Episode Report Card Demian: C+ | Grade It Now! YOU GRADE IT This is the way the season ends
By Demian | Season 4 | Episode 22 | Aired on 05.15.2002
The season finale? Already? Why, it seems like only yesterday that we were being introduced to Raige and that oddly-coiffed howler monkey of a boyfriend of hers. And the Smoked Bint with her Ball of Perversion! Aw. So sad that she had to take one right between those implants of hers for the team, wasn't it? Then there was that trio of offensive Asian stereotypes and Freddy Krueger with his dusty boy-toy, and all of us getting blindsided by both The Horror and some Star Dust. And the death-penalty debate with a little Dolt-fu! Charlie Starkweather and Caril Ann Fugate! And, oh! That trio of offensive Italian stereotypes, followed by the mop-topped poster boy for justifiable homicide, the sloppy demise of Scott Weiland, an ancient (yet sassy!) character actress, the interrupted wedding at Our Lady Of The Dead Heathers, Dolt sex, barrel-chested Australians, barrel-chested Australians having Dolt sex, imaginary gay vampire cooties, poor Grandma clawing her way out of the grave for a quick jaunt to San Francisco, The Monkey Boy, purely evil urine, blood clots in purely evil urine, and the ultimate immolation of D'Eartha and the Phoetus. Good times, kids. Good times.
Bah. Who the hell am I kidding? This season latched onto my ass like some befouled remora back on October 4th and started sucking -- and it didn't stop until it had siphoned my soul, my sanity, and the tattered remnants of my youth right out of my left butt cheek. Grab a cocktail and get comfy, gang. After all that came before, how bad can tonight be?
We get the expected answer as we fade up on a Miss Cleo manqué named Tashmin, whose televised image encourages a certain Veronica from Rohnert Park, California, to "tell Tashmin a little, and [she] will tell you the rest." The little TV perches on a shelf in Phoebe's office at The Bay Mirror. Phoebe herself futzes over her computer with her hair pulled tightly into a severe bun on the top of her head. Someone must have finally slammed her face into the wall regarding the Phoebangs, for the offending clots of hair have been smoothed out into a less-choppy row across her forehead. An agreeable blonde in a tailored grey suit sweeps into the office, toting a bin of "'Dear Phoebe' letters," and hooray! It's the erstwhile Mary Cherry herself, Leslie Grossman! While I'd love to have Mary Cherry find a permanent place on Charmed, I understand that Ms. Grossman's mid-season replacement has been picked up by NBC, and I'd just like to wish her the best of luck with that. God knows that if Grossman stuck around here, she'd end up pissing off Milano when the network's audience polls showed her character racing past Alyssa's in popularity, and then Alyssa would have her fired. The woman who endeared herself to me by sparring with Delta Burke and lip-synching to both "Rock Me, Amadeus" and "Baby Got Back" certainly deserves better treatment than that, doesn't she?
So, Leslie sets the bin down on Phoebe's desk, suggesting that they place some of her sacks of mail in storage. Phoebe nixes the idea, claiming that she'll answer all of the mail eventually. She's "on a roll," you see. "More like on a mission," Leslie opines with a grin, and I tense at the thought of Brad Kern turning Leslie Grossman into another goddamned Phoebe fluffer. And I realize that I drew the parallel before, but I'll let you all know right now that if this scene is an indication Kern & Ko. intend to persist with this storyline through Season Five, turning Phoebe into a top-heavy Charlie Sheen in the process, I am never watching this show again. Phoebe hands over a sheaf of papers for Leslie to pass on to Elise. Leslie pauses. I involuntarily draw my hands into claws at what I expect to come next. "You're amazing," Leslie smirks at the Feebs with a slight edge to her voice. "You know that?" I smile in relief, because while the line's written as a bit of slavish ass-kissing, Leslie Grossman's playing it like she's Anne Baxter in All About Eve. "What is your secret?" she persists. "Herbs? Acupuncture?" She glances at the television and lifts a sardonic brow. "Tashmin?" Phoebe doofs, "I take it you don't believe in psychics?" Leslie's all, if it works for you, nitwit, then whatever. Phoebe grumbles to herself that "it hasn't worked for [her] in some time." I have no idea what that means, and you know what? We never find out, either. Phoebe slides her eyeglasses off the end of her nose and asks, "You know how sometimes you find yourself going through a really bad period in your life?" Leslie rolls her eyes in response with a "Don't even get me started." Heh. Yeah, I couldn't believe some of the shit they put you through in the second season either, honey. Phoebe, however, was not talking about failed genre satires on the WB. She's just emerging from a blue period of her own, she explains, and she's determined that "nothing will ever bring [her] back to that place again." Leslie gives Phoebe a snarky "rock on, sister-girlfriend" type of response, and the two return to their work. Without warning, Tashmin utters a tinny, "Help me, Phoebe." The ladies turn to gape at the television set. Tashmin bugs out her eyes and repeats, "Help me, Phoebe." There's the expected manly undertone to Tashmin's voice. Phoebe grimaces while Leslie gives her the wicked side-eye.
Cut to the street outside the Manor, where an obnoxious amount of roadwork involving jackhammers, beeping trucks, and new sewer lines is in progress. Up in the parlor, Raige holds back the lace curtains to glare at the scene below. "Did they say how much longer this was gonna go on for?" she asks. "Three weeks," Piper responds from within, "which means three months." Raige crosses from the window to the center of the room as Piper turns back to the Dolt, ordering him to place the framed print he's holding a little higher up on the wall. Raige hopes that, with all the roadwork going on right outside their front door, the remaining dark demonic forces will choose not to attack anytime soon. She's worried about the reaction that would greet one of the Glamorous Ladies "flying out the window." The Dolt, sporting a tremendous wedgie, tells Raige she shouldn't worry about attacks for the foreseeable future, as the denizens of the Underworld are still reeling from the Ps' slaughter of Hell's entire ruling class last week. He fidgets with the framed print, sending more cotton twill into the crack of his ass. "It's gotta go a little higher," Piper insists, and for a second, I thought she was talking about all of the fabric the Dolt's managed to cram into his butt crack. The Dolt grunts and makes to find a stepladder. "[Dolt]," Raige sighs, "just hover." Piper, not wanting "to jinx anything," insists that they only use magic if they have to. Yeah, like that ever worked. Raige rolls her eyes at this and pffts, "Use it or lose it, lady," while playfully nudging Piper with her elbow. She winks and grins at the Dolt, who sails up into the air about three feet over the carpet. Ow! My eye! Not only is it clear that the harness is responsible for Krause's epic wedgie in this scene, but it is also obviously digging into the flesh of his ass while hiking his pants up to the middle of his shins. That's some bad effects, people. Piper approves of the print's placement on the wall, and the Dolt marks it off with a pencil.