Travel back in time with me to January 20, 1997. On that date, a post-Monica-yet-pre-MonicaGate Bill Clinton was sworn in for his second term, much to the dismay of my staunchly Republican father -- who was celebrating his sixty-fifth birthday that evening. The jury hearing the civil complaint against O.J. Simpson would soon hand down a verdict in favor of the parents of Ron Goldman, around the same time Louise Woodward made a frantic call to 911. A Haitian immigrant named Abner Louima would not be brutally sodomized with a broom handle by one of New York’s finest for another few months, and the American public’s collective sense of good taste would not be brutally sodomized with Dawson’s Creek by the WB for another year. Feeling pretty good about the world at that time, ain’t ya? Well, wipe that damn smile off your face. For on that evening, as Bill and Hillary danced under Ms. Lewinsky’s jealous gaze, as Mom and Dad hit the Red Lobster for some surf ‘n’ turf a couple of hundred miles north of Washington, as those jurors finessed the details of the final settlement, as Louise put Matthew Eappen down for one of his final naps, as Mr. Louima and his friends headed off to Club Rendez-vous for a night of unmolested cocktailing, as James Van Der Beek laid his enormous head down to rest in the obscurity to which I pray he will shortly return, a Shannen Doherty vehicle known as Friends 'Til The End aired on national television.
I won’t lie and pretend I watched it that evening. (It was a Monday. After Melrose Place, the Polish Princess and I headed to the friendly neighborhood gay bar for show tunes. Sue me.) I won’t even lie and pretend I cared at all about Shannen Doherty’s career at that point. Were this an innocent and just world, I would never have heard of this made-for-TV version of Single White Female meets the Lillehammer Women’s Figure Skating Finals meets The Monkees meets "Sorority Girls From Hell." Unfortunately, VH-1 ("We Put Music Headfirst Into The Toilet And Give It A Swirlie") has decided this is indeed A Movie That Rocks. As such, the "film" has been played and replayed and thoroughly played out over the last couple of years on that channel alongside movies far more deserving of the "Movies That Rock" appellation. (Yes, weep. For The Rocky Horror Picture Show and Airheads rock much harder than this. Then again, I won’t be holding my breath waiting for the VH-1 debut of Hedwig And The Angry Inch.)
Because VH-1 is one of those stations that announce programming start times that hit the hour precisely yet is also one of those stations that actually begins the damn shows a couple of minutes or so beforehand, my tape cuts into the movie after the title card and Shannen Doherty’s opening credit. Fortunately for me, these evidently appeared over the tap stylings of one Chris Aguilar to the tune of "Give My Regards To Broadway." It’s fortunate because, even though I am a show-tune queen of the highest (okay, lowest) order, even I cannot stand the sight of precious, precocious moppets tippy-tapping their way through municipal talent shows. The camera pans through the backstage area past various costumed brats to a ridiculously convenient and brightly-lit makeup table set up in the middle of the room. Perched on stools in front of the mirrors are two tweenish girls -- a bleached blonde and a be-banged brunette. Their respective mothers stand behind them, fiddling with their girls’ hair. I’m tempted to call the kids "Alyssa" and "Shannen," and their mothers "Lin" and, um, "Mrs. Shannen," but that’s way too obvious. So anyway, Nancy Kerrigan’s mother brushes a stray tendril of hair from her daughter’s face and gently asks if she’s nervous. Nance cops to feeling a little tense just as Tonya Harding’s mom yanks her kid’s hair a bit too hard, eliciting an "Ow!" Mrs. Kerrigan takes this opportunity to present her daughter with a gift she’d been saving for the girl’s birthday. Nancy eases open the lid of a lacquered heart-shaped box to find a small silver pendant in the shape of a pair of ice skates. Oops. I mean, "musical notes." Nancy is as deeply touched by the gift as a saccharine movie-of-the-week twelve-year-old can be. "I love it," she declares, baring a frightening array of bleached and straightened teeth in the process. Over in the other chair, Tonya busies herself by applying even more blush to her already overly-rouged cheeks. Mrs. Harding tells her daughter to knock it off with the cosmetics. "You don’t want to look like a clown," she grumps. Too late. The kid’s got on more blue eye-shadow, black mascara, pink lip gloss, and red rouge than Tammy Faye Messner on one of her worst days.
Nancy has fastened the pendant around her neck. Mrs. Kerrigan smoothes Nancy’s hair one more time and places a light kiss on her forehead. "I love you," she croons. "You’ll be great." The two exchange a round of tender smiles, and Mrs. Kerrigan leaves to make her way back to her seat in the auditorium. Meanwhile, Mrs. Mommie Dearest Harding continues to belittle her loinspawn. Tonya begs her mother to convince someone else to perform before her. "Something bad will happen if I go on next," she asserts. Mommie’s not having it. "Remember how we worked on controlling our compulsive thoughts," she condescends, and no, I don’t know what she means by that either. Mommie Harding then spins Tonya around, forcing her to stare at herself in the mirror while gritting with bugged eyes, "You. Can. Do. This. Suzy!" "Suzy"? Bwa! I’m sticking with "Tonya." And do we get it already? Mrs. Kerrigan is sweet and supportive, which is why her daughter will win lucrative endorsement deals and a ride with Mickey at Disney World. Mrs. Harding is scary and psychotic, which is why her daughter will live in a trailer park off the paltry income from her honeymoon sex tape. Right.
Tonya darts her eyes over at Nancy and mumbles, "Mom, you’re embarrassing me." Mrs. Harding makes with the "Fine! Do it yourself, you ungrateful little cow!" and stomps off. Tonya turns sadly to Nancy and glums, "She knows I’m gonna choke." Nancy tries to reassure her with, "You’ll be fine. You have to be good to get this far." The shot cuts to the stage, and "this far" is revealed to be the "SoCal Youth Talent Show." Draw your own conclusions on that one. The emcee floridly announces "Suzanne Boxer of Palmdale." Tonya looks like she’s going to wet herself. Nancy bares those teeth again and tells her, "You can do it. Good luck." I’m meant to interpret this as a sign of Nancy’s kind and giving nature, but Nancy’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes, if you know what I mean. Tonya pulls herself together and emerges on stage. She crosses to hand her sheet music to the accompanist, then plants herself center behind a microphone. Scary Psycho Bitch Mommie mimes "SMILE DAMMIT" from the audience and jerks her head in the judges’ direction. Baby Jane Harding beams dutifully. The pianist plinks out an intro, and Tonya begins in a weak, breathy alto, "Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me." Then she blows it. If you ask me, she blew it right off the bat with her choice of material, but whatever. At least it’s not "Tomorrow" from Annie. She mumbles through the next line of the song, then freezes. As Scary Psycho Bitch Mommie gesticulates frantically from her seat, the judges whisper dismissively amongst themselves. The emcee gallantly rises from his stool off to the side and urges Tonya to "try again later." Scary Psycho Bitch Mommie leaps indignantly to her feet and storms the stage, ordering the pianist and Tonya to continue. "You’re humiliating her," the emcee hisses. "This is none of your business," Scary Psycho Bitch Mommie spits back. Mrs. Kerrigan does not approve. The emcee hustles Harding mere et fille from the stage, Tonya screaming, "No! I haven’t won yet!" all the way. Upon reaching the wings, she screams the latter again into Nancy’s face. Nancy tells Tonya not to give up. Scary Psycho Bitch Mommie snarls, "You don’t know the first thing about it!" Nancy pretends to care for a moment, then fixes that fake smile on her face again to make her entrance.
The emcee introduces Nancy as "Heather Romley of South Pasadena." Palmdale and South Pasadena? Snerk. This is even more white-trash than I thought. As the pianist plays Nancy’s intro, Scary Psycho Bitch Mommie tells Tonya she’s "crashed and burned for the last time." "You just watch someone who knows what they’re doing," she continues as she jerks Tonya around into a pose the director ripped straight from Whatever Happened To Baby Jane? -- the scene where the preadolescent Blanche Hudson sullenly regards the performing Baby Jane from the wings. Only, you know, the hair color’s been reversed. And "I’ve Written A Letter To Daddy" is a hell of a lot creepier than what follows. Anyway, out on stage, Nancy charms everyone with her rendition of "Life Is Just A Bowl Of Cherries." Everyone except me, that is. The song’s cloying and clichéd, Nancy’s alto is as weak and strained as Tonya’s, her phrasing is a disaster, and she keeps going flat. Would that this were the worst singing in this movie. It goes downhill from here. Trust me. Why can’t I be recapping The Commitments? Sure, the acting in that is spotty at best, but at least those people can sing. ["Get Holly Marie to star in a remake and it's all yours." -- Sars] Anyway, the camera pans down from Nancy’s face to her hands, which she holds folded in front of her. The only hint that she’s anything but entirely composed is her nervous habit of rubbing her thumbs together. The shot cuts abruptly to a much-older pair of hands, thumbs a-rubbing, held folded in front of a red satin dress. As Nancy’s childish warble echoes off into the past, the camera pans up a brief expanse of red satin past the silver musical-note pendant to the adult Nancy’s face. Nancy’s all grown up now, and she turned into Shannen Doherty in the process. Normally, I’d call her by her character’s name, but please. The real Shannen-Doherty-as-a-Heather appeared in a far superior movie.
So, Shannen smiles confidently, even though her thumbs have already betrayed her nervousness. Say goodbye to that little character tic now, as it never appears again. The camera shifts to a tracking shot from the back of what seems to be a banquet hall strung with paper lanterns. Some Nazi frat-boy jackass in a navy blue jacket, white shirt, and wide red tie is up on stage blithering on about how "it’s hard to pick a sweetheart" and "tradition" and "all the girls on Sorority Row [having] a special place in our hearts" and blah blah get to the goddamned point already. Shannen’s up on stage with the Nazi Frat-boy Jackass and three other women, participating in some sort of Greek-system beauty/popularity contest. Counting Shannen, there are two white girls, a Latina, and an Asian. What’s wrong with this picture? Shannen engages in mirthful eye-play with a scrawny boy-man in the audience, who wiggles his eyebrows at her by way of response. ["The scrawn is Jason London, brother of Jeremy and by all accounts the cuter London -- just to give y'all who haven't seen it a mental picture." -- Sars] Nazi Frat-boy Jackass grandly announces, "The Sweetheart of Kappa Pi for 1997 is Heather Romley!" Shannen feigns surprise. Hugs for the losers, a trés-classy cellophane-wrapped bouquet for the winner, and Nazi Frat-boy Jackass passes Shannen off to the scrawny boy-man. "You’re a lucky man, Simon," smarms the Nazi before he disappears for the rest of the movie. Other secondary characters receive names in quick succession. Pay attention: the Asian contestant is "Paige," the Latina is "Alison," and Simon’s slap-happy goateed buddy is "Sammy." There will be a test. Not. As an ovary croons, "Hold on to love," various couples twirl on the dance floor. "I’ve never done it with a Sweetheart before," Simon notes. And you never will, loser, if you keep using trashy lines like that. Shannen beams up at him rather than kneeing him in the groin. Off to the side, a bespectacled (read: "unpopular and dorky geek girl who not only has no friends but also is likely lice-ridden") blonde (read: "highly implausible professional coloring job for a character supposed to be an unpopular and dorky geek girl who not only has no friends but also is likely lice-ridden") snaps photos of the event. The camera pans around behind the blonde’s head to show us she’s focused solely on Shannen and Simon. Dun dun DUN!
Cut to the interior of Shannen’s sorority house, where rush is in progress. As proof of the scary Greek-system GroupThink, all of the women are wearing colored tights. All of them. Paige introduces Shannen to a couple of the rushees as the bespectacled blonde fires off another shot of Shannen from the side. She lowers the camera from her face, and it’s Chloë Sevigny! Kidding. She just looks like Chloë Sevigny. With really bad blue eye-shadow and too much mascara and lip gloss. Get it? GET IT? We get a slow-motion Chloë POV of Shannen flipping her hair around while the sorority-sister chit-chat babbles on underneath in real time. Paige kicks it with the exposition, telling the rushees that Shannen is in a band called "Dead Pink." No comment. Yet. Shannen invites a girl named Risa to come see the band sometime. Risa’s overjoyed, as she finds the guitar player dead sexy. If she’s referring to that scrawny lad with the lame pick-up lines, I shall be forced to disagree strenuously. Paige and Shannen foist the rushees off on Alison as Chloë the Geek Girl lurks up behind them. Chloë introduces herself to Shannen as "Zanne Armstrong." The two apparently share an English class. Shannen greets the geek warmly, but Paige snottily takes Shannen by the arm to lead her away to a better prospect for the house. Bitch. Also: Snicker. Zanne looks like she’s about to pout at the snub, but the scene cuts to a nightclub before we get a good look at the expression on her face. In keeping with the 1997 theme, I will tastelessly call the bar "Club Rendez-vous." Sorry, Abner.
Dead Pink is on stage, "performing." To my great dismay, Shannen is not the drummer. Rather, she’s the lead singer. And when I use the term "singer," said term is deployed as loosely as Shannen’s breasts are beneath her floral-patterned short-skirted shift. For someone who bemoans her "chicken legs" in interviews, she isn’t particularly concerned about showing them off whenever she gets a chance. Simon "plays" lead guitar, Sammy is "on" the bass, and an unidentified gent flails away at the drum kit. The song is bad, but Shannen’s "singing" is even worse. It’s obvious the actors aren’t really playing their instruments, so why couldn’t they get a real singer for Shannen to lip-synch to? Whatever. The song ends, and the Unfortunately-Not-Dead-Yet-Undeniably-Pink foursome heads off upstairs for a break between sets. On the way, they natter about some sort of Battle of the Bands Simon wants the group to enter. Sammy’s reluctant to do so, and who can blame him? His band sucks. Only that’s not the reason he gives. He’s not fond of the idea of "[filling] out, like, two zillion forms" and having their friend "Bryan" shoot the required video. After greeting Alison upstairs with a hug, Shannen orders the guys to hash out the details themselves and skips over to a table to "proof [her] story." Down in the main bar area, Chloë The Creepy Stalker Geek Girl gazes up at Shannen longingly. I’d make a Melissa-and-Tammy-Lynn joke here, but an Ellen-and-Anne joke would be more 1997. And pointless and unfunny to boot, so let’s carry on then, shall we?
Simon and Sammy consult Nick The Little Drummer Boy for his opinion. Only they shovel on a steaming pile of hasty character exposition in the process. "You’re over there being your usual quiet self," Simon probes. "Thinking deep thoughts," Sammy adds, managing to wiggle his fingers, his eyebrows, and his goatee as he does so. Nick shrugs his shoulders a bit and says, "Let’s do it." So, Simon’s the leader, The Little Drummer Boy is silently soulful, and Sammy is stoned. Okay, then. Sammy bounds over to The Little Drummer Boy at the pool table while mumbling something about "skipping med school to cut an album that goes platinum," and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry at his delusion. Sammy asks Nick if he’s playing pool by himself, which is not a sexual innuendo. Not at all. Unfortunately. Alison snots from the other end of the table, "What am I? Invisible?" No, honey. Not with those hideous tartan-plaid pants stretched across that acreage of your ass, you aren’t. That exchange between Sammy and Alison will play a part in later proceedings, so, you know, start taking notes. Simon, meanwhile, has crossed over to Shannen. The two canoodle for a bit while blathering about the "brilliance" of the short story she’s written to gain entry into an "advanced English class." Simon snarks Shannen won’t need the "sixteen extra credits" once Dëd Pyncke wins the Battle of the Bands. Shannen exposits that she "promised [her] parents" she’d graduate before pursuing a music career, which I must say is outstanding advice on her parents’ part given her utter lack of talent and ability. Throughout this exchange, Chloë The Creepy Stalker Geek Girl has been staring at the two from her seat below.
The canoodling is interrupted by Club Rendez-vous’s emcee calling the band back to the stage for their next set. As they hurry past Chloë, she rises from her seat to scuttle unnoticed upstairs. The band swings into their version of a ballad down on the stage, said ballad involving Shannen whining through her nose about needing "to fill that hole." As I was forced to turn my head from the television to vomit forcefully into the wastebasket due to that lyric, I missed what Chloë did upstairs, but I’m pretty sure she nicked Shannen’s short story. By the time I’d wiped clean the watery bile that had dribbled out through my nose, the scene had changed to Shannen’s "Advanced English" course. Shannen’s a little late, and scampers into a vacant seat as the professor drones on about the "five-page short story" that is a prerequisite for the class. It should surprise no one to discover that Shannen’s story is missing from her backpack. Oh, no! What will she do? Whatever. The prof natters on about the "great short-story writers" the students will study, including someone named "Anna Eece Nin" and another guy named "John Sheever," among many others. Sly Chloë meanwhile has noticed Shannen’s distress and slithers to her aid. "I’m dead," Shannen pouts. "Resurrected," Sly Chloë slimes as she passes the purportedly-purloined manuscript to Shannen. "You left it at the club," Chloë lies. "Good thing you had your name on the title page." Shannen beams, proclaiming Chloë to be her "guardian angel." Chloë 'tweren't-nothings in response and smiles shyly.
Cut to the quad outside, post-class. Shannen again thanks Chloë for coming to her rescue, and asks if there is anything she can do to repay her. Chloë wants a bid from Shannen’s sorority. Shannen was thinking more along the lines of some complimentary note-taking, but Chloë’s already deep into her "I wanna be a Greek gal" pitch. Chloë knows that "at first glance, [she’s] not your average Delta goddess," but she’s already working those colored tights, so I’m thinking she’ll fit in just fine. Chloë’s also a "double-major in math and science" and no, that’s not sketchy and vague at all. Perhaps sealing the deal, she’s on the yearbook staff as well, and is thus in a position to ensure the Glamorous Goddesses of House Delta will be prominently featured in the campus annual. "Okay, already. I’m sold," Shannen insists. Chloë has one more trick up her sleeve, however. She presents Shannen with an essay she wrote, no doubt entitled "The Numerous Ways I, An Unpopular And Dorky Geek Girl, Will Kiss Your Collective Ass Should You Graciously Deign To Allow Me To Do So." When Shannen adds, apparently, two and two equal anything but four, for she does not see through this shameless and transparent ploy of Sly Chloë’s. Good thing she has her singing career to fall back on. Not. Shannen smiles, accepts the essay, and tells Chloë she’ll do what she can.
Back at the sorority, the Glamorous Goddesses of House Delta are arranged on sofas and chairs in the den, mulling over the various character flaws of the latest rushees. Shannen reads from Sly Chloë’s essay: "I’m not expecting miracles. Just a place where I can learn and grow. A place where people share their thoughts and dreams, and accept each other. You all seem to have a sense of yourselves -- a center. A home. That’s why I want to be a Delta Lambda. Zanne Armstrong." Gag. Do I need to rant about how little learning, growing, and acceptance goes on in a sorority house? Because I’m only twelve minutes into this damn movie, and I’m already on page eight. Okay, good. Paige, upon hearing the Chloë’s name, cracks me up by raising her eyebrows, slitting her eyes, and sneering down her nose with an exaggeratedly icy "Who?" The other Glamorous Goddesses add their own bitchy remarks. "You guys, she’s shy," Shannen insists. "Not when it comes to eye make-up" comes the snide response. Snerk. Paige wants the last pledge opening to go to another woman. Shannen runs down the list of Chloë’s advantages, ending with that whole nonsense about prime placement in the yearbook for the sorority. As if anyone in college really gives a shit about the yearbook, and as if the Glamorous Goddesses of House Delta wouldn’t already have one of their own on staff if they did care. However, the Glamorous Goddesses apparently do give quite the shit about the yearbook and also lack a yearbook-staff plant, as Chloë is easily voted in despite Paige’s continued withering contempt.
Cut to Chloë’s dorm room, where Shannen arrives with the good news. Chloë’s delighted and enthuses, "This is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me." I think having a cross-dressing, meth-head notoriety-whore sociopath beat me to death with a claw hammer in a Minneapolis loft would be nicer than someone securing me a bid from a Greek house, but I suppose that’s just me. Cut once more to Chloë unloading her belongings from her Jeep to move into House Delta. No, you needn’t tell me pledges don’t move in right away, because I know that. You should toss that clue in the direction of the hacks responsible for this movie. Paige brushes past on her way to class, and Chloë promptly commences with the previously-promised kissing of Glamorous Goddess ass. She trails along behind Paige, complimenting her on her leadership abilities and fashion sense while promising to help out with Paige’s Statistics homework. Christ. And I thought I’d already met the ultimate black hole of emotional need. Cut yet again to the quad after English class. Chloë congratulates Shannen on getting her short story published in the campus’s literary magazine, and suggests heading out for dinner to celebrate. Shannen begs off, as she and Dred Peenc have a previously-scheduled rehearsal. They natter on a bit about how supposedly fabulous Die, Pink! is before Chloë manages to invite herself to that evening’s swinging jam sesh. Shannen and Chloë part company just as some dork with glasses, a goatee, and a tweed jacket calls out, "Suzanne? Suzanne Boxer?" A tense violin wails on the soundtrack as Chloë pulls a "you must be mistaken" on Dork Boy’s ass and hustles away.
Swinging Jam Sesh. The rehearsal is being held in the off-campus house Simon shares with their aspiring filmmaker friend, Bryan. The exterior of the house looks suspiciously like the one from If These Walls Could Talk, but I can’t be certain. Through her nose Shannen shoots the final lyrics to a ditty called -- I’m guessing here -- "Don’t Be." The band members congratulate themselves. Needlessly. Bryan opines that their smash-hit "Stop" would make for better video fodder, as it possesses more "dramatic tension." Shut up, Bryan. He vaguely outlines his preliminary idea for the video, which involves rehearsal and performance footage intercut with scenes from a more formal video shoot in the desert. The band agrees to play it his way. Shannen crosses to Chloë, who’s been watching, star-struck, from the couch. We discover that Shannen writes all the lyrics, and Nick, The Silently Soulful Little Drummer Boy, provides the melodies. Chloë states that her favorite part of "Don’t Be" is the chorus, which she proceeds to belt out. The band is suitably impressed, and, actually, Jennifer Blanc’s singing voice is much stronger than Shannen Doherty’s. Yeah, that’s not saying much, but still. After a little prodding, Chloë is persuaded to perform a duet with Shannen. Not only can Chloë sing, she can also improvise harmony as well. This is the way we roll our eyes, roll our eyes, roll our eyes. This is the way we roll our eyes -- then claw them out in the morn-ing. The ditty they mangle goes something like this:
Trains run underground.
We’re on the same track, up and down.
You get so far, then you ignite.
Burning every time with your bridges linked to mine.
You work so hard -- then we collide.
Don’t be everything around you and then be sad.
Don’t be everybody’s hero and then get mad.
Don’t be sorry.
Don’t be -- I don’t want to hear about it.
Don’t be -- I don’t want to know about it anymore.
Anymore.
Sometimes you get scared -- you know the truth is way out there,
And it shatters just as you arrive.
You lay back doing time while your one-track open mind
Pulls farther over your pair of tights.
Okay, not so much the bit about the tights, but I lack closed captioning. Given their problems with enunciation, that’s the best I can do. For the full effect, however, you must read the lyrics aloud after having thrown your voice up into the approximate area of your sinuses. Elongate every "e" you come upon with your tone pitched to a shrill whine. Then multiply how horrible you sound by a factor of seventy, and you’ll come close to how horrible these women actually sound.
Anyway, as the two shriek their way into that second verse, we get a cross-fade to Chloë’s room at House Delta. Carefully, so as not to be seen by her suitemates, she uses an Exacto knife to extract Shannen’s head from one of the photos she had taken of Shannen and Simon dancing at the Sweetheart ceremony. I become reacquainted with the tense violin, which I suspect will be putting in for overtime long before this movie is over. Once Chloë’s popped Shannen’s head out of the image, she raises the picture up in front of her eyes. We get an "Oooh! Spooky! Not!" shot of Chloë’s left eye through the hole. Chloë hears Shannen out in the hall and stashes the marred print away in a binder. Shannen’s chatting with Paige, who amuses me to no end with the following monologue: "So, like, once a week she smears her hair with mayo and reeks while I’m, like, gagging, and she’s all, ‘Don’t I have the right to condition my hair?’ and I’m, like, ‘Don’t I have the right to hate mayonnaise?’" Paige then flips her ponytail around and leaves. Hee! Goddamn, this thing would have been a lot better with more Paige. Sly Chloë, meanwhile, has taken this opportunity to hum "Don’t Be" loudly while pacing in the open doorway to her suite. From behind a computer monitor in the suite, one of Chloë’s roommates glares at her. Snerk. Shannen watches Chloë for a moment, then sets her jaw. She walks over and asks Chloë if they can chat for a bit. Chloë’s all deceptively apologetic, but Shannen tells her to cram it. She wants Chloë to join the band as a backup singer. Chloë pretends not to be interested. Shannen insists. Chloë caves -- almost reluctantly -- then allows a slight squeal of delight. Shannen joins in on the squealing, and we finally fade to the first commercial break.
Back from the break, Shannen and Chloë are upstairs at Club Rendez-vous with the rest of the band, doing some last-minute prep before Chloë’s début. Shannen instructs her to ditch the glasses and the baggy shirt. Chloë’s still a little tense, so Shannen lends her the musical-notes pendant for "good luck." Bad Shannen. Never surrender your good-luck totem to your antagonist. Did something similar happen with Alyssa? We may never know. Nick, The Silently Soulful Little Drummer Boy, has been watching this exchange and rises to his feet in thinly-veiled disgust. Sammy and Simon ask him what’s wrong. Nick -- soul of brevity that he is -- replies simply, "There’s something about her," and stalks off, bringing the total number of words he’s uttered thus far to seven. Simon dismisses Nick’s concern as "paranoid." Abrupt cut to Nick onstage, tapping out the preliminary beat with his drumsticks. Shannen and The Boys launch into "Don’t Be" with the visibly-nervous Chloë off to the side a bit, waiting for her cue. As Shannen gets closer to the chorus, The Slow-Motion Pan Of Imminent Failure slides across Chloë’s face, and Chloë has a series of blue-washed flashbacks to the SoCal Youth Talent Show Of Doom. She blows the harmonies on her first run through the chorus. The Boys eye each other warily as Shannen silently mouths something resembling "Buck up, little camper!" in Chloë’s direction. Chloë flashes on Little Nancy Kerrigan telling her, "You can do it," and regains her composure. Next thing you know, she’s right by Shannen’s side as the two wail their way through the rest of the song. Shannen really needs to stop pronouncing "anymore" as "innymore." It’s driving me nuts.
Another abrupt cut takes us away from Chloë’s "triumph" to the band exiting Club Rendez-vous while rehashing the evening’s gig. Chloë’s in a celebratory mood, and asks the others if they’d like to head someplace else for cocktails. The Gang of Four demurs. Shannen and Simon head off in her Volkswagen Beetle, while Sammy and Nick leave in Nick’s Volkswagen Minibus. Chloë and her Jeep stand alone and forlorn, for they are not sufficiently Aryan. Or sane, for that matter. A very strange scene follows, wherein the goateed Dork Boy from earlier stalks his way around a corner to confront Chloë once more. "Suzanne?" he asks. "Don’t you remember me?" He identifies himself as "Brad Strum from Palmdale." Chloë dismisses him yet again: "You must be thinking of someone else." Brad tells her he saw her mother a month ago, but she neglected to mention Chloë would be matriculating that semester. Chloë claims that her mother is dead. Brad just won’t get the hint, though, and presses further with, "I know what happened, and it doesn’t freak me out or anything. Quite the opposite, actually." He lowers his gaze and stammers, "What I’m trying to say is, you were really hot tonight." Oh, that’s just great. We’ve got some psycho stalker being stalked herself by a goateed dork with the hots for head cases. Oy. Chloë sets a grim expression on her face and confronts Brad. "So, what is it you really want?" she asks, swiveling herself around and pushing her body into his. "What I’ve always wanted," Brad breathes, and they mack. Yeah, I don’t get it either.
Cut to Shannen lighting a candle in Simon’s boudoir. She lies back on his bed and strips his shirt up and off over his head. Loud, smacking kisses. Ew. I realize she was only twenty-seven when she made this, but Simon’s so bony and adolescent, she ends up looking old enough to be his granny. Cut back to the Jeep Of Insanity, where Brad grinds against Chloë. Back to the boudoir, where Simon grinds against Grandma there on the bed. "Oh, Simon," Grandma moans. Jeep Of Insanity. "Oh, Simon," Chloë moans. "Brad," Brad corrects, and I have to suppress the urge to shout, "Asshole!" "Let’s go somewhere," he adds. Chloë shoves him away violently and slides into her car. "Go finish somewhere else! I’m through with you!" Chloë screams, and speeds off out of the scene. Because. She’s. Nuts. Boudoir. Simon is now humping Grandma, and my sanity threatens to flee the scene as well. Cut back to Chloë, manically twiddling Shannen’s good luck pendant while she stares -- crazily! -- off into the distance. Up in the boudoir, Granny Doherty hears a noise from outdoors and insists Simon stop humping her long enough to investigate. He reluctantly agrees and heads to the window. He sees nothing, of course, and blames the noise on "a cat." Despite the fact the noise was, actually, barking. He heads back to the bed as the camera pans down to reveal Chloë, crouched in the alley beneath the boudoir window. Thankfully, both of her hands are visible and at her throat. If you know what I mean.
God, that scene was disgusting.
Quad, the next day. Shannen’s filling Chloë in on her plans to visit her parents that weekend as the two cross to a bench with sandwiches and coffee. Once seated, Chloë feeds Shannen another bullshit hard-luck story about her parents -- lawyer father, Yale alumna mother -- dying in a plane crash in Hartford in 1982. The poor little orphan was then shipped off to her grandfather’s until he, too, died. After that, the Little Match Girl was shunted from foster home to foster home. Shannen buys it all. Idiot. Chloë rises to leave, but Shannen stops her to suggest Chloë join her on her trip home. Chloë lies that she wasn’t fishing for an invitation to meet the folks. Shannen insists, and we cut to an exterior shot of House Delta. Shannen and Chloë tote overnight bags down the walk past Alison, who’s just returning from class. Shannen perks that Alison will have their room to herself that weekend. Chloë brightly adds that she’ll be joining Shannen. Hearing this, Alison’s face falls a bit as she mumbles out an indifferent, "Have fun."
A very brief scene follows in which we meet Shannen’s parents and younger brother. Shannen introduces Chloë to them, and Chloë’s welcomed warmly for the weekend. Chloë engages in a desultory game of catch with Shannen’s brother while Shannen herself banters a bit with the parents over how fabulous her band supposedly is. Chloë is clearly jealous. And insane.
Cut back to campus. Shannen and Alison round a corner as Alison asks, "So what’s with taking [Chloë] home to Mother?" Shannen babbles something about Chloë needing to practice if she’s to learn the rest of the band’s no-doubt extensive repertoire. They nearly barrel into Chloë herself, who bounds down a set of stairs with urgent news. "There’s a reporter from KLA on the Row interviewing Greeks," she tells Shannen. "I told her all about you, and she wants you on the show." If you’re wondering, that first bit is true and the second’s another lie. Chloë convinces Shannen that an appearance on the news would benefit the band. Shannen agrees to head back to House Delta, despite the fact that Bryan is scheduled to begin filming the video that afternoon.
Simon’s Lair. Sammy plunks out a couple of chords at the piano while Nick fiddles with a foosball set. Because you can’t be a frat-boy asshole if you don’t play foosball. Chloë is in the middle of feeding them some line of crap about Shannen ditching the video shoot to chase after some publicity on her own, even though Chloë advised her that any publicity involving the band should include all of its members. Nick clearly thinks Chloë’s full of it, but keeps his mouth shut. Simon enters and joins Nick at the foosball table, conveniently expositing that his birthday is that coming Friday. Chloë finds this all very interesting. Because she’s a fruity erotomaniac. Bryan strides over to the group to bitch, "Look guys, I’m ditching an early Truffaut for this, so I gotta shoot some film." Oh, shut UP, Dawson. Nick reminds Dawson that they can’t do anything without Shannen. Sly Chloë oh-so-innocently offers to fill in for her. Nick looks less than enthused by this option, but Dawson readily agrees to it. Nick jerks a handle on the table around in disgust.
House Delta. Shannen waits impatiently on line with a group of random students for a little face time with the woman from KLA. When her turn comes, the reporter pokes the microphone into her gob and demands, "Did you know the girl who almost died of alcohol poisoning?" Oh, this should be good. Shannen’s eager expression drops. She stammers out a "no" while thinking, "'Poisoning'? I was only up to a point-one-two." The KLAdy continues, "Isn’t it true she was declared clinically dead after a hazing?" Shannen panics and starts screaming, "I had nothing to do with it! Really! I was at the Jack in the Box with Dean! No wait, I mean Ashley! No, Hamilton, you stupid sack of shit! No -- it was, um, oh -- fuck you! Stop looking at me like that! I WILL NOT TAKE A FUCKING BREATHALYZER, DO YOU HEAR ME? Where’s my fucking lawyer, huh? WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?"
Okay, you got me. She actually just babbles some platitudes about the Greek system before launching into a plug for her band. The KLAdy is not having it and tells her cameraman to cut off the tape. She then gives Shannen a verbal smack in the teeth, chiding her for trying to turn a "serious" news item about drinking on campus into an infomercial for some pointless Battle of the Bands. Shannen, humiliated, mumbles an apology and insists she’s opposed to drinking on campus. Yeah, let’s keep it behind the wheel where it belongs, right? I’m sure even Trevor Rhys-Jones would agree with that. Oh, wait.
Lair of the Adolescent. Shannen storms in to find the band running through yet another of its atrocities as Dawson weaves through with his camera. The song isn’t the one that ends up in the video, so I won’t bother with the lyrics. Chloë’s singing lead while screwing Simon with her eyes. Simon isn’t exactly displeased with the attention. Shannen takes it all in, growing angrier by the moment. The band finishes, and Shannen immediately tears Chloë a new one over the KLA mix-up. Chloë feigns ignorance, which seems to come naturally for her even if that is a bleach job she’s sporting up there. Dawson, Simon, and Sammy each get a few digs in at Shannen’s expense before she finally loses it and stomps back outside. Simon grimaces and chases after her. He apologizes and convinces Shannen to return to the Lair for rehearsal.
House Delta, Suite of Madness. Chloë scribbles some Leonard Cohen lyrics onto a sheet of loose-leaf paper. I’m no big Cohen fan, so I don’t recognize the song. The lines do, however, include "Last night I heard you making love to him/The struggle mouth to mouth and limb to limb." One is left to wonder if Mr. Cohen appreciates being used as a cudgel. Ow. The scene shifts to Nick sitting alone in the lavishly-appointed campus coffee house. Seriously, there are tablecloths with little, shaded silver lamps and everything. Chloë enters, presents the plagiarized lyrics as her own, and shyly asks for his opinion of her work. "I respect your opinion so much," she coos. "Sometimes I think I’m the only one." She then offers Nick access to her honey pot. Nick tells her to make like a tree. "What’s the matter?" Chloë sneers. "You afraid of girls?" "No," he replies evenly. "Just you…you can forget about trying to replace [Shannen]. Okay?" "[Shannen]?" Chloë snorts. "You want [Shannen]? Don’t you know you make her skin. Crawl?" She snatches up her purse and flounces off. Nick rips the plagiarized lyrics in half without reading them.
House Delta, Suite Shannen. Chloë lounges on the bed while Shannen readies for a date with Simon. In celebration of his birthday, she intends to treat him to a meal at a tony dining establishment. She even bought a new dress for the occasion -- a number she describes as "blue" and "really short." Because Simon wants his woman to dress like a five-dollar street whore. Shannen can’t find the dress, however, and begins to tear apart her closet. See where this is going? Good. Sly Chloë prates away in the background about how "Nick hit on [her]" and how "there’s something off about him. He’s way beyond his expiration date." Shannen’s not really paying attention, but does pause long enough to note, "Nick’s sweet." Sly Chloë glances at Shannen’s car keys, then asks why Shannen just doesn’t wear something else. Shannen fills her in on Simon’s hooker fetish. Chloë gets all smugly judgmental about wearing a particular item of clothing just because one’s significant other prefers it, like, shut up, psycho virgin. Shannen quite correctly calls her on that and darts back into her closet to find something else to wear. Chloë rises to leave, telling Shannen to "have fun" on her date. Before she walks out of the room, she palms Shannen’s car keys.
Tony Dining Establishment. The camera pans across the room to land on Psycho Bitch Chloë striding in, clad in Shannen’s blue velvet hooker dress. Shyeah. Like those two are even close to being the same size. She stalks over to the bar area to set her sights on Simon, who’s perched on a stool. Psycho Bitch Chloë grins, um, psychotically. Suite Shannen. In a frenzy of tardiness-related anxiety, the lady of the suite rifles through her desk drawers for her car keys. Tony Diner. Psycho Bitch Chloë, having struck out with Nick the Silently Soulful, besets Simon instead. He compliments her on the hooker-wear. She tells him that Shannen and Nick are working on a new song for the band, so she decided to stop by the restaurant to keep him company. Oh, and to "give [him his] birthday present." Bamp chicka bamp bamp. Suite Shannen. Alison enters, and Shannen tries to get a ride to the restaurant from her. Alison has other plans. Shannen pleads. Alison snorts, "Aren’t you even going to ask me what my plans are? God, it’s always about you lately." Alison leaves. Shannen gapes.
Tony Diner. The entirely inappropriate seduction of the adolescent continues. Chloë’s getting Simon all liquored, the better to have her way with him. Ew. House Delta. Shannen slams down the phone and barks, "He’s not home, and the restaurant doesn’t have any single guys waiting. Where is he?" Paige, to my delight: "What am I? Psychic?" Snicker. Diner. "Confidence is sexy," Chloë purrs, and I flash on a far better movie from the summer of 1999, wherein the intrepid Stan Marsh stumbled upon The Clitoris in all her glory. But I’m not recapping Bigger, Longer, and Uncut, so I’ll drop it. Chloë continues in that vein for a moment, then asks Simon if he’ll escort her to her car so she can give him his present. He agrees to do so. House Delta. Shannen frets, then shoves a fistful of potato chips into her mouth. Diner. "I love presents," slimes Simon. "Well, this is one you’ll never forget," Chloë oozes back at him. She tosses him up against the wall and starts dry-humping him as passersby all but stop to cheer.
Lair of the Adolescent, later that evening. Simon shuffles in to find Shannen curled up and napping on his bed. She wakes at the sound of his keys and immediately apologizes for screwing up his birthday. He says he thought she was writing songs with Nick. "Writing? What? I lost my car keys." Uh huh. Simon looks incredibly guilty, but is managing to pass it off as drunken tiredness. He admits to having had a horrible night without her. She pecks him on the lips and perks, "Happy birthday." They embrace. Like he wouldn’t reek of Chloë right about now. Whatever.
House Delta, Kitchen Division. It’s the morning after the night before, and Shannen enters the room to find Alison staring listlessly out the window. Alison notes that a fellow Glamorous Goddess found Shannen’s car keys in the TV room. She hands them over, then turns to leave. Shannen stops her to ask what’s wrong. Plenty, it seems. The night of the Sweetheart dance, Alison got her freak on with Slammin’ Sammy Stoner. Any port in a storm, I suppose. Now she’s late. I had a little line about heavy flow days and whatnot ready to go here, but I was grossing myself out. Sorry. Shannen apologizes for not paying as much attention to Alison as she should, promises not to tell anyone what Alison has confided in her, and proposes to accompany Alison to have a test done the next day. Alison tearily thanks Shannen, and they hug. But what’s this? Sly Chloë has slinked into the adjoining dining room and has inadvertently overheard the entire conversation! While grabbing a bran muffin as well, but I don’t think the muffin will play much of a part in ensuing events.
Oh, dear Lord. Cut to the Scoping Fjords of Sandy Land for the video shoot proper. I’m serious. It’s the same desert location Roswell uses for the Pod Squad’s cave, complete with the jutting outcrop of rock from which the Tess-laden Granilith shot into space in the second-season finale. Dawson has littered the area with telephones, and the band performs next to an old-style red British telephone booth. Don’t ask me to explain. Who knows what goes on beneath that forehead of his, anyway? General shots of the band performing both on the sand and on the hood of a 1960s convertible are intercut with different band members alternately talking, singing, and screaming into the phone in the booth. The lyrics involve easy comings, along with some easy goings and a bit of the stopping, but I shall not transcribe them here. Not after that prior transcription of "Don’t Be" led to that song taking up residence in my brain for five days. Nope. Not a chance. Moody boys in Hawaiian shirts. Soulful white girls in satin, printed chiffon, and go-go boots. Shannen whines the final lyric into the phone as a production assistant sprays the booth’s exterior with a hose. You know, for that "rain" effect. No, I don’t know where they’d get a garden hose in the middle of the desert, so stop asking me. Dawson calls, "Cut!" and preps for the next shot while the bandmates playfully shove each other around. Next!
Lavish House of Campus Coffee. Paige and another girl finalize plans for a "pinning ceremony" as Chloë bounces in with Paige’s trigonometry notes and homework. How very Gidget. The pinning ceremony and the trigonometry. Chloë’s really taking that kissing of Glamorous ass a little too far, by the way. Then again, she’s insane. Just in case you’ve forgotten about that subtle little detail of her character. Other Girl compliments Chloë on her manicure while Paige profusely thanks Chloë for her help. Other Girl thinks it’s "inhuman" for Chloë to be so good at so many different things. "You have to suck at something," she insists. Chloë pops a bread crumb into her mouth and admits she does suck at one thing: "People." "I never would have figured Alison for a groupie." Paige and Other Girl lean in for the dirt. "She got totally wasted last month at the Sweetheart dance and did Sammy," Chloë continues breathlessly. She whispers, "She thinks she’s pregnant." Paige wants the identity of Chloë’s source. Chloë says Shannen filled her in on all the sordid details. "She didn’t say it was a secret," Chloë lies, "but I think we should keep it quiet for Alison’s sake." Paige and Other Girl whip out matching cell phones to inform the entire campus.
Out on the street, Alison stands anxiously at a pay phone. She’s talking to the clinic, and her test results are negative. She exuberantly leaps into Shannen’s arms. "I told you everything would be okay," Shannen says. Alison whoops and giggles and blurts out, "I’m so glad I’m not pregnant!" I’m so glad I can’t get pregnant. The gals clatter off down the street.
Club Rendez-vous. In the upstairs lounge, the band plus Paige, Other Girl, and No -- The Other Other Girl engage in a rousing round of "I Never." Alison: "I never had sex in public." Sammy, Shannen, and Simon drink as I pray to God it wasn’t a three-way. Sammy: "I never barfed at a party." Excuse me? "I never barfed at a party"? How fucking lame are these people? When I would play this game in college, people would viciously toss out shit like "I never threw up while giving my girlfriend’s brother a blowjob" and "I never blew a vaginal fart during sex with my guidance counselor on the back seat of his wife’s Mercedes." Anyway, Alison and Paige drink at the barfing-at-a-party thing. Paige carries on with "I never made out with a teacher." To everyone’s surprise save mine, Psycho Bitch Chloë slugs back a mouthful of beer. Chloë then snidely announces, "I never thought I was pregnant." There follows a turd-in-the-punchbowl silence. Paige inquires quite sweetly (NOT), "Shouldn’t you drink, Alison?" Alison glares accusingly at Shannen, then shoots out of the room. Someone really needs to explain what the big, hairy deal is with all of this, because just about every woman I’ve known has thought she was pregnant at some point. With vastly varying degrees of horror from case to case, of course, but still.
Shannen runs out after Alison and grabs her as she’s barreling down the stairs. Alison spins around and spits out her accusations, all of which Shannen denies. "I would never do something like that to you." "Yeah, well you’re never going to get another chance to, because I’m never talking to you again!" Sammy has emerged on the landing to witness this last exchange. Alison glances at him and weeps away. Sammy trails after her, muttering, "Great. This is just great." Use a condom the next time, slick. Shannen flails her arms around in dismay.
Back in the lounge, Paige excitedly relates the details of Alison’s downfall to No -- The Other Other Girl while Nick shakes his head in disgust. Chloë crosses to a table, ostensibly to retrieve a cigarette from her purse. While there, she dumps half a bottle of ipecac syrup into Shannen’s rum-and-Coke. Brad Strum, Dork Stalker watches her from the main club area below. It’s obvious to us that he has no idea what she’s just done, but when Chloë catches sight of him, a stream of evil thoughts clearly flood her mind. She saunters a bit to her right, smirks down at him, and tosses her head to invite him up to the lounge. The Dork Stalker instantly pops a woody and leaps from his seat. Meanwhile, Shannen re-enters the lounge as the club’s manager arrives to announce the stage has been set for the evening’s performance. Shannen crosses to her cocktail to draw a couple of deep pulls from it. Chloë counter-crosses to the stairwell to intercept Brad. He compliments her clothing. She tells him to meet her outside. "I want to be alone with you," she boop-boop-be-dos. Brad’s woody agrees for him.
Cut to the alley behind the club. Brad’s woody leads him around the cars parked therein. God help me, but I think he’s playing pocket pool. Chloë darts out of the club and, taking Brad by the hand, lures him around the corner to the back wall of another building. She pushes him up against said wall, and the macking commences. Suddenly, she knees him in the groin. He doubles over in pain. She gives his ribcage a couple of tastes of go-go boot, then turns to pick up a discarded brick. "I’m sorry," she pants. She clouts him on the forehead. He drops to the ground to bleed and die as the camera shifts to a swirling overhead pull-back shot of his prone form. I had to wait sixty-five minutes for the first fricking murder. Unfortunately, it is also the evening’s last. Smell ya later, Brad. You won’t be missed. Trust me on that one.
Lounge. The party’s breaking up in anticipation of the band’s set. Nick grumps to himself by the couch while Shannen pales and clutches her stomach off to the side. Chloë returns as Shannen announces, "You guys? I don’t feel so well [sic]." And she’s an English major? Maybe she should stick to the singing career after all. Sammy brushes past Simon just as Shannen takes off down the stairs to hurl in the ladies’. "What’s wrong with her?" Sammy asks. "She’s nervous," Simon replies. "She doesn’t get nervous," Nick exclaims, rubbing his forehead. The rest of this little scene cuts between Shannen horking into a sink and the band debating their game plan in light of Shannen’s sudden illness. It’s quickly agreed that Chloë will cover for Shannen on the lead vocals. Chloë doesn’t even pretend to object. The manager announces the band as Shannen vomits once more in the bathroom. Simon checks on her one final time, but she’s too busy shooting a couple of major internal organs out through her nose to perform. The band takes its place onstage. Conveniently, this is the evening Dawson has chosen to shoot the final performance footage for the video. Chloë glows in the spotlight. Shannen weakly hobbles out of the restroom and gazes moistly at Chloë’s final usurpation of her place in the band.
Oops. Forget that last bit. The next scene makes it clear that Shannen has yet to suspect Chloë of backstabbing. Dawson strikes his camera equipment while Chloë natters excitedly at him. Shannen and Simon slump together in a booth watching Chloë as she goes. Sammy decides they all need to head out for a celebration. Nick curtly begs off, as does Shannen, citing her cramping stomach. Alison scuttles in behind her to apologize for the fight earlier in the evening. She’s worked things out with Slammin’ Sammy Stoner, and everything’s peachy. Shannen smiles through the pain in her gut. Shannen asks Nick for a ride back to House Delta so Simon can join the others for a beer or two. As they leave, Chloë and Simon exchange A Look Fraught With Significance.
Smash-cut to the Lair of the Adolescent. A filthy scene of heterosexual intercourse follows, which I shall not describe beyond noting that the heterosexuals involved are Simon and Chloë. What I will tell you, however, is that the filthy heterosexual intercourse is cross-cut with scenes of Dawson in the living room piecing together the video. Chloë-centric footage gradually comes to dominate the screen as Chloë’s treatment of the song gradually overpowers Shannen’s on the soundtrack. It’s a nifty little idea. It’s also a shame they ended up with such a piss-poor execution of it. While the filthy heterosexual female drags her claws down the filthy heterosexual male’s back, Dawson freezes the tape on Shannen’s image as she whines, "Stop!" Get it? No, really -- do you get it? Because I don’t think we should proceed with the recap until we’re all certain we know what’s going on here.
Kidding. I want to get this done at some point before my fortieth birthday. Either keep up on your own or stop reading.
House Delta. Alison informs her mates on the brunch line of the discovery of Brad’s body behind Club Rendez-vous earlier that morning. The gals agree that pepper spray is A Good Thing. Shannen draws Alison aside to ask her opinion of Chloë’s performance. "I got chills," Alison gushes. "So did Sammy!" She cuts herself short when she notices Shannen’s expression. "I’m sorry. Is everything okay?" "Fine," Shannen lies. "Everything’s great." Cut to the Lair of the Adolescent. Dawson proudly screens his All-Chloë, All-The-Time rough edit of the video. Shannen glowers darkly from the sofa. Dawson pauses the tape to allow Sammy and Nick a little exposition moment about Brad’s corpse. Chloë’s a bit too casually dismissive. Nick and Shannen roll their eyes. Shannen asks Dawson when he plans to reschedule the club shoot. Sammy and Dawson hem and haw and stutter and stammer. And mumble and mutter. Shannen demands to know what gives. Seems the band -- sans Nick and Shannen, of course -- decided it would be better for Shannen and Chloë to "trade off" on lead vocals. Simon tries to finesse the announcement a bit by blathering about differing vocal styles attracting a broader audience. Nick orders him to shove it. "This is not the band I signed up for," he states as he rises to his feet. Shannen prevents him from leaving. She gently suggests that they mull over this particular option a bit more after they’ve rehearsed the new song she wrote with Nick. Nick relents, and the others tentatively agree to her plan.
South Pasadena. Shannen confers with her mother over the Scary Psycho Bitch with which she’s saddled herself. "All of my sorority sisters love her," Shannen notes of Chloë’s newfound friends. "But secretly I just want to smash her face in." "That doesn’t sound like you," Mom replies. Shannen agrees, adding that she hasn’t felt in control of herself or her life since Chloë came on the scene. Mom counsels patience. "So she’s singing a couple of songs you used to. The band’s not everything." Shannen strenuously disagrees, but Mother begs to differ. "You have your family, your friends, and your education." Shannen smirks that perhaps Mother is right -- perhaps she has been too single-minded of late. "I haven’t said two words to Simon since [Chloë] joined the band," Shannen realizes, and determines to patch things up with the boyfriend immediately.
Lair of the Adolescent. Filthy heterosexual intercourse in progress on the bed. Simon and Chloë indulge in a nooner as Shannen pulls up outside. Shannen strides through the outer rooms, calling out Simon’s name. He tries to shimmy into a pair of jeans, but Shannen flings open the bedroom door before he can even untangle himself from the covers. Shannen glares. Chloë adopts a smirk of triumph that even I want to smack off her face -- and I couldn’t give a toasted rat’s ass one way or the other about these relationships. Shannen squints, then turns on her heel and darts back out of the house. Simon moves to follow, but Chloë snits, "No! Let her go."
Quad. Aftermath. Shannen stomps to class while Simon babbles excuses. He begs her to come back to the band. She begs him to get bent. Cut to the English classroom. Chloë apologizes profusely. Shannen tells her to shut up. The prof announces that today’s lecture involves "The Cask of Amontillado," which I too studied as a freshman. IN HIGH SCHOOL. Because Cese Viti’s freshman English class took place some time during the Pre-Cambrian period, I no longer remember the precise details of that piece. However, the details I do recall seem to have no bearing on the story at hand. So cram it, Hack Who Wrote This Teleplay. Chloë blithers on with the excuses, attempting to make it seem as if Simon were the true guilty party. Shannen again shuts her down. Forcefully. Chloë gets a deranged and dangerous look in her eye. The professor cuts in to tell them both to shut up or get the hell out of his classroom. Thank you, Professor Gunderson. Even though you still need to learn how to pronounce "Anaïs." And look up "Cheever" while you’re at it.
Lavish House of Campus Coffee. Shannen and Nick huddle over a pair of lattes, bemoaning their plight as the camera spins around them in The Slow-Moving Circular Pan Of Blossoming Love. In the wake of Shannen’s split with Simon, Nick has also quit the band. Shannen urges him to reconsider, at least until Дэд Пинк has competed in the Battle of the Bands the following week. Nick can’t bring himself to do that. The band, to him, was not about competition. "It was about the music. And the fun." Without Shannen, he asserts, there’s no reason for him to continue. "I like backing you," he smiles shyly, looking down into his coffee cup. "I like writing with you. I’m your biggest fan, in case you haven’t noticed." He proposes that they enter the competition themselves. Shannen thinks Chloë would "blow [them] out of the water." Well, yeah, if she knew anything about munitions and you two owned a boat. Because she’s nutty that way. Nick tells her to consider the offer. "It’s open only to you. You’re irreplaceable." "So are you," she breathes, getting a little verklempt. He states softly, "You were always too good for Simon." Not to mention too old. "I wish someone would have told me that sooner," she shrugs. "There are a lot of things someone would like to tell you." Nick pauses, then adds, "When you’re ready." Okay, that scene was kind of sweet, despite the fact it belongs in an entirely different movie, and despite the fact that any young man who worships Shannen Doherty from afar is likely gay. Commercial.
Back from break, we’re thirty-six minutes away from the blessed end of this crap, and they’re finally getting to the point where Chloë destroys Shannen’s reputation. Jesus. Chloë informs the Swedish Professor that Shannen plagiarized her qualifying short story from Joyce Carol Oates. See, when Sly Chloë nicked Shannen’s manuscript from Club Rendez-vous, she left the title page intact, but replaced the text with "Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?" Or something. I don’t know from Joyce Carol Oates. Chloë twirls Shannen’s good-luck totem between her fingers as she lies and lies and lies some more. Shannen thinks the Swedish Professor is "clueless." Shannen refused to confess. Shannen threatened Chloë with bodily harm when Chloë announced she would tell the Swedish Professor herself of Shannen’s transgression. Big scary close-up of Sly Chloë’s lying lips. Big scary close-up of Sly Chloë’s lying eye. The Swedish Professor flares a nostril.
Cut to the classroom. The Swedish Professor presents Shannen with the evidence of her purported transgression and announces that a disciplinary committee hearing will be held to determine her guilt. Shannen frets that she’ll lose her scholarship. He tells her she should have considered that possibility before fobbing off a bucktoothed recluse’s work as her own.
House Delta. Shannen storms up the stairs to the Suite of Madness. "Where’s [Chloë]?" she barks as she trundles past Paige. Upon hearing that Chloë’s out, Shannen wrenches the doorknob. "You can’t just barge in there," Paige protests. "It violates house rules!" "Violate yourself, Paige!" Snerk. Nothing involving Paige can ever be wrong. Shannen digs first through Chloë’s backpack, then through her desk. She finds a damning collection of Oates short stories, as well as the marred photograph of Shannen and Simon dancing at the Sweetheart ball. Chloë has replaced Shannen’s head with her own. "You’ve been after me from the beginning," goggles Shannen. Yeah, duh.
Suite Shannen. Chloë slams her way in for what she believes will be the final confrontation. Shannen presents her with the marred photo. "That’s a pretty sick thing to do to your own picture," Chloë sneers. Psycho Chloë digs in with the you’re-afraid-to-compete-with-mes and the you-can’t-stand-losings and the your-boyfriend-couldn’t-get-it-up-for-yous and the he-called-you-Missionary-Womans and somebody please poke me with a stick when this is all over so I know to get up off the couch and tumble into bed. Shannen hauls off and smacks her. Chloë’s screaming has attracted a crowd. Unfortunately, they manage to see nothing but the slap. Chloë pretends she said and did nothing to provoke either Shannen’s violation of her privacy or this physical attack. Paige orders Shannen out of House Delta while Chloë wails and moans. As Shannen scampers down the stairs, Alison attempts to follow. Much as she did with Simon earlier, Chloë snits, "No! Let her go."
Library. Shannen asks for all articles related to the "Hartford Crash of 1982." Yeah, it sounds like a Reagan-era insurance-industry shake-out to me, too.
Outdoor café. Shannen presents Chloë with the evidence that no Armstrongs were aboard the Hartford plane. Chloë snarls at Shannen to "stop harassing" her and leaves. Shannen calls out a promise to uncover all of Chloë’s lies.
Guitar Shop. Nick asks for the plate number on Chloë’s jeep. Shannen provides it for him -- "ROW 3511," for those of you toiling away on Friends ‘Til The End fan fiction and websites -- but reminds him that the Department of Motor Vehicles doesn’t release plate information to the general public. Nick’s cousin is a dispatcher with the LAPD. Shannen asks Nick why he’s being so helpful. Again, duh. He wants in your pants, you moron. Actually, the reason he gives is "to guilt [her] into entering the contest with [him]." Shannen smirks that that shouldn’t be necessary, as she’s just that moment decided to do so.
Club Rendez-vous. The band, with a new drummer, rehearses a song with Chloë in lead. From the stage, Chloë spots a couple of detectives entering to conduct a follow-up interview with the manager. She wigs. She jumps down to the main floor and fires up a cigarette, bitching about the song they were performing. This shatters Slammin’ Sammy’s fragile ego, as he wrote it for her. She wants to perform "Stop." Simon reminds her that "Stop" is Shannen’s song. This enrages the nutcase momentarily. She calms down considerably after the detectives leave the bar area. Chloë Temples, "If I do this one really really good, will you let me sing [Shannen’s]?" Sammy stalks off in disgust as Simon rolls his eyes and retreats back to his guitar in frustration.
Sorry, sidenote time. Temple: [TEMP-ul] (v.). To babytalk one’s way through a trying situation. Used primarily in conjunction with blondes, either natural or processed. Ex.: The coiled-haired moppet Templed, "I may be an orphan, but I can tap-dance. Will you be my daddy?"
Trailer park. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Shannen Doherty has gone back to her roots. Actually, this isn’t Memphis. It’s Palmdale. Shannen and Nick have traced the registration from the Jeep Of Insanity to one of the double-wides. That Chloë -- she’s none too bright, now is she? Nick offers to head into the trailer with Shannen, but she insists she can handle it on her own. I, meanwhile, have been spending this time trying to figure out if Nick is cute or not. I suppose I shall have to leave that internal debate pending, as Shannen has reached the screen door of the double-wide in question. Lo and behold, Mommie Harding answers Shannen’s tentative knock on the doorframe. Mommie Dearest is wearing a blue caftan with floral embroidery at the neck. Because she’s insane as well. Mommie Dearest invites Shannen in to worship at the base of the Tonya Harding Memorial Shrine she’s set up in her daughter’s honor. She urges Shannen to help herself to a place on the sofa, and passes her a scrapbook. Shannen learns on the first page that Chloë’s real name is Suzanne Boxer. As the Def-Psycho-Jam Full-Length Trance-Dance Remix of "Beautiful Dreamer" plinks away on the soundtrack, Shannen flips the pages to find a photo of herself as Little Nancy Kerrigan with Young Tonya at the SoCal Youth Talent Show Of Doom. Shannen absorbs the implications of this while Mommie Dearest prattles on about not seeing Chloë since "she was released from the hospital last summer." "Did I tell you?" she adds. "She starred in their Christmas pageant. Every year." Snort. Long story short, at the tender age of thirteen Chloë pulled a Showgirls and shoved some girl named Armstrong down a flight of stairs after losing to her in another talent show. The Armstrong kid broke her neck and died. Mommie Dearest had Chloë committed shortly thereafter, even though Mommie Dearest continues to claim it was Chloë’s unhealthy addiction to performing that got her locked up, not murder. Shannen regards the insane mother of her insane antagonist for a moment, then "uh-oh"s us out to commercial.
Back from break, Shannen thunders her way out of the double-wide into her Beetle. She fills Nick in on what she’s learned. I have now decided that Nick is, indeed, kind of cute. Sorry for the "Little Drummer Boy" cracks back there, pal. Nick wonders what they should do now. Shannen determines all she need "do is watch [her] back," and the Psycho Slut Stalker Girl will take care of the rest on her own.
Cut to the Psycho Slut Stalker Girl taking care of the rest on her own. This next bit has got to be the funniest scene in the whole damn movie. The Glamorous Goddesses of House Delta kneel in concentric candlelit circles on the floor of the parlor. They giggle with scatterbrained sororal glee every now and then. The first time I saw this, I had absolutely no idea what the hell was going on. Nevertheless, I nearly wet myself snickering at the low regard in which the filmmakers so obviously hold sorority girls. Various Glamorous Goddesses, including Paige and Alison, giggle and beam at each other. Crazy Chloë pouts -- all together now -- crazily! and blows out her candle. Or The Candle, as in the one at the center of whatever the hell it is these Prada-shod crackheads are tittering about. Other Girl shrieks, "[Chloë]! What are you doing? You’re mental! Why would you do that?" Paige clenches her perfect little teeth and grits, "The girl who got pinned is supposed to blow out The Candle." "That would be Holly," chimes Alison. Chloë demands a party for herself. The Others impatiently remind her of that pesky little first step of actually getting pinned before one can have a "pinning ceremony." And no, Chloë, riding Simon’s little bitty hobbyhorse doesn’t count. Other Girl urges calm, announcing they will simply begin the ceremony again. Holly’s Glamorous little head is about to pop like a Glamorous little blister: "We can’t! It’s ruined! Everything’s ruined!" Chloë crazes something about everyone believing Shannen, even though Shannen hasn’t proved anything yet. "What are you talking about?" ices Paige. Chloë grabs her candle and leaps to her feet, shouting, "Only I know! Only I know!" She stomps out of the circles of girls, and her skirt is so short and tight, I’m thinking a lot of those ladies just caught a glimpse of more Chloë then they ever wanted to see. If you know what I mean. "Thanks for a beautiful moment," Holly hurls at Chloë’s retreating form. My New TV Girlfriend Paige ends this, the best scene in the entire movie, with "We lost [Shannen]. For this? Shyeah!" Whee!
Shannen Sings! Again! This time, it’s not that bad. At first. She sits cross-legged on the floor of The Shop of Guitars with Kinda Cute Nick, who accompanies her on an acoustic. She gets through most of the first three lines pretty well:
I can’t blame the rain for all of my pain,
And I can’t blame clouds.
Does anybody hear me?
Unfortunately, the third line contains five of those long "e" sounds that are the bane of Shannen’s existence and my ears. Yes, I’m counting the first syllable of "anybody" in that, for she insists on pronouncing it "innybody." Innyway, she repeats that third line four or five times before switching to "because I don’t" a few times. Kinda Cute Nick interrupts with "I do," and they laugh. Shannen asks if they "have a chance" at the Battle of the Bands. "You’re gonna blow that bitch away," Kinda Cute Nick assures her.
Cut to the bitch in question. Sorry. My bad. It’s Simon, shirtless in the Lair of the Adolescent, listening to Shannen whine "Don’t Be" through a boom box. Psycho Slut Stalker Girl emerges from the bedroom. Simon apologizes for playing the music so loudly. She crawls into his lap and starts eating his face. Literally. She, like, bites into his ear or something. Simon reacts appropriately, which is to say that he screams. "What was that for?" She vows to kill anyone who tries to take Simon away from her. He’s "not looking for that intense a commitment." I’d toss that a "snorf," but I hate him. Shut up, Simon. She rises and stalks away to the center of the room. We get a shot of him sitting shirtless in his chair, and for the life of me, I swear this guy is fifteen years old. At the most. She psychos something about how, when she can’t sleep, she fantasizes that grave bodily harm befalls Shannen. Somewhere in the Southland, Alyssa nods in stern agreement and raises a cocktail to toast the sentiment. Chloë continues that such visions come to her only when she’s away from Simon, the implication being that if he ever dare dump her psychotic, slutty ass, she’ll ice his ex. She exacts a promise from him that he will go through with the Battle of the Bands. With her singing lead. He gives her the promise she wants.
Battle of the Bands. And they all suck. Back in the band staging area, Shannen’s parents impart a few last words of love and luck before returning to their seats. Kinda Cute Nick joins Shannen at her dressing table and presents her with a little gift he picked up for good luck. Shannen eases open the lid of a lacquered oval box to find therein a small silver pendant in the shape of a pair of musical notes. "To replace the other one," he explains. Awwww. "You’re gonna be great," he tells her. She plants a quick kiss on his cheek and corrects, "No, we’re gonna be great." Nick smiles and leaves, only to be replaced by the Psycho Slut Stalker Girl. She sits at the dressing table next to Shannen’s and runs a brush through her hair. "You know how this ends, don’t you?" she snits. "Yeah," Shannen notes coolly. "You choke." She continues, "I know what you did. The others will know, too." Chloë thinks she’s talking about Brad Strum, Dork Stalker, not Gina Gershon-Armstrong. She crazes, "I didn’t do it. I was onstage at the club. Everyone saw me. It was an accident. And I will clear it up as soon as I win." She runs her well-manicured claws through her hair once more and stalks away. Shannen indulges in a moment of "Whuh?"
Elsewhere, Simon and Slammin’ Sammy approach Kinda Cute Nick to apologize for their earlier boorish behavior. Shannen comes upon the scene, and perches on a stool close to the Nickster. Chloë approaches from the opposite direction in time to hear the Male Ss ask Nick and Shannen to rejoin the band after the competition. Before either can respond, the band wrangler calls Simon, Sammy, and Chloë to the stage. Chloë looks like she’s about to cry, but throws herself instead into Psycho Slut Denial Mode. She clutches at Simon’s bony arm, insisting that whatever Shannen told him "was a lie." Shannen and Kinda Cute Nick glance at her, glance at each other, smirk, and look away.
Dud Punk takes to the stage. They’re bad. Don’t ask for a longer description, because I just can’t come up with anything new. They just plain suck, okay? The lyrics, the music, the instrumentation, the vocals, the clothing, the lighting, the choreography. All of it’s bad. Chloë’s fine -- relatively speaking, of course -- until she hits the bridge of the song. Then she spots Mommie Harding in the audience, and starts her final spiral back down into the snake pit. She hallucinates other people from her past amid the throng below the stage, among them Little Nancy Kerrigan; Brad Strum, Dork Stalker; and Gina Gershon-Armstrong. From the intercut psychotic Chloë POVs that pop up between shots of Chloë blowing it up onstage, we see that from her perspective, the audience has vanished save for those mentioned above. She has more of the blue-wash flashbacks to the SoCal Youth Talent Show Of Doom and starts to croon "Beautiful Dreamer" over whatever crap it is that Simon and Sammy are trying to play. There’s a very brief fast-forward sequence of Chloë screwing Simon, then she backs away from the microphone, clawing away at the cockroaches on her face. Or something appropriately hallucinatory like that. She runs into the wings to the roaring jeers of the audience. Simon and Sammy beckon Shannen and Kinda Cute Nick to the stage. Nick clues the others in on the chord progression of the song he and Shannen planned to perform. Chloë, meanwhile, has fallen into the arms of Mommie Harding. As Shannen triumphs yet again, Chloë slips into catatonia, murmuring, "Hold me, Mommy," over and over again. Yes, Chloë. Exactly.
I wasn’t going to transcribe the lyrics for the final song, but they’re too bad to pass up:
Well I can't blame the rain for all of my pain,
And I can’t blame clouds.
And I can’t blame the sky or be jealous of the birds that fly.Does anybody hear me?
Does anybody hear me?
Does anybody hear me?
Does anybody hear me?
Because I don’t.
Because I don’t.
Because I don’t.
Because I lost my hearing long ago
From the media bombs going off in my living room.
Lies on the TV, lies in the movies.
Lies on the billboards -- nobody tells the truth.Does anybody hear me?
Does anybody hear me?
Does anybody hear me?
Does anybody hear me?
Because I don’t -- no, no I don’t.
Because I don’t.Tired of all the violence we [mumble] last night.
And I’m tired of the nudity -- so much sex without love.
And I’m tired of all the smokers blowing smoke in my face.
And the same old boring models decorating every fashion page.
I don’t trust the politicians, or the movie ratings board.
And I’m tired of fighting all [crappy diction] wars.
I’ve got blood in my eyes and blood in my ears --
[More smug, senseless, self-important lyrics lost to poor diction, overloud guitars, and The Extras in the auditorium going apeshit over Shannen and The Boys.]Does anybody hear me?
Does anybody hear me?
Does anybody hear me?
Does anybody hear me?
Because I don’t -- no, no I don’t.
Because I don’t.
You are invited to discuss the media bombs going off in your living room on our forum boards. Until next time, kids, this has been your true friend ‘til the end, Demian, blowing smoker’s smoke up your collective ass. Now somebody get me a goddamned cocktail.