I'd call SunMoonStar this evening's maid of honor, but given this episode's "quality," she might be insulted. God knows I would be. So, I think we should all just belly up to the open bar under that stripey tent out on the lawn and raise a cocktail to her instead.
Speaking of insults, I remarked earlier that Phoebe's ludicrous nuptials to Cole ranked as this series' true wedding from Hell. I lied. Read on...
Fade up on the Golden Gate Bridge, and then we're off to a mansion with a grand entrance drive surmounted by an elaborate, three-story-high portico. I feel as if I should recognize the place, and yet I don't. I also feel as if I should care about what will happen this evening, but that feeling quickly staggers face-first into the toilet when we slide into the palace grounds, and I plunge into vaguely-nauseated apathy as the camera tracks a mousy dishwater blonde with a shag cut on a stroll through the gardens with her equally mousy dishwater-blond fiancé. The mouse with the shag sort of resembles a younger Laura Innes if you removed the crutch and most of the acting ability, replaced the aura of competence and self-confidence with a whiny, grasping neediness, and strapped what was left into a lavender hoodie that has an unfortunate propensity to bunch up around random protruding body parts. The mousy fiancé looks like he auditioned for the title role in The Matthew Shepard Story and was rejected because he was too effeminate for the part. Sandy Duncan? Butcher. Bernadette Peters? A grotesque parody of stereotypical all-American masculinity compared to this guy. And it's all downhill from here, people.
The two lovebirds launch into tiresome declarations of eternal love and respect peppered with twitchy confessions of pre-wedding jitters as they coyly reveal their names to be "Allison Michaels" and "Elliot Spencer" respectively, and you know what? These "Hello, Young Lovers" plotlines always suck ass. And I'm warning you once again: This one is by far the worst of the bunch. Elliot asks Allison if she'd rather elope than go through with the elaborate ceremony his mother has planned for them. So, that sylph-like physical presence of his that's whistling the refrain of "I Once Knew A Dickless Mama's Boy" isn't enough, huh? We needed that bit of dialogue as well to ensure we know he's got a A Domineering Mommy, right? Allison guhs all, "Ohmigod! Like she'd totally let us get away with that, like, not!" And then they, like, totally kiss! Mother Elliot chooses this moment to tear across the garden path in what appears to be a bullet-proof peach satin power suit with matching pumps from the Betsy Bloomingdale Republican Hell-Bitch Collection at Neiman Marcus, along with excessive amounts of eyeliner, overly-hennaed hair, cruelly drawn lips, and a pair of nostrils so sharp that off-sea oil rigs frequently lease them to drill new exploratory wells. Mother Elliot demands to know if her son has procured the marriage license as of yet. Elliot tells her to chill; he and Allison can pick it up tomorrow after the rehearsal dinner. Mother Elliot shrieks like a banshee about leaving nothing to chance, Elliot's girlish hackles rise, and I want the three of them to SHUT UP AND DIE. NOW.
And yet they don't. Rather, someone cues the entrance of a demonically vapid sorority girl from Hell. This episode just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it? The sorority girl's eyes are spaced so far apart that she looks like a walleye trout with creme lipstick and a blonde wig. She's wearing one of Heather Locklear's castoff faux-leopard-print micro-mini business suits, and she poses beneath an arbor at the far end of the garden to glower into the camera. No, wait. Scratch that. This bimbo doesn't have enough screen presence to glower. She attempts to focus her demonically vacant fish-eyes in the general direction of the camera lens, but fails. How's that? Allison and Elliot each wonder aloud about the woman's identity. Mother Elliot, with a twinge of uncharacteristic anxiety, replies that the newcomer is someone she hasn't seen "for a long time." Mother Elliot sets her jaw and strides over to the intruder, leaving the betrothed by the hydrangea bushes to continue with their flaccid, nauseating canoodling.
Once she's out of the kids' earshot, Mother Elliot spits, "What are you doing here?" "What's the matter?" comes the reply. "Forget about our little pact?" Mother Elliot sneers she hasn't forgotten, but she certainly hoped this "Jade" woman would have by now. I'll be polite and assume that throughout this and subsequent scenes, the blonde hired to portray Jade is aiming for a sense of menace in her general characterization and performance. After all, that is what one would expect of her, is it not? However. Her vocal quality is thin and high-pitched, her intonations are those of a dull-witted spokesmodel salesclerk assigned to distribute perfume samples to swarms of uninterested passing shoppers, and her demeanor is that of a bored and listless daughter of privilege who thought it would be "fun" to "try the acting thing for a while" on Daddy's dime. As a result, whenever she appears on the screen, I find my senses involuntarily shutting down as a desperate defense mechanism meant to preserve my sanity. She's vapid, she's blonde, she's shallow, she's evil, and she's a bitch. So far, so good. These combined qualities should place her in Glory territory, right? Wrong. Due to the performer's painfully obvious lack of talent and skill and sense of pacing and presence and brainpower and, oh, everything else an actress requires to be in the slightest bit effective, these combined qualities come across as her own, and not those of the character she was hired to play. The result manages to be stultifying and offensive at the same time. If I wanted to watch a mouthy, wall-eyed, overprivileged sorority bitch piss and moan for an hour, I'd head to the Bennigan's in Evanston just down from the Northwestern campus. Or I'd tune to Sorority Life on MTV. We have yet to hit the opening credits, and the actress playing the Villain Of The Week is so mind-bendingly awful that I have no desire to watch the rest of the episode. Hell, I'm already having problems just following her storyline because of the rampant suckage, and find myself relying solely on the closed captioning to tell me what's going on, because I can't bear looking at or listening to this woman. I gather tonight's A-plot involves some sort of deal This Horrible Insult To The Profession Of Acting made with Mother Elliot. If I'm reading this correctly, Mother Elliot offered her son in marriage to This Slap In The Face in exchange for wealth and power, and now Mother Elliot wishes to renege. This Cancer On The Art will have what she has been promised, however, and Mother Elliot has no choice in the matter. The Insult raises her arm to shoot a little mojo over at the girly-man. He collapses to writhe in the dirt beside his betrothed. Allison screams for help. Allison then decides to scream and shriek, just in case no one heard her the first time. Then, just for the hell of it, she screams and shrieks and bays and shrills and howls until streams of blood run from my ears to stain my shirt and shut UP, bitch! The Cancer wanders out of frame while Mother Elliot gapes. I hate every single one of these people.
Manor. Oh, thank you, God! Unfortunately, the suckage continues when a wee subtitle appears at the bottom of the screen. "One week later," it reads, as if we're supposed to believe this show ever cared enough about matters related to chronological continuity to be so specific with the timeframe. Up on the second floor, Prue bangs on the bathroom door, pleading with Piper to hurry up lest Prue herself be late for work. Inside, Piper intently examines the wand of an early pregnancy test. Um, what? Last time I checked, Piper hadn't gotten any in months. Who's the mystery man making deposits into Piper's private sperm bank? And doesn't Piper strike you as the kind of anxiety-ridden lass who would utilize overly-redundant methods of birth control anyway? You know she's on the pill and has an IUD and uses a cervical cap with vast amounts of spermicidal jelly and makes sure her swain double-bags it, just to be safe. Oh, come on. You know I'm right. Whatever -- contrary to my all of my expectations, Piper appears to be late. As the stick has yet to give her an answer, Piper orders Prue to use the downstairs shower. We get a close-up of the instructions on the EPT's side panel, and they contain far too much information about "urine streams" for my comfort. Prue grumbles something about her "first auction start[ing] tomorrow," then sighs, rolls her eyes, and heads downstairs.
It's now Phoebe's turn to wander into the hallway, braying a question regarding the current availability of hot water in the shower. Piper heaves a mighty sigh, tosses the box into the trash, shoves the test stick into the pocket of her robe, and exits the bathroom. Phoebe's still whining about the lack of hot water. Piper snarks that "at certain times in life, a cold shower is probably a good thing," and blows past the Feebs to her bedroom. Phoebe grunts and shuffles over to the sink to brush her teeth, for cold showers have never been a part of the Feeble One's lexicon. Her eyes wander, eventually landing on the box in the trash. She flings down her toothbrush to retrieve the thing from the garbage. As she raises it to her face, she's flung into a premonition. In a hospital delivery room, Phoebe watches the staff from the expectant mother's point of view. The obstetrician gasps, his eyes bulging with terror, as he yanks a reddish, slimy, rubberized demonic "infant" from between the woman's stirrup-bound legs. The snarling brat has bitty Vulcan ears and a scowl on its face. Phoebe snaps out of it to glance about the bathroom tensely as the camera pulls back from her face into the opening credits.
Back from the break, we reel through the remainder of the opening titles during an extensive travelogue of epic time-wasting proportions. The gentlemen you should stone for tonight's script are Greg Elliot (get it?) and Michael (no, really. Do you get it?) Perricone. Jackasses used their own damn names for the affianced. Idiots. Hacks. Idiot-hacks. In the Manor kitchen, Piper flutters about with baking trays as Prue enters to fetch a thermos of coffee. Piper answers the phone while Prue insists that the gals devise some sort of morning bathroom schedule. Piper has other concerns at the moment -- one of her cater-waiters just bailed on "the Elliot Spencer wedding tomorrow," and Piper might need to ask Phoebe to fill in for the guy. Prue raises a brow, wondering why Piper's stuck with such concerns. "Chef Moore is on his way to France," Piper replies. "And since technically the contract is with [[72virg=ins]], he is off the hook and I am on the line." "What?" I hear you ask. "WHAT? I thought they got rid of that bastard after the premiere." Yes, they did. Given various small bits of information that are about to be tossed out during the course of the hour, I'm assuming this episode was initially scripted and shot to be the second or the third of the season. Further evidence of this will appear shortly when we learn Piper's afraid Jeremy may have knocked her up. You know, the spiky warlock they vanquished at the end of the first episode? Six weeks ago in our time, God knows how many months ago in Charmed time? As in, Piper should be long past EPTs at this point if she is indeed carrying his demon seed? Yeah, him. I suppose it doesn't matter much now that these episodes are entering non-sequential syndicated rotation, but there are enough elements that contradict information we've received in just the last two weeks to piss me off. I understand swapping around episodes to rework the weaker ones before they air, but in this case, we've been left with so many gaping plot holes and unexplained character regressions and long-gone tertiary characters affecting the action, I wonder if it wouldn't have been better to shelve this episode altogether. After all, if they'd done that, I wouldn't have had to spend an hour trying to describe precisely how awful an actress Sara Peterson is.
Anyway, whatever. Once again, you've been forewarned. Phoebe enters the kitchen in time to hear the tail end of her sisters' conversation, which is worded in such a way that Phoebe misinterprets it as Piper warning Prue about the possible pregnancy. By keeping her yammering trap shut for once, Phoebe manages to suss out the real topic before Prue sails out of there to head over to Buckland's. Once Prue's gone, Phoebe hesitantly asks Piper about Jeremy, intending somehow to ferret out the results of the EPT. Piper immediately shuts Phoebe down, insisting, "There is nothing in me that wants anything to do with Jeremy ever again." Because of the premonition, Phoebe clearly begs to differ, but Piper races out of the Manor before Phoebe has a chance to mention anything. Phoebe considers her options, then books out of the kitchen.
Long, lingering shot of Coit Tower from the bay with an ass-tastic CGI crow flapping languidly through the air. Long, lingering shot of the inexplicably familiar facade of Castle Spencer. Long, lingering shot of Piper steering the Cherokee to Castle Spencer's gates. With all the shit that remained in this episode, I shudder to think what was cut out and replaced with innocuous shots such as these when the schedule was so hastily reorganized. Piper buzzes the intercom and identifies herself to the guards inside. Of course, because they're expecting a male caterer with an atrocious French accent, the guards give her shit and instruct her to wait outside until they can clear her for entry. Piper gripes, tapping her nails on the steering wheel. As two Secret Service types wander down the driveway, a cassocked priest besets the Cherokee-bound Piper, begging her to smuggle him into "the compound." Piper stares at him as if to ask, "Why? Are there altar boys in there you need to fuck?" before the Spencer bodyguards wrestle him away from Piper's car. "Father Trask" wails and moans and complains, because the bodyguards are way too old and therefore so not his type. Guard The First casually waves Piper through the now-open gates as if butt-pirates in Roman collars pop up every afternoon on the Castle grounds. Before the bruisers drag him away, Trask bellows, "She is the bearer of a demon child! Beware Hecate!" Piper's all, "Ooo-kay, then, you psychotic freakshow," and eases the Jeep onto the estate.
Buckland's. Prue explains to Hannah the piece before them is a "Lassa warrior fertility goddess [that is] very rare and very powerful." Hannah snides that Prue can keep the thing: "My biological clock's not the one that's ticking." What? That's not only unnecessarily bitchy, it's also stupid. Prue's only twenty-seven years old. Call her in ten years to mock her biological clock, Hannah. Actually, don't bother. In ten years, Prue's biological clock will be rotting away with the rest of her physical remains in the Halliwell crypt because Alyssa had Shannen fired. Rex pokes his floppy-haired head into the room to inform Prue that her sister is waiting in her office. When Prue asks, "Which sister?" Rex replies with an amused grin, "The one who, upon seeing your office, said, 'Damn. I should go back to college.'" If I had seen this episode back when Hugh Grant was still a daily blight on the face of American media, I'd be grinding my teeth in irritation. Now, I simply don't care. Prue informs her boss that the fertility idol has been catalogued for sale. Rex stutters and stammers and announces that the idol is "no longer available." Prue shrugs nonchalantly and leaves the room. Rex shuts the door behind her to berate Hannah for allowing Prue to see the thing. "Her sister's catering the wedding," Hannah snaps. "Prue won't even be there." Rex bites his lip.
Over in Prue's office, Phoebe has her feet up on the desk while giggling into the phone, no doubt making use of the free long-distance to chat with a friend on the other end of the country. She hangs up immediately when Prue enters, snarking that she noticed the bathroom schedule Prue drew up which places Phoebe last in line. Prue's as uninterested in all of this as I am, and informs Phoebe that she has five minutes to tell her what's up, which will be followed by five seconds to get the hell out of her office. Phoebe cuts to the chase and tells Prue about her premonition that morning in the bathroom. Prue leaps to the conclusion that Phoebe's knocked up, and this is the reason she returned from New York. Phoebe's outraged, and gets mouthy before reminding Prue that Piper had quite the bit of midnight fun with Jeremy before the Glamorous Ladies vanquished his ass two months ago. Prue gapes. I yawn, because Piper's not pregnant, especially not with Jeremy's child. See above.
Castle Spencer. Mother Elliot is now sporting a bullet-proof blue satin Betsy Bloomingdale Republican Hell-Bitch power suit, this one with a flaring, upturned, angular collar meant to remind us all of the evil queen in Snow White. Of course, this means we're to sympathize instantly with the woeful, lonely, waif-like, kicked-to-the-curb Allison when Mother Elliot confronts her for trespassing on Spencer property. Unfortunately, Allison is a strident whiner, so rather than offering her my sympathy, I'd be more likely to join Mother Elliot in beating her to death with a couple of garden hoes just to get the cow to shut up already. Mother Elliot tells Allison to make like a tree, for Elliot is in love with old family friend "Jade D'Mon" and always has been, so suck it up, sweetheart, and do your gold-digging elsewhere. No! That can't be! Allison and Elliot are soul mates! "Blow it out your ass," Mother E seems to say, spinning on her heel to reenter the castle. Also: "Jade D'Mon"? That's not funny. That's nowhere near funny. In fact, "Jade D'Mon" is so far away from funny, that...oh, screw it. Just fire the fuck-ups who wrote this episode, okay? And after you've done that, rather than having security escort them from the building, just pitch them off the goddamned roof so they can never write for television again.
Castle Spencer, The Servants' Quarters. Piper bitches at an extra to knock a concoction on the stove down from boil to simmer as Phoebe enters with more supplies. Phoebe reveals that she visited Prue that morning, but before she can confront Piper about the nonexistent pregnancy, an effete butler appears to announce that Mother E and The Cancer are ready to meet with the caterer. The butler's a bit swishy and is tossing far too much shade for a gentleman of his station, by the way. For a moment, Piper's confused when she learns that Allison will not be the day's blushing bride, but she shuts it in favor of kissing some rich-people ass.
Elsewhere in the castle, Mother E's engaged in a bit of ass-kissing herself, as The Cancer stands before a full-length mirror being fitted for her gown. Blah beautiful blee perfect wah don't rip off my head woo succubus shrike whatever. The butler escorts Piper and Phoebe into the room. Piper compliments the bride-to-be, telling her the gown is gorgeous. "It's a Shiro, isn't it?" Piper asks. The Cancer gets a blank look on her face and perks, "Is it?" Well, The Cancer gets a look blanker than the one she normally allows to reside there. I hate this episode. Mother E smoothes things over by asking about the state of things in the kitchen. Piper assures her that everything is moving along according to schedule. Then, wincing a bit, Piper admits that Chef Moore will not be overseeing the final preparations. Mother E, The Cancer, and The Cancer's attendant get shrill. Did I mention that The Cancer had an attendant? I didn't? Sorry. It must be that whole automatic-shutting-off-of-sensory-input-whenever-this-woman-appears thing. Defense mechanisms are a bitch. Anyway, Phoebe intervenes and manages to convince the ladies that Piper is more than capable of handling things unsupervised. The Cancer sneers something about having Piper's head should anything go wrong and Sara Peterson is a horrible person and should be bitten by a rabid marmot and die a slow and painful and torturous death and whenever this woman is on screen it's as if the utter suck of her presence yanks my brain straight out of my ear and Piper and Phoebe leave. The seamstress working on The Cancer's hem accidentally drives a straight pin into The Cancer's calf. The Cancer doesn't even notice. You think The Cancer's evil or something? You know, like, not human? Give me back my brain, bitch.
Out on the grounds, security guards confer. Seems that Father Trask escaped. They scatter to search for him as blue-collar types off-load tables and chairs from a bridal supply truck. Once everyone has wandered off, Trask emerges from the depths of the truck to strip off his cassock and don one of the supplier's jackets. He retrieves an elaborate, bejeweled dagger from his discarded cassock, slides it into the waistband of his pants, and scampers off. I'd toss another tasteless pedophile joke into this paragraph, but the bitch still has my brain.
Within the castle, Allison sneaks through a hallway and darts into Elliot's bedroom. He's prone on the bed, robotically perusing a magazine entitled Honeymoon. Allison begs him not to marry The Cancer. Elliot hasn't a clue who Allison is. Just then, the outrageous suck that is The Cancer enters the bedroom with her attendant and Mother E. Mother E and the attendant chase Allison from the room. The Cancer shuts the door behind them and approaches the still-prone girly-man with her hands on her hips.
Downstairs, the security alarm whoops as Piper and Phoebe canter through a hallway. They arrive at the vast atrium containing the main stairwell in time to witness Allison being forced from the castle proper by Mother E and the attendant, Elliot calling out to Allison from above before The Cancer drags him back into his bedroom, and Trask scampering up the stairs with his elaborate dagger drawn. Upstairs, Trask enters Elliot's bedroom and approaches The Cancer with the dagger raised like a small cross before him, chanting "I banish thee" over and over again. The attendant sneaks up behind him and morphs into a hellbeast that snaps his neck, like, fuck everyone who worked on this episode. Fuck them all right through a wall. We just saw the attendant dragging Allison out the front door. I hate this show. The Cancer smirks and orders The Attendant to get rid of the body.
Down in the kitchen, Phoebe and Piper race up to a security guard to tell him about Trask and the knife as the crash of shattering glass enters the room from the courtyard outside. The three emerge from the Castle to find a cluster of guards examining Trask's rapidly-cooling corpse on the pavement far below a splintered third-floor window. From the Castle's second floor, Mother E eyes the scene with a grimace. Piper and Phoebe gape as we fade out to commercial.
Castle Spencer. Aftermath. Piper and Phoebe stand behind police lines with Allison. They try to extract Allison's story from her, but Allison peels off without a word. Phoebe snarks something about Piper's nonexistent pregnancy, then skitters off after the jilted fiancée. Piper clenches. !
As coroner's aides remove the corpse, Darryl and Andy interrogate The Cancer. Sara Peterson continues to suck. Long story short: She lies; the boys don't quite believe her, but Andy and Darryl haven't enough evidence to detain her. !
Inside the castle, Mother E confronts The Attendant, screeching, "Killing a priest was not part of our deal!" The Attendant tells her to zip it, and threatens to push Mother E off a balcony or something. All Mother E has to do is stay away from The Cancer until Elliot knocks her up after the ceremony, and everything will be kosher. Got that? !
Buckland's. Rex enters Prue's office and instructs her to wah blah auctioncakes. He then gets down to the real purpose of his visit. You'll remember that Rex and Hannah already suspect Prue of being a witch, right? Well, now Rex asks Prue leading questions about her sisters to determine if she's a Charmed One. He learns that there are indeed three Halliwell sisters, and leaves. !
In another office, Rex gets schmoopy with Hannah, offering to take her to a football game so they can watch quarterbacks shatter their legs in four places while getting sacked or something. Hannah finds this a lovely idea. They're evil. We knew this four episodes ago. !
Back in Prue's office, Andy hesitantly slides through the door in time to watch Prue delicately peel an auction tag from a male fertility idol's schlong. Prue whips her head around at him, blushing furiously. Andy asks if he's interrupting anything. Prue shoots to her feet and blurts, "No! Um, somebody just put a sticky inventory tag on his, uh, on the, uh..." "Artifact?" Andy finishes for her. Prue grins, "Artifact! Yes. Artifact." Andy beams at her. "I should know that word, shouldn't I?" Prue flusters. She crosses to the far side of her desk, stammering, "So, uh, where is your, um..." "Artifact?" asks Andy. Prue snickers, rolls her eyes in defeat, abandons all attempts to remain professionally detached, and collapses into her chair. Andy smiles and passes her a manila envelope. It contains the elaborate dagger Trask smuggled into Castle Spencer. "This poignard is exquisite," Prue breathes. "Fourteenth-century Italian." She examines a bit of Craptin engraved on the blade. "Nec prius absistit quoad protero prodigium," she recites, and look at that! Both Prue and Andy speak fluent Craptin! Together, they translate the inscription as "I shall not rest until the demon is vanquished." Whatever small amount of good will they built up with the mildly entertaining banter at the start of the scene is gone. This episode sucks. Prue turns to her laptop and magically summons relevant information on that very poignard. That information, of course, links to further information on Hecate, including a vivid rendering of the beast cradling a newborn infant in a Hellish parody of medieval Nativity scenes. Prue silently connects the dots to Phoebe's premonition and asks if she can keep the dagger until "Russell in Armaments" can offer an opinion. Andy agrees, and Prue virtually flies out of her office, promising to call Andy when she has more information. Andy furrows his brow at her odd behavior, then eases himself around her desk to examine the information Prue foolishly left up on her screen.
Manor. Phoebe learns that Piper is not pregnant. Piper, referencing catering contracts signed by Chef Moore, confirms that Allison was originally meant to marry Elliot. And Prue delineates the poignard's connection to Phoebe's premonition. Hecate, you see, comes to Earth once every two centuries to get herself knocked up by an innocent. The dagger is the only way to vanquish her. Should they not vanquish Hecate before she pops out the slimy, snarling beastie from Phoebe's premonition, frogs will rain from the sky, the moon will turn to blood, cats will lie down with dogs, yada yada yada, wake me when it's over. By the way, I examined numerous references to Hecate in online dictionaries, encyclopedias, and various compendia of Greek and Roman mythology, and while I did find quite a bit of information, none of it has any bearing on the steaming pile of shit this episode has become at this point. The Glamorous Ladies bounce out of the kitchen to spy on The Cancer's bachelorette party.
Castle Spencer. The Ps press their noses against The Cancer's bedroom window to find The Cancer opening gift-wrapped boxes of lingerie, The Attendant and two other ladies looking on. The Cancer's bedroom is located, conveniently enough, on the Castle's ground floor. The Attendant passes that Lassa fertility idol from Buckland's over to The Cancer. Prue recognizes the idol immediately. The dialogue throughout this scene, as well as its delivery, is quite simply appalling. "Nice negligee!" "Yes! This will certainly put my husband in the mood!" "Nice fertility idol!" "Yes! This will certainly get me knocked up quickly!" A pizza guy enters the room, extracts a boom box from his delivery bag, and performs a striptease so repulsive and embarrassing that I avert my eyes and rely solely upon my sense of hearing to recap the remainder of the scene. "Nice male stripper!" "Yes! He will certainly make a better meal than Piper's catered party platters!" The Cancer approaches the stripper and, basically, eats the guy alive. The Glamorous Ladies are horrified. No, really. That's everything that happened. I told you this episode was for shit.
Manor, the following morning. Up on the sun porch, the Glamorous Ladies decide upon a course of action to thwart Hecate's wicked, wicked plan. Seems that the spell cast upon Elliot will be broken when Allison kisses him after declaring her love. Phoebe and Piper are to abscond from the Castle with Elliot while Prue corrals Allison. The five will then meet at Castle Spencer's front gates at 2:30 to break the spell. The Ps break the huddle and dart out of the room.
Random Rectory. Andy paws through Trask's stash of kiddie porn while Darryl receives a call from the coroner's office. The M.E. confirmed that the priest was already dead by the time he came crashing through the third-floor window. The boys head back to Andy's House Of Beef to check the Castle's security tapes.
Manor. Allison arrives to chat with Prue. That's it. That's the scene. Idiots. Hacks. Idiot-hacks.
Castle Spencer. Piper and Phoebe wander through the grounds clad in catering uniforms better suited to the sort of debauched festivities that take place in the Playboy Mansion. They're wearing scoop-necked white t-shirts that display vast amounts of cleavage beneath white, fitted, high-waisted tuxedo jackets, and black pants so tight that I'm convinced the actresses had to be stitched into the goddamn things. Phoebe and Piper head towards the house.
Manor. Allison finishes her tale of woe as Prue listens intently. Prue then offers to help win Elliot back. "Why would you want to help me?" Allison bleats. "You don't even know me." "Have you ever seen that television show," Prue begins, getting all tediously meta on our bored collective ass, "where the woman is an angel and she helps strangers every week?" "I love that show!" Allison squeals. And that is but one of the many, many reasons I want to dance on your battered, bloody corpse before the hour is out, you moron. "Don't get too excited," Prue deadpans. "It's nothing like that." Prue recites the abridged version of the Charmed Ones spiel for the edification of the dipshit who can't get enough of Della Reese waddling through strangers' lives like some vast muumuu-clad sea-cow. Allison agrees to assist the Ps with their plan.
Castle Spencer. Mother E has changed into a bullet-proof burgundy satin power suit for the ceremony. Her catatonic girly-man of a son stares off into space, unaware. Mother E is so very sad.
Out in the hall, Piper and Phoebe attempt to gain entry to Elliot's room under the flimsy pretext of needing his approval for some last-minute substitutions on the menu. The Attendant gets snippy. Piper's about to gouge out The Attendant's eyes with a fondue fork when Mother E emerges from the girly-man's boudoir to find out what's wrong. Piper and Phoebe drag Mother E to the end of the hall for a private chat while The Attendant continues to stand guard at Elliot's door. The Ps confess that they have a plan to sabotage the wedding. Mother E, grateful, suggests a meeting in the wine cellar in ten minutes.
Wine Cellar. Piper and Phoebe ease their way down the steps and duck behind a set of shelves to wait for Mother E. Unfortunately for our dauntless heroines, two of The Cancer's bridesmaids enter the cellar instead. The reason for this is never explained. Did Mother E tip them off? Did The Attendant eavesdrop on the hallway confession using the bionic implants in her demonic ears? We shall never know. And I never cared in the first place, so let's keep this moving. The bridesmaids morph into hellbeasts. Warning: Pointless Character Regression ahead. Piper attempts to freeze them, and supposedly fails. Why? Because she's not close enough to them, despite the fact she's no more than ten feet away from these women and despite the fact that the hellbeasts. Never. Move. Again, for the remainder of the scene. Seriously. They certainly look frozen to me. All of this makes about as much sense as dipping the late Ted Williams's remains into a vat of liquid nitrogen in order to shave off bits of his DNA for the more rabid in the collectibles market. Though, you know, the royal family would have made a fortune off the battered, bloody corpse of the Princess of Wales had they thought of this five years ago. And I have to stop veering off like this to keep myself awake. Connie & Co. shouldn't have just shelved this episode when they rearranged the first-season schedule. They should have burned it. Phoebe and Piper yodel and groan, respectively, and dart out into the commercial break.
And...we're back. Andy's House Of Beef. From Hell. Andy and Darryl pop a Spencer security tape into the VCR.
Castle Spencer. From Hell. Prue and Allison cool their heels at the front gate. Piper and Phoebe are late.
Whine Cellar From Hell. Piper and Phoebe successfully avoid the bridesmaids until Prue rings Piper on her cell phone. Piper begs Prue to head to the wine cellar immediately. The bridesmaids sneer and stalk after the Ps.
Sara Peterson's Boudoir Of Pain And Torment And Utter Suckage From Hell. The Attendant presents The Cancer with a copy of Faust. The Cancer is delighted, for she read it many times on her last vacation in our dimension, or something.
Andy's House Of Demian's Hell. Not only can our intrepid hero translate Craptin, he can also read lips. Yes, that's right -- despite the fact that the Spencer security tapes lack sound, Andy easily notes that Mother E sneered, "Killing a priest was not part of our deal!" at The Attendant. I am not making this up. The boys scamper off. They've got a socialite to bust! I hate this episode.
The Wedding From Hell. Elliot and his groomsmen are wearing white dinner jackets, which is quite the fashion faux pas if the events in this episode really were meant to take place in late autumn. I think. Actually, I couldn't give a rat's ass one way or the other. All I know is that this shit ends in less than five minutes, and I want it over with already. The Cancer strides up to the outdoor altar with The Attendant in tow. Mother E dabs tasteful tears from the corners of her eyes with a lace handkerchief. The minister begins the ceremony.
Whine Cellar Of My Discontent From Hell. Piper finally freezes the bridesmaids. Prue barges in at that moment and squints. The frozen bridesmaids fly across the room and crash into several stacked crates of wine. The Glamorous Ladies scurry off to stop the ceremony.
The Wedding Of The Cancer's Utter Suckage As An Actress To Demian's Pained Discontent And Torment From Hell. As the minister reaches the "speak now or forever hold your peace" bit, the Ps plus Allison race into the grassy center aisle to call a halt to the proceedings. "I love you, Elliot!" Allison yowls. The Cancer spreads wide her arms to conjure a storm. We get a shot of great thunderclouds blocking the sun as lightning crackles through the sky. Down on the ground, the quality and intensity of the light has not changed. At all. They did have a teamster flick the switch on an off-screen wind machine, however, and the wedding guests scamper as dead leaves flit across the screen. The Cancer grabs Elliot by the hand and drags him into the house.
Out at the gates, Darryl and Andy pull up to Castle Spencer as various extras flee.
Up in the girly-man's bedroom, The Cancer straddles the gentleman in question upon his bed, apparently intending to commence with the impregnation despite the failed ceremony. As The Cancer rides his slender hips, her head morphs out into demon form. She looks like Anyanka with horns. Just so you know. Anyway, in barge the Ps, followed closely by the Bridesmaid Brigade. Each has put on her game face. Of course, the Glamorous Ladies' game faces are much more pleasant to look at, but never mind that detail for now. Elliot, in a daze, lifts the poignard from where it has fallen on the floor. No, it's never explained how the dagger made its way into his bedroom; Prue kept possession of it, and she never went anywhere near the third floor of the Castle. No matter. Two more minutes! Two more minutes! Elliot raises the dagger in front of his body, and its tip glows orange. The Bridesmaid Brigade howls and shrieks and enters the poignard's blade one by one. No, it's never explained how any of this works. They're hinting that Prue is squinting the demonettes into the dagger, but Shannen Doherty's eyes are always so screwy anyway that I can't be sure. The Cancer is the last to leave us, and I never want to see Sara Peterson on my TV screen again. If any of you happen to run into her at a nightclub or, more likely, working the register at the 7-Eleven or something, I want you to smack her in the teeth. The Hecate spell broken, Elliot turns to thank the Glamorous Ladies for their intercession.
Castle Grounds. The Ps stroll arm-in-arm through the wreckage of the aborted ceremony and smilingly admire Allison and Elliot, who are engaged in a hideous display of public affection over at the catering tent. Chatter about finding true love. Blather about the Halliwells' individual chances to realize wedded bliss. Nattering about the importance of proper bathroom schedules. Andy approacheth, and taketh he Prue by the arm for to escort her elsewhere. The worst episode of Charmed I have ever had the misfortune to witness ends with Piper and Phoebe giggling at each other over some remark one of them makes about Andy's ass or something. I can't tell you precisely what that remark is, or even if it is indeed about Andy's ass, because when Connie & Co. retooled this episode (and never was there a better word than "retooled" for what they've done here), they overdubbed the gals' dialogue with indistinct mumbling. I think I hate this episode.
up is the tale of a lonely Goth chick whose vanity mirror talks to her. It couldn't be any worse than this one, could it?