssssssssssh. Dude. Seriously. Dial it down from pi and don't stop until you've stopped.