Episode Report Card Demian: D+ | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT A Pain In My Ass
By Demian | Season 4 | Episode 10 | Aired on 01.16.2002
The Loneliest Precinct House In The World. Cole brightly barges in to make Darryl an offer he can't refuse. Cole wants to assist Darryl with his "caseload," if you know what I mean. Darryl tells Cole to make like a tree, which under the right circumstances could sound filthy. I think this is one of those circumstances. Cole wrestles Darryl into a nearby room for a "private chat." So, that's what they're calling it nowadays. I'm so not on top of the millennial slang. Darryl: "You wanna be a cop?" Cole, overeager like a puppy dog: "I used to work for the DA's office; I know the law. I'm a former demon; I know the streets." Darryl: "You wanna be a cop?" Nudge, nudge. Cole: "Not exactly." Well, a reasonable facsimile thereof. In a shocking display of continuity, Cole wants Darryl to close the continuing investigation into his disappearance and clear his name. If all goes well, Cole would then be able to function as a sort of "civilian assistant" to the good detective. Darryl's not having any part of these silly euphemisms, but before he can toss Cole up against the wall for some hot man-on-man action, Darryl's superior enters to reclaim his office. Darryl wags a finger in Cole's face, promising to continue their "discussion" at a later time. Cole shoulders his way past Darryl's superior to try his luck in the men's room.
Manor parlor. Sordid Tales Of Raige's Past, as narrated by the moist-eyed lady in question. She was a "rotten" teenager, or so she claims. She skipped school, she drank, she smoked, she sassed her parents, she partied with her friends. Sounds pretty standard so far. The only thing that's missing is sleeping around. I suppose I should note during this teary little monologue that while it is tedious and predictable, this is no reflection on the job Rose McGowan's doing with the material. The script alone is responsible for the diabetic attack afflicting me at the moment. McGowan actually seems capable of selling material far more difficult and honest than this pap, so what is she doing on this show? Oh, wait. Fifty thousand dollars a week in compensation, right? Forgot about that. Anyway, we finally arrive at the real reason for her ongoing grief. The day her parents died, she pulled the Shut up! You can't tell me what to do! You're not even my real parents! bullshit temper tantrum I understand all adolescent adoptees spew at their guardians at some point or another. Even unbelievably irritating adolescent adoptees who are actually contrivances of plot manufactured to protect the world against hell gods by abstruse eastern-European monks. Or by Joss Whedon, if there's an appreciable difference. The kicker is that Raige pulled said tantrum while in the car with Mom and Dad on the way to their weekly "family night," a Matthews household tradition Raige found "super-lame" at that point in her life. A father/daughter screaming match ensued. Pardon me, a firefighter-father/slacker-daughter screaming match ensued. For, yes, gentle reader, Raige's dad was a fireman. The Fire Department of New York should forget protesting the proposed ethnically-diverse reinterpretation of Thomas Franklin's flag-raising photo and instead firebomb the Charmed writing staff for shamelessly attempting to graft the Department's reputation as of late onto Raige's "character" "development." So, long story short, while Dad was screaming at Raige, another car crossed into their lane. Dad smacked into it, and the next thing Raige knew, she was safe on the pavement while Mom and Dad were roasting away inside the car. Must have been a Pinto. Raige, of course, blames not shoddily-constructed Detroit rolling stock for her parents' untimely deaths, but rather herself. Phoebe draws Raige into an embrace as Piper asks the Dolt, "What do we do? How do we help her deal with something that happened in the past?" "Send her back to it," is the Dolt's cryptic response. Raige drips snot onto Phoebe's blouse, improving its appearance immeasurably.
Attic. The Ps plus the Dolt spark up a circle of candles on the floor as Phoebe announces, "I don't get it." Should I? Nah. Not worth the effort. Seems the Dolt intends to summon a fellow named Clyde, otherwise known as "The Ghost Of The Past." Alyssa Milano must have bribed the writers, for Feebs is the one to connect this "Clyde" person with the oeuvre of Charles Dickens. The Dolt confirms the connection, claiming that the time traveling in A Christmas Carol found its origins in an encounter Dickens had with the "malevolent" Clyde. Piper mocks the ghost's name. The Dolt admits that Clyde himself isn't terribly fond of the name, either. Raige, meanwhile, worries that asking a malevolent entity for help would be akin to using "black magic," thereby violating the dictum prohibiting spells for personal gain. The Dolt assures her that, as the goal of her trip back in time is simply to understand the true cause of her parents' accident, the personal gain prohibition does not apply. Um, okay. I guess. Not. That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever, Dolt. You're all hoping Raige will gain some sort of "solace" or "closure" or whatever the hell you want to call it through this little exercise, so how is that not using magic for personal gain? Whatever. I don't know why I bother. Piper neglects to call the Dolt on his flawed reasoning, and instead wonders if they should prepare a summoning spell. The Dolt notes that Clyde ignores spells and starts screaming "insults" into the air. Apparently, the only way to get Clyde's attention is to slander his character, or something. The insults? Not terribly good, but this show does have to maintain that TV-PG rating it has going. To wit, the Dolt calls out, "Clyde! Get your butt down here, you fetid worm from the bog of eternal stench!" and "Your mother was a chunky substance from a gin cesspool, and she smelled bad, too!" Guys? Just because your target audience is preadolescents doesn't mean you have to hire preadolescents to write the scripts.