Props to The Polish Princess, who so kindly lent me his tape of the Charmed series premiere two years ago and has yet to ask for it back.
The Polish Princess does, however, get a couple of demerits for missing the very beginning of the episode, which as far as I can tell features some bleach blonde lighting candles in her apartment with her fingertips. That's right -- little tongues of flame spurt from her index finger as she touches it to the various wicks. Neat trick. I can't tell you how much money I'd save if I didn't have to keep replacing my Bic lighters every time my roommate "borrows" them.
Outside, it's a dark and stormy night. An ominous, black-clad figure silently descends a fire escape in the middle of an electrical storm. Since this person is dressed in the sort of raingear popularized by the killer in I Know What Your Dinners Did Last Summer, I've a feeling this fellow is evil. Possibly Eeevil, even. The hood of his slicker obscures his face as he lurks on the landing outside the blonde's apartment, peering through her rain-streaked window. Inside, the blonde finishes futzing with the candles. I'd take more time to describe her, but as she's going to be dead in about thirty seconds, it seems a little pointless. Meanwhile, her stalker sidles out of the frame as another flash of lightning flickers across the apartment's facade. The blonde, kneeling before a makeshift altar in her living room, chants the following while waving her hands around in a delightful interpretive pantomime for our viewing pleasure:
Augur De Gomay. Augur De Gomay.
Ancient one of the earth so deep --
Master of the moon and sun --
I shield you in my Wiccan way
Here in my circle round,
Asking you to protect this space
And offer your sun-force down.
What the fuck is a Gomay? And "sun-force"? Ew! And no, I don't know what the chant means, and no, I don't care, either. You have to remember that she's going to be bleeding out all over her pastel wall-to-wall carpeting in five seconds, and as far as I'm concerned, that's going to be about twenty damn seconds too late. While the blonde is otherwise engaged, the stalker slithers through the apartment's outer rooms. As he passes the kitchen, he startles Kit The Not-So-Dead Cat. Hey, Kit! We miss you. Well, some of us do, at any rate. Kit yowls and scampers off into the bathroom rather than running towards his mistress with a warning, because he's tired of apartment life and would very much like to move into Halliwell Manor at the earliest possible opportunity. We get a stalker POV of the blonde, who whips her head around in alarm. She recognizes the slicker-clad gent, though, and calms down, sighing, "What are you doing here?" as she rises to her feet. The stalker responds by jamming a knife into her stomach. The blonde shrieks and crumples to the floor as another clap of thunder hits the soundtrack.
Two very cool shots of lightning bursts streaking towards the ground carry us over to what we'll eventually learn is Prescott Street. A figure scurries through the rain beneath an umbrella and races up the front stairs as the camera swivels around and back for a glamour shot of Halliwell Manor. Cut to the interior of the house. The camera takes in the flickering chandelier above the hall before panning down to Piper, who eases herself through the front door. She's wearing a knee-length emerald-green paisley skirt under a rather daring scoop-necked sweater in varying shades of grey. Bangs abound. Piper hangs her umbrella and sets down her backpack as she calls out, "Prue?" From another room comes the answer, "In here -- working on the chandelier." Piper winces, passes a fluttery hand through her hair, and nervously splutters, "Sorry I'm late." "What else is new?" Prue snits from off-camera. The camera swings to follow Piper into the parlor, and we get our first look at the now-vanquished Prue Halliwell. I'm in shock. Not only does her bosom appear to be firmly strapped down, but she's also wearing a rather sleek and demure high-collared lavender sleeveless dress. While Piper's hairstyle hasn't changed much from season to season, Prue's sporting a rather severe bob that barely makes it down to the nape of her neck. I think I like it. What the hell happened to her by Season Three? Oh, right. Eilish. Never mind.
One thing that never changed was Prue's questionable people skills. She immediately berates Piper for missing the appointment she arranged with the electrician that afternoon. "You know I can't leave the museum before six," Prue chides. Piper apologizes, adding that her trip to Chinatown took longer than she had anticipated. "Did Jeremy call?" she asks. Prue says he hasn't, but he did send over a bouquet of flowers and a package. "What were you doing in Chinatown?" she wonders. "I thought you had an interview in North Beach." What's with all these damn references to Bay Area locations? Piper replies that she had to pick up "some ingredients for [her] audition recipe." Prue supposes this means that "the Wolfgang Puck knock-off" has yet to hire Piper. The gals cross into the dining room, where Piper discovers that this Jeremy person has sent her a bottle of port. "The ultimate ingredient for my recipe," she beams, before noticing a nearby artifact Prue dug out of the basement. "Oh. My. God! Tell me that's not our old spirit board." It's not your old spirit board. It's a Ouija board. Granted, it's an intricately-carved, heavily-lacquered, mahogany Ouija board with a prominent triquatra etched into its surface, but still. Piper flips it over and reads the inscription on the bottom: "To my three beautiful girls. May this give you the light to find the shadows. The power of three will set you free. Love, Mom." "We never did figure out what this inscription meant," Piper exposits. "Maybe we should send it to Phoebe," Prue snarks. "That girl couldn't find her ass with a flashlight and both hands." Okay, not so much, but Prue does sneer that Phoebe has "no vision -- no sense of the future," and thus would presumably benefit from a little Ouija action. Or the power of premonition. "I really think Phoebe's coming around," Piper stammers hesitantly. "As long as she doesn't come around here, I guess it's good news," Prue smirks as she returns to the parlor. Piper puckers her lips, sucks in her cheeks, rolls her eyes, twitches her eyebrows, and heads off into the kitchen with her grocery bags. Of its own volition, the pointer slides across the Ouija board, traversing the triquatra like some monstrous, shiny brown beetle as low-toned chimes shimmer on the soundtrack and the screen slowly fades to black.
Credits, Season One-style. Which translates to "same song, different hair." For the record, the cast flashes by with Shannen Doherty first, followed by Holly Marie Combs, T. W. King, Dorian Gregory, and, finally, Alyssa Milano. Color me stoked: This episode is Dolt-free!
Back from the break, the opening travelogue is blessedly short. After taking in the Bay Bridge laden with evening rush-hour traffic, we cross-fade to an unmarked police car pulling up to an apartment building. A dark-haired man in a tan trench coat emerges to stride through the rain, flashing his badge to get past the sawhorses set up outside the lobby. This would be Detective Andy Trudeau, and frankly, I don't quite get what the big deal is with this guy. He's your standard-issue crispy-haired, square-jawed, thirtysomething white boy, and his eyes are a little too close together. Maybe he'll dazzle me with subtle characterization and a winning way with coy turns of phrase, but I won't be holding my breath. As Andy reaches the front door, Detective Darryl bellows, "Well, it's about time!" Andy claims he was following up on a lead in Oakland, and headed across the Bay as soon as he received word of the latest murder. As the two pedeconference through the oddly overcrowded lobby, Darryl asks for details. Andy clams up. Ever the clever one, Darryl astutely notes, "You're avoiding my question." Andy stops short and barks, "Because you don't want to know I went to an occult shop." Darryl gapes at him for a moment, then continues through the lobby with, "You hate me, don't you." Oh, shit. So Andy's the Mulder and Darryl's the Scully, only Andy appears to lack the quirky charm and the fascination with pornography, and Darryl needs a brain. This should be tedious.
Andy counters Darryl's doubts about the relevance of the occult in the current investigation by correctly guessing that the latest victim is a woman in her twenties who was murdered with "an athame" as she knelt by a carved altar. Darryl rolls his eyes and warns Andy not to investigate future leads without first checking with Darryl himself. As the two are about to head upstairs, a voice calls out Andy's name from across the room. Another standard-issue thirtysomething white boy -- this one with a green trench coat and a cleft in his chin -- approaches Andy and introduces himself as "Jeremy Burns, San Francisco Chronicle." What? He's not from The Gazette or The Bay Mirror? It should be interesting to see how quickly they abandon these stabs at veracity. It would be even more interesting to know why they abandon them, but that's probably asking for too much. Anyway, Jeremy's sole purpose is to exposit that the blonde's pre-credits murder is "the third one in three weeks." Andy grimaces and turns away. T. W. King's lips disappear entirely when he smiles or grimaces, and he ends up looking like Skeletor. Oh, shut up. My nephew used to watch that show all the time. Ominous lightning ominously illuminates Jeremy's ominous mug.
Manor. Piper peers through the front window, then nervously wanders all the way back into the kitchen. Prue's twisting her panties into a righteous tangle over at the fuse box because the chandelier in the parlor is still on the fritz. Piper too-casually remarks that she thinks Prue's right about the Manor's spare bedroom. "Maybe we do need a roommate," she offers. Prue blathers something about offering the room at a reduced rate in exchange for help around the house as she crosses to return her screwdriver to the kitchen drawer. Piper musters her courage and yelps, "Phoebe's good with a wrench." Girl, please. I can't pretend I haven't seen some fifty-odd subsequent episodes, and Phoebe's a dingbat. She can't be trusted to operate a light switch successfully. While I'm sure Prue agrees with me on that point, she chooses instead to counter with, "Phoebe lives in New York." Piper fidgets with her hands and announces, "Not anymore," then babbles, "She left New York. She's moving back in with us." Prue's bitch ramps up to eleven. "You've got to be kidding," she spits, storming past Piper into the dining room. Piper trails after her, spluttering that she couldn't say no to Phoebe, what with the Manor having been willed to all three of them. Prue's not having it. She spins around and growls, "Maybe you've forgotten why I'm so mad at her!" Piper weakly bleats, "She had nowhere else to go! She lost her job, she's in debt..." "And this is news?" Prue howls with an overactive sibilance. "How long have you known about this, innyway?" Hooray! Believe it or not, I've missed Shannen Doherty's novel mangling of proper pronunciation. Don't worry. I'm sure it'll be stomping out a festive pony on my last goddamned nerve soon enough. Piper admits Phoebe contacted her a couple of weeks ago. Prue slits her eyes and grits, "Whin does she arrive?"
On cue, Phoebe goofs her way through the front door, yodeling, "Surprise!" Prue gets this hysterical "Fuck. Me." look on her face, while Piper clearly expects to get bitch-slapped into week. Piper smiles warmly and crosses to greet Phoebe with an embrace. "It's so good to see you," she coos, and turns to Prue to prompt, "Isn't it?" "I'm speechless," Prue deadpans as a car horn blares. Phoebe perks, "I forgot about the cab." Piper snatches up Prue's purse from a side table and skitters out of the Manor to pay the driver. Prue and Phoebe stare each down for a long moment before Prue eyes Phoebe's duffel and icily inquires, "That's all that you brought?" "That's all that I own," Phoebe admits. "That, and a bike." More staring. Phoebe's the first to crack, muttering, "Look, I know that you don't want me here." Prue immediately shuts her down with "We're not selling Grams's house." We learn that Piper and Prue gave up their apartment after Grams died to move back into the Manor because "this house has been in [their] family for generations." Pity the writers couldn't remember this detail when it came time to script "PreWitched." Phoebe's shocked -- shocked -- that Prue would ever think Phoebe would want to sell the Manor. She attempts to cut through the crap by asking, "Can we talk about what's really bothering you?" "No," Prue snides. "I'm still furious with you." "I never touched Roger," Phoebe claims. Prue shoots her a look that by all rights should scorch that orange gloss from Phoebe's lips. "I know you think otherwise," Phoebe continues, "because that's what that Armani-wearing, chardonnay-slugging trust-funder told you, but..."
Piper barges back through the door, unfortunately interrupting what was shaping up to be an immensely satisfying catfight. She brightly offers to whip up a "FAB-ulous reunion dinner." "I'm not hungry," Prue drones, exiting into the parlor. "Ate on the bus," Phoebe sighs, heading towards the kitchen. The camera pulls in towards the fidgety, fluttery, frustrated Piper, who rather unconvincingly chimes, "We'll try the group hug later."
Cross-fade to the Bimbo Boudoir. Phoebe, strangely, has a television in her room. A female reporter details the latest murder as Phoebe pops a zit on her chin over at her mirror. Piper enters in a robe with a tray of snacky treats and iced tea for the Feebs. The two perch on the bed and gaze at the newscast for a bit. Piper excitedly points out her boyfriend, Jeremy, in the background at the crime scene and yes, it's the same guy who was talking to Andy earlier. After a bit, Phoebe wonders aloud why Piper didn't tell Prue she was moving back into the Manor. Piper quite rightly informs Phoebe that she should have done so herself. "Good point, Chicken Little," Phoebe absently replies. "Chicken Little"? The hell? Whatever. I doubt they'll ever explain that one, so let's talk about Phoebe's look for a moment. Her hair is styled into a bob even more drastic than Prue's that just covers her ears. More importantly, her clothing is distressingly normal. Yes, her black floral spaghetti-strapped top sets off her cleavage to great advantage, but few women in their mid-twenties would be embarrassed to claim it as their own. She's even wearing a bra, for Christ's sake. I can't deal with this. They all look so normal. It's like I've fallen into some Bizarro Charmed universe, where unfettered tits are frowned upon and all of the people have jobs. Well, all of the people save Phoebe, of course. Piper and Phoebe establish that Prue isn't the easiest gal to confide in, mainly because she's been a sort of maternal authority figure to her younger sisters ever since their real mother died. As if to prove this characterization, Prue enters with a couple of additional blankets for Phoebe, for the Bimbo Boudoir "always was the coldest room in the house." Does that explain THE NIPPLES in later episodes? Phoebe thanks her warily. Prue's expression indicates that Phoebe's presence in the Manor will be tolerated, however reluctantly, because while two-timing boyfriends may come and go, slutty man-stealing sisters are a joy forever.
Over at the scene of the crime, Andy spots a triquatra tattoo on the deceased's chest that matches similar tattoos on the other victims. Darryl makes with the snide remarks about cultist freak shows; Andy impresses no one with his knowledge of Wiccan lore. Kit cuts this tiresome crap short by hopping up onto a table and mewling. Darryl warns Andy that Kit's been "clawing the crap out of everybody," and tells him he'll be waiting in the car. Andy has a way with mangy feline beasts, however, and Kit allows a cuddle. Attached to Kit's rhinestone-studded red collar is a brass medallion engraved with yet another triquatra.
Manor sun porch. The thunderstorm, by the way, continues to rage across the city. Phoebe and Piper sit at the cast-iron table and play with the hand-crafted Ouija board while gossiping about Jeremy. Piper reminds Phoebe that she met Jeremy in the hospital cafeteria after Grams was admitted. Since Grams dropped dead from a heart attack on the stairs to the attic, I'm not sure why the hospital would bother admitting her, but whatever. ["Maybe they revived her in the ambulance, but then she suffered another 'cardiac event' in the CCU and died there?....Oh, who cares." -- Sars] Having dispensed with this latest piece of exposition, Piper orders Phoebe to stop pushing the pointer around on the board. Phoebe giggles that she's not pushing anything. Piper calls her on this, noting that Phoebe always pushed the pointer whenever they fooled around with the board when they were kids. She stands to fetch some more popcorn. Phoebe calls out, "Hey! I forgot your question." "I asked if Prue would have sex with someone other than herself this year." Ew! Also: Hee! Phoebe snarks, "That's disgusting!" Then she whispers, "Please say yes," and slides the pointer around a bit.
The pointer decides that Piper's question is too vile to warrant a proper response, and instead zips across the board of its own accord to land on the letter "A." Phoebe bleats, "Piper?" as the pointer shoots over to the "T," and the camera tracks in on Phoebe's startled and frightened face in a very cool zoom from across the room. Phoebe gasps and shrieks, "Piper! Get in here!" as she yanks her hands away from the board as if the pointer's suddenly burst into flame. Both Piper and Prue enter the sun porch to find out what gives with all the screaming. Phoebe blurts that the pointer moved on its own. "Well, did you push it?" Piper smirks. "No!" Phoebe wails. Prue places her hands on her hips and flatly states, "You always used to push the pointer." Snerk. Phoebe insists that she was "barely touching it," and places her fingertips on the thing to prove her point. Prue and Piper roll their eyes and turn away. The pointer violently whips to the bottom of the board, then just as violently lands once more on the letter "T," yanking Phoebe's arms back and forth as it does so. Phoebe squeals. Prue stomps over, glances down, and snots, "It's still on the letter 'T.'" She gives Phoebe the wicked side-eye and retraces her steps to the dining room. The pointer edges over to the "I," and this time, Piper's there to see it. As the pointer skitters across the board to the letter "C," Piper stammers, "Prue? Could you come in here a sec?" "Now what?" she sneers, clomping back into the sun porch. "I think it's trying to tell us something," says Phoebe, who's scribbled the letters onto an envelope. "Attic." A flash of lightning and a crash of thunder punctuate this, and the broken chandelier glows with an unearthly blue light right before the power cuts out throughout the Manor. Much as I am loath to admit this, I loved this scene. Don't ask me to explain. I know it's cheap, and silly, and trite. Nevertheless, it was pretty damn fun, with just the right hint of creepiness thrown in as well.
Piper freaks the fuck out and barrels towards the front door, screeching about horror movie clichés as she goes, intending to cab it over to Jeremy's apartment. Prue races after her, insisting that she's overreacting. I think there was supposed to be a commercial break after the power went out, because the dialogue seems to indicate that a few minutes have passed. Prue claims that Phoebe's simply playing a joke on them. Piper natters something about their inability ever to open the attic door as she lunges for the phone. "Great!" she wails when she can't get a dial tone. "Now the phone doesn't work!" Prue duhs that the power's out; therefore, no cordless. ["But if the battery on the cordless were charged up, wouldn't...oh, who cares." -- Sars] "Just go with me to the basement," Prue soothes. "I need you to hold the flashlight while I check out the main circuit box." Piper frantically volunteers Phoebe for flashlight duty, but the Feebs is heading for the attic, despite her sisters' insistence that she wait until they can get a locksmith to check out the door. Prue watches Phoebe go, then spins around to head for the basement. Piper whimpers and races after her rather than be left alone in the hall in the dark.
Upstairs, Phoebe trains her flashlight on the attic door. She jiggles the knob and pushes against the door, to no avail. As she turns to retreat to the second floor, the door creaks open by itself. Phoebe cautiously enters the room and peers around at the various pieces of discarded and dusty furniture. Then -- get this -- a heavenly light streams through the bay window to land on a steamer trunk sitting off to the side all by its lonesome. Christ almighty on a stick. The trunk then begins to glow. It's like a militant faction of vegan terrorists blew up a Hickory Farms warehouse and flaming shards of holiday cheese logs spattered all over my television. Phoebe lifts the lid of the trunk and finds therein the Book of Shadows. She hoists the Book from the trunk and sits down, placing the thing in her lap. The Book looks awfully new here, despite the properties department's best efforts to dirty it up a bit. Alyssa Milano blows a layer of talcum powder from the cover and traces the now-familiar triquatra with her fingers. She opens to the title page. "The Book of Shadows," she intones, just to prove to us that she really can read. Thanks for that. Moron. She then turns to the spell she finds on the . Because she's possessed of all the mental acuity of your average retarded eight-year-old, she reads the spell aloud. Oh, shut it. You know that any normal adult would read the damn thing silently. Anyway, it goes a little like this:
Hear now the words of the witches,
The secrets we hid in the night.
The oldest of gods are invoked here;
The great work of magic is sought.
In this night and in this hour,
I call upon the ancient power:
Bring your powers to we sisters three.
We want the power.
Give us the power.
Far below, the chandelier in the parlor shudders on its moorings as if the Manor were caught in an earthquake. You all know what happens , because it's been a part of every credits sequence since: Rays of whitish blue light fan out from an unseen source to dance in the prisms of cut glass and flood the parlor. Over on one of the sideboards, twinkly little fairy lights glow as the figures in the framed photograph Grams took of Piper, Prue, and Phoebe blur. The images of the three, who had been standing some distance from each other in the shot, move closer together as the camera pulls in towards the frame.
"What are you doing?" Prue asks as she and Piper enter the attic. Phoebe babbles about the magical door and the incantation she just read, and passes the Book to Prue. She adds that the Book mentions "the three essentials of magic -- timing, feeling, and the phases of the moon." "If we were ever gonna do this," she explains, "now -- midnight on a full moon -- is the most powerful time." "'This'?" Piper asks. "Receive our powers," Phoebe giddily elaborates. "'Our powers'?" snots Piper. "You included me in this?" Prue acidly notes that Phoebe included all three of them in "this." It goes without saying, perhaps, that the Prueminator is pissed.
Down in the street in the rain, the slickered stalker gazes up at the Manor.
The gals descend the stairs to the ground floor, bickering about what Phoebe may or may not have done. "Everything looks the same," Piper announces nervously as they reach the main hall. "Everything feels the same, so nothing's changed, right?" The three pass the photograph, oblivious to what the twinkly little fairy lights have wrought.
Down in the street, the slickered stalker strides away from the Manor and into the commercial break.
Hey, did you know that Grosse Pointe is the name of the show within the show called Grosse Pointe? Oh, wait. It was canceled a year and a half ago. Fuck it.
The morning, Piper emerges from the Manor carrying a chef's uniform still in its dry-cleaning bag and finds Phoebe perched on the front steps with a cup of coffee. "You're up early," she notes with surprise. Phoebe never went to bed. Piper cracks wise about spending the evening flying around the neighborhood on a broomstick. Phoebe giggles and claims she's never owned a broom in her life. She actually spent the night reading the Book of Shadows, and imparts her newfound wisdom upon Piper. "One of our ancestors was a witch named Melinda Warren," Phoebe reveals. "And we have a cousin who's a drunk, an aunt who's manic, and a father who's invisible," Piper snarks with a grin. She heads down the stairs to her car as Phoebe leaps to her feet to follow with further details. Melinda Warren could "move objects with her mind, see the future, and stop time." Or manipulate the molecular structure of objects, thereby freezing them or blowing them up as she saw fit. It's your call on that last one. We then learn of Melinda's infamous prophecy about the three most powerful sister-witches in the world. This is all old news, right? I can skip through it? Good. Piper hops into the SUV and tools off as Phoebe calls after her, "We're the protectors of the innocent! We're known as the Charmed Ones!" A passing extra nearly rams his bike into Phoebe's legs, because stoopy here is standing in the middle of the frigging street.
Cut to the colonnaded façade of a museum. I think the sign out front identifies it as the "American Museum of Natural History," but the tape's a little blurry, so it could be the Armenian Mutant of Neutered Histrionics for all I know. Inside, in what appears to be a cataloguing area, a WASPy gentleman with little John Lennon reading glasses informs Prue that, thanks to her efforts at obtaining corporate sponsorship, the "Beals artifacts" are becoming a part of the museum's permanent collection. How much money does the upkeep of some tatty legwarmers and a few ripped-up sweatshirts require? Maybe the welding equipment is driving up the cost. Unfortunately for Prue, the board of trustees has decided to place the collection in the hands of "someone more qualified." Namely, this particular anemic WASP. The Prueminator is -- wait for it -- pissed, and lets the anemic WASP have it with both barrels. She rages that without her work, the Mutant would never have obtained the legwarmers in the first place. The anemic WASP shrugs that he couldn't very well say no to the board's offer, and besides, the appointment is good for him. "What's good for me is definitely good for you, right, Miss Halliwell?" he adds with an odd blend of stuffy formality and false amity. You know, just like any fuckstain of a boss with a fencepost up his ass would do. He gestures in her face with a fountain pen. Prue glares at the pen as if snatching it from his fingers and jamming it into his eye would be her best course of action at this juncture. Setting her murderous thoughts aside, she chooses instead to attack his manner of address. "'Miss Halliwell'?" she repeats frostily. She wonders if the first-name basis thing they cultivated ended when they stopped sleeping with each other, or if that happened when she returned his engagement ring. A-ha. This is Roger, the anemic, two-timing, chardonnay-guzzling, WASPy fiancé. Prue was engaged to this wimp? Please. She's got chunks of guys like him in her stool. He leers over the reference to their sexual history, she calls him a bastard, he tries to apologize "to avoid a lawsuit," and she shoots daggers at him with her eyes. As she clomps away, Roger's fountain pen bursts in his shirt pocket, and a blossom of ink stains the fabric. When he uncaps the pen to examine it, the pen blows up in his face. The tinkly chimes on the soundtrack let us know this is an example of passive-aggressive telekinetic bitchcraft, rather than shoddy workmanship.
Meanwhile, across town, Samantha was trying not to gag on her film-editor boyfriend's funky-tasting...oops. Sorry. Carrie Bradshaw moment, don't you know. Piper's actually whipping up her audition recipe at a restaurant in "North Beach." It appears to be penne pasta with some sort of tomato-based cream sauce. As she measures out a bit of the port Jeremy sent her, some toad with a fake Gallic accent enters the kitchen to announce that her time is up. This tool is odious, and the actor is a talent-free douchebag who's not even cute, so I'm going to skip ahead to the relevant bit. Piper hasn't had a chance to blend the port into the sauce, so she's about to be royally screwed when this idiot tastes it. She splutters and gasps and yelps and tosses her hands out in front of her. The toad freezes with a bit of the pasta on a fork halfway to his mouth. Piper titters nervously and calls out his name a couple of times as she waves her hand in front of his face. She's wearing black nail polish, by the way, which is another character quirk that got lost in subsequent seasons. Piper eventually realizes the toad is indeed frozen, and so sucks up some port with a baster, which she uses to dribble a couple of drops onto the piece of penne. The toad unfreezes, tastes the pasta, and loves it. Piper has no clue what the fuck just happened, but she appears to have a new job. Though why she'd work for this asshole is beyond me.
Over at the Armenian Mutant of Neurasthenic Histrionics, Roger the anemic WASPy fuckstain is bragging about the Beals artifacts on the phone in his office. He's changed his shirt. Prue enters in time to overhear him claiming her achievements as his own. Long story short, she quits on the spot, giving no notice. Which, if you ask me, she should have done back when she broke off her engagement to her boss. Another reason why you should never date co-workers, kids. Don't shit where you eat. Roger makes with the threats, but Prue's all, "Be gone! You have no powers here!" As she exits, the anemic fuckstain hollers with great self-importance, "I hope there are no office supplies in your purse!" Out in the hall, Prue makes a strangling motion with her hands. In the office, Roger's tie immediately tightens to choke him. He fumbles around for a pair of scissors and cuts off the tie, but I was too busy noticing that I own the exact same lamp the fuckstain has on his desk.
Over in "North Beach," Piper dials the Manor on a payphone and pleads desperately with Phoebe to answer. There's no response, so Piper slams her way out of the booth without even retrieving her quarter and runs smack into Jeremy. He wanted to be the first to congratulate her on her new job, and throws out a single entendre about Piper's "work." She claims that it turns her on when he talks about food. They get schmoopy as he oozes, "Hot dogs, hamburgers, pizza," and this was a hell of a lot funnier when it was John Cleese shouting "GLASNOST!" at Jamie Lee Curtis while she sucked on her fingers and dry-humped a rope.
Elsewhere, Phoebe pedals her bike down a mostly-deserted street. As she approaches an intersection, she's whacked in the face by a free-floating black-and-white premonition, which is totally wrong because she has to handle an object in order to see the future. I think. In any event, the vision involves two skate punks getting smacked by a car. Sounds like a good start, if you ask me. Phoebe, however, begs to differ. When she spots the exact same skate punks being approached by the exact same car, she shrieks, "No!" and purposely wipes out in the middle of the intersection so that never the punks and the car shall meet. Kit eyes the action from a nearby tree, his triquatra medallion glinting in the sunlight. "Meow," quoth the cat. Um, okay, Kit. I can go along with that, I suppose. Commercials.
The time has shifted to early evening. Prue enters a hospital and asks the nurse at the front desk for Phoebe's whereabouts. Riiiiight. An unemployed slacker dimwit with no health insurance and no savings is going to head to the ER because she fell off her bike. Whatever, Connie. This scene exists solely to have Prue run into Andy Trudeau, who's there for the coroner's report on the eviscerated blonde. Detective Andy smiles a lot during this exchange, and his lipless rictus is freaking me out. It doesn't help that his smiles rarely make it all the way up to his eyes. As both the coroner and Phoebe are otherwise occupied, Prue and Andy decide to flirt and banter over some tepid coffee from the machine in the lobby. They clearly have some sort of history together, but that history is never discussed in detail. We do learn that Andy's a third-generation police officer who recently returned to San Francisco from Portland, and that his first task upon reaching the Bay Area was to check up on Prue. You can hear the moisture soaking Prue's panties.
Random restaurant. Prue and Phoebe sit at the bar with a shot of tequila and a coffee, respectively. Phoebe attempts to convince Prue that the prophecy foretold in the Book of Shadows has come true, and fails miserably. "Phoebe," Prue states, "I do not have special powers. Now, where is the cream?" A silver creamer scrapes across the bar on its own to settle to Prue's glass coffee cup, and milk presently blooms therein. Mind you, the milk doesn't leap from the creamer into the cup -- it just sort of appears. Neat effect, but the method of transfer makes no sense given the nature of Prue's telekinesis. "That looks pretty special to me," Phoebe snarks. Prue gapes. "I can move things with my mind?" she gasps. "With how much you hold inside," Phoebe replies, "I'm surprised you're not a lethal weapon by now." I'd comment, but we all know Alyssa was the one who eventually had Shannen iced and not the other way around, so let's just move this along. Phoebe idly supposes that Piper must be able to manipulate the molecular structure of objects, thereby freezing them or blowing them up as she sees fit as Prue snatches the shot of tequila and downs it. Or maybe Phoebe said that Piper could freeze time. "Are you okay?" she asks Prue. "No, I'm not okay," Prue shoots back. "You've turned me into a witch!" I'm sure Jennie Garth and Ashley Hamilton could present a convincing case that Shannen was a witch long before the WB gave Spelling the go-ahead to film this pilot, but you already knew that, didn't you? Phoebe notes that the Halliwells were born witches, and suggests Prue start dealing with that fact.
Out on the sidewalk, Phoebe blathers about what she found in the Book of Shadows. There were some etchings "that looked like something out of a Bosch painting" that portray three women fighting off all sorts of evil. I don't think I can live in a world where Phoebe wears a bra and knows who Hieronymus Bosch is. For Prue's benefit, Phoebe notes that witches can be good or evil, adding that "a good witch follows the Wiccan Rede: 'An it harm none, do what ye will.'" We also learn that warlocks kill good witches and steal their powers. In the first of the etchings, the three women were sleeping. In the second, they were battling one of these power-stealing warlocks. Phoebe assumes that as long as the Halliwells were unaware of their heritage, they were safe. Now that they know, however, they're all in danger. The ever-present Kit howls from a nearby trashcan, all, "Can you bitches please take me home already? I'm freezing my non-existent kitty nuts off out here."
The scene ominously cuts over to Piper and Jeremy in a taxi with some Chinese take-out. She's trying to broach the subject of that afternoon's incident with the toad, but she's sounding like an idiot. She instead passes Jeremy a fortune cookie. More single-entendres involving the cookie telling Jeremy that he'll soon be on top. He then orders the driver to take a quick detour. There's an abandoned warehouse with an "amazing" view of the Bay Bridge from the roof, you see. I don't think I can live in a world where Phoebe knows who Hieronymus Bosch is and Piper is a dumbass.
Prue and Phoebe cruise a drug store for sailors. Fine -- Phoebe's there to pick up a prescription, and Prue needs some aspirin for the migraine that took up residence in her skull the moment she realized she could move things with her mind. The sailors would be a hell of a lot more fun, though. They natter about their "inheritance," and the word "destiny" makes its very first appearance on the show. Phoebe's raring to go with this witchcraft stuff, almost as if -- you guessed it! -- she now has a purpose in her life. Prue is of a different opinion, expressed thusly when Phoebe suggests Prue treat her migraine with some chamomile tea: "I have just found out that I am a witch, that my sisters are witches, and that we have powers that apparently will unleash all forms of evil -- evil that is apparently going to come looking for us -- so excuse me, Phoebe, but I'm not exactly in a homeopathic mood right now!" Phoebe calmly suggests that Prue "move [her] headache out of [her] mind." A bottle of aspirin whips off a nearby shelf into Prue's hand. Phoebe's face lights up with a realization. "You move things when you're upset!" she grins. Oh, Jesus. San Francisco's in trouble, isn't it? Prue denies that her telekinesis has anything to do with her volatile moods. "Raaah-ger," Phoebe coos in a taunting singsong. Several bottles of aspirin crash to the floor. Phoebe smirks and starts laying into Prue over Prue's father issues. She claims that their father has "been a button-pusher" for Prue ever since he abandoned their mother; Prue's angry he's still alive, she's angry Phoebe went to New York to find him, and she's angry Phoebe came back to San Francisco once she'd done so. "Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad," she chants. Every single item on the surrounding shelves crashes to the floor. "Feel better?" Phoebe asks. "Lots," admits Prue. They giggle, and this was funnier when it was Carmen Maura talking to the law office receptionist immediately after she slapped the shit out of the feminist attorney who was having an affair with the father of her unborn child.
Over in the warehouse district, Jeremy lures Piper into the abandoned building, and the two climb into the freight elevator. Once they're locked in, Jeremy inadvertently indicates that he's aware Phoebe's back in town. Piper calls him on this, so Jeremy pulls out his big, bad, witch-killing knife. "I've waited six months for this," he slithers as he and Piper circle each other in the elevator. "Ever since Grams went to the hospital." Jeremy knew that after Grams died, the sisters' powers would be released sooner or later, and Phoebe's return was his sign that this had come to pass. "You killed all those women!" Piper pants. "All those women"? Piper, there were only three. It's not like he's the Green River Killer of the warlock world, hon. Jeremy confirms this, flicking out a jazz hand as he does so. The eviscerated blonde's little spurts of flame dance above his fingertips. "It was the only way to get their powers," he smarms as the sound editor runs his voice through an effects machine to give it an appropriately raspy demonic edge. "And now I want yours," he continues, as the worst effects shot bar none on this series smushes his features together until Jeremy resembles a Photoshopped mutant gargoyle. He lunges at her with the knife. Piper flings her hands out defensively, freezing both Jeremy and the elevator in the process. In the silence that follows, the only sound we hear is Piper's ragged breathing as she frantically tries to formulate a plan of escape. She hoists herself up and out of the elevator. Jeremy suddenly unfreezes and latches onto her leg. Piper grabs a discarded two-by-four and whacks the warlock in the teeth. He of the glass jaw goes down like a French prizefighter. Piper scrambles out of the warehouse, leaving Jeremy slumped unconscious against the elevator wall.
Manor. Phoebe plays back a message from Roger wherein he begs Prue to return to work as Prue herself waltzes into the hallway with Kit. Piper screeches through the front door and asks Phoebe if the Book of Shadows can tell them how to get rid of a warlock. Kit scampers off to raid the fridge. Meanwhile, Jeremy comes to, leaps out of the elevator, and promises, "I'll get you, you bitch," as he trundles off into the mist-enshrouded commercial break.
Hey, did you know that some choices change lives, but that Joey Potter's choice. Changed. EVERYTHING? You learn something new every day.
Manor parlor. Piper and Prue finish shuttering the windows, and Prue proposes they call the police. "And tell them what?" Piper yowls. "That some freak with powers beyond comprehension is trying to kill us?" Nice one, Piper. Phoebe appears on the landing to tell them she's found the answer they've been looking for in the Book. Prue and Piper charge up the stairs.
Up in the attic, we're treated to an overhead swirling shot of the three kneeling in a semicircle around the Book of Shadows at a low table surrounded by candles. It's so pretty. I sure do hope someone realizes how good this shot would look in the opening credits. And you can't see any of their faces, so they can keep using it even after Alyssa has Shannen fired! Following the Book's instructions, Phoebe lights a candle and drops it into a large iron pot. Piper retrieves a wax "poppet," "strengthens" it by pressing one of Jeremy's thorny roses into its chest, and recites the following before dumping the poppet into the pot as well:
Your love will wither and depart
From my life and my heart.
Let me be, Jeremy,
And go away forever.
Holly Marie's cadence, bless her, is as if this spell were two simple declarative sentences, rather than the piece of shitty Hallmark poetry it so desperately wishes it could be. The three eye the pot. Tendrils of smoke rise from the bottom to engulf the wax doll and obscure the rose from sight. The contents of the pot flare up, and at that moment in the warehouse district, Jeremy screams and collapses against a chain-link fence. Great, giant rose thorns erupt from his face, neck, hands, torso, and legs as he wails and wails. Back in the attic, Phoebe grabs onto the pot and is flung into a premonition of the not-vanquished but decidedly-pissed-off Jeremy howling over on the chain-link fence. She keens a warning to her sisters, and the three race out of the attic, presumably to escape from the Manor before Jeremy arrives.
Down in the main hall, Prue reaches the front door first. She flings it open and spins around to whisper urgently, "Come on!" Jeremy materializes on the porch behind Prue with his thorny mien and shiny knife. Piper and Phoebe shriek. The ladies as a group edge backwards towards the stairs as Jeremy makes with the threats. Prue tentatively flicks her head to one side. Jeremy totters against the wall. Prue takes charge, ordering Phoebe and Piper to scram. For some reason, the two head back upstairs instead of out the back door. Prue flicks her head again, more forcefully this time, and Jeremy snipers to the parlor floor.
Prue joins Phoebe and Piper in the attic, and the gals barricade the door with Grams's priceless antiques. Ungrateful little cows. Jeremy's muffled threats can be heard through the door, and while the vocal effect is meant to make him sound demonically terrifying, he actually ends up sounding like pain-in-the-ass Chris Farley's pain-in-the-ass motivational speaker from Saturday Night Live. Annoying? Certainly. Grating? But of course. Scary? Not so much. Jeremy telekinetically clears the barricade from the attic door, then shatters the door itself. Prue urges Piper and Phoebe to remember the inscription on the back of the Ouija board. The Ps chant, "The power of three will set us free," in unison as Jeremy flings a circle of fire at their feet. The chanting becomes louder and more insistent as the ladies gain confidence. Jeremy flicks his wrist again, and a whirlwind tears through the attic. Enraged that his demonic tricks have no effect on the women, Jeremy delivers the following Mission Statement on behalf of all dark demonic forces sent from the flaming maw of Hell: "I'm one of millions, in places you can't even imagine in forms you would never believe. We are Hell on this earth, and you will never be safe, and you will never be free!" That's just darling. And more than a little ooky. I need help. As Jeremy howls his last word, his body erupts in an explosion that sends slivers of demonic goo flying through the attic. The whirlwind ceases, and Prue gasps, "The Power of Three."
The morning, Prue -- in a pair of black capris and a red t-shirt -- skips down the front steps to fetch the paper. Oh, dear. It's The Gazette. So much for that promising veracity. Andy Trudeau and his toothy suck-hole of a mouth bounce up the stairs to greet her. Flirting. Banter. He asks her out on a dinner date that Friday evening to see if they can "rekindle the old flame." I think you already rekindled that old flame, doll, and it seared the lips clean off your face. Prue reluctantly turns Andy down, because her "life just got a bit complicated." She asks if she can call him when things calm down. He flashes his scary lipless suck-hole and hands her his card. Prue smiles.
Phoebe, in bicycle shorts, a sports bra, and a midriff-baring top, emerges from the Manor with Kit in her arms and Piper at her side. Piper's working a pair of track pants and several layered t-shirts of varying sleeve lengths. The Glamorous Ladies circa Season Three wouldn't be caught dead in these outfits. Unfortunately. Phoebe and Piper playfully tease Prue about Andy's visit. Prue admits that she nearly took Andy up on his dinner offer, but then she wondered to herself, "Am I allowed to date? I mean, do witches date?" Piper's of the opinion that not only do witches date, but also that "they usually get the best guys." Yeah, like the psychotic freak show who tried to gut you like a fish in an elevator last night, you nimrod. I should keep my mouth shut, though. Anyone's better than the Dolt. Phoebe guffaws doofily. Kit, already fed up with this crap, spies Andy and howls plaintively at him. Andy stares at the cat for a moment, all, "Attention! Attention must be paid! I am having an important realization here, people!" Then he gets into car and drives off.
The Ps wonder what's going to happen in their lives. Piper The Timid Middle Sister is Fretfully Tense. Phoebe The Free-Spirited Youngest Sister is Guilelessly Enthusiastic. Prue The Sage And Experienced Eldest Sister is Cautiously Optimistic, and promises that whatever happens, "We're going to be careful, we're going to be wise, and we're going to stick together until working conditions on the set with you two bitches become so intolerable that I'm willing to let my reputation take another hit in order to get out of my contract." The sisters link arms and stroll back up the stairs into the Manor. Prue's the last across the threshold, and with a trace of an amused smile dancing across her face, she telekinetically eases the door shut.
My face is burning with shame as I admit this, but had I seen this episode when it originally aired in 1998, I think I would have been watching Charmed all along. God help me.