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 . "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.
"See?" Raige smirks. "No major disaster struck." Tell that to the Dolt's ass, sweetie, and say hello to the Cleansing Burst Of Synchronicity while you're at it, for barely have the words left Raige's lips when Phoebe clomps through the front door, braying about the Tashmin incident at the office. Phoebe flops onto a sofa and strips off her pink jacket. The Fun Bags jiggle, unencumbered by proper foundation garments, beneath a sky-blue scoop-necked sleeveless top with small matching fabric flowers tracing a line from her right shoulder down through her cleavage. Also: NIPPLES. They look like they could cut glass, and I'm finding it difficult to focus on what she's saying. Not because I find this sort of lewd display tantalizing, mind you, but because the NIPPLES seem to be tracing a message of their own in the air. For a moment, I try to interpret what they're etching into the air above Phoebe's lap. Then I beat myself repeatedly in the head with a handy hardcover copy of the Norton Anthology, realizing that if I've reached the point where I'm trying to interpret the NIPPLES' gay dance on my TV screen, it's long past time I checked myself into the psychiatric ward at Illinois Masonic. Piper wonders "how [Cole] is holding on" despite the mighty vanquish the gals leveled on his fine ass two weeks ago. It's called "a signed contract for Season Five," Piper. The Dolt supposes that, because Cole was merely half-demon, he might be trapped in some sort of "astral plane." Whatever it is, Phoebe's determined to find a way to contact him so that she can convince him to knock it off already with the spectral whisperings and the ghostly possessions of faux psychics. Raige is convinced that Cole's love for Phoebe prevents him from moving on and out of all our lives for good. Phoebe mumbles something in response as the ambient chittering of a helicopter hits the soundtrack. As that noise threatens to overwhelm the conversation, another sound, like that of a golf ball getting sucked into a metal vacuum hose, whoomps through the air. The noise from the chopper vanishes, and the Dolt stiffens into a freeze behind Piper. NO! Not like that. God! As if the NIPPLES weren't bad enough. Jesus.
Piper waves her hand in front of the Dolt's face, getting no response. Raige crosses again to the window and peers out at the street. "Um, guys?" she stammers. "I think you ought to take a look at this." Piper and Phoebe edge to Raige's side as the shot cuts to a Glamorous Ladies P.O.V. The entire road crew has frozen as well, and they're in a helpfully obvious array of various mid-toss poses, such as the gentleman in the midst of shoveling a spadeful of sand off to one side. The shot pans across the sky, taking in a frozen pigeon and the helicopter, silently suspended in the air. Raige mistakenly believes that Piper's responsible. Piper rightly claims she couldn't possibly toss a freeze that affects so large an area. "But I can," announces a mildly fey voice from the parlor behind them. The ladies spin around to find a great, muumuued marshmallow of a gentleman whose massive man-teats threaten to give the Fun Bags a run for their money. "I'm the Angel Of Destiny," he announces. The man-teats sway from side to side as he lumbers towards the shrinking Ps. "And I've come to change yours." Raige straightens her spine in amazement, Piper tilts her head back to peer at the intruder through suspicious, slitted lids, and Phoebe cowers like the goofy little dipshit she is as we slide into the opening credits.
Back from the break, the Glamorous Ladies retreat as a unit through the sun porch, with Piper attempting and failing to freeze the Angel Of Massive Man-Teats. "You're wasting your time," he tells them, as Phoebe hoots and yodels and trips backwards over a wicker ottoman. "Besides," he continues, "I pose no threat to you." Piper frostily begs to differ, spitting that "the last being [they] met who could freeze time was a demon." The Angel Of Massive Man-Teats notes that it's because of a demon that he's been sent to pay the Ps a visit. "In and of itself, it's very rare," he elaborates. "We Angels Of Destiny normally don't intervene, except in extraordinary situations." And what constitutes an "extraordinary situation," you ask? Let's listen in, shall we? "Mozart at age seven," Man-Teats offers. "Michelangelo. Albert Einstein. Britney Spears." Ah, you see? Comedy! In that bizarre alterna-universe where George Bush is smarter than his wife, the return of early-'80s fashion is a good idea, John Ashcroft places the defense of the Constitution above his religious agenda, George Lucas still knows how to write and direct snappy movies that connect with the Zeitgeist, Yasir Arafat is honest, Halle Berry gives coherent acceptance speeches, all Catholic priests are chaste, Judd Apatow has a string of hit series on network television, Arthur Andersen follows accepted accounting procedures, the American intelligence community is worthy of the name, bacon double-cheeseburgers with sides of deep-fried onion rings cure emphysema, Republican fundraisers don't piss all over September 11th to make a fast buck, Vanilla Coke has a chance in hell of succeeding as an extension of the product line, I'm straight, and Britney Spears jokes are funny. But comedy nevertheless!
Pardon me for a moment while I scrape my spattered brains off the ceiling. Just let me shove them back into my shattered skull and wind some duct tape around my head, and then we can continue with the recap, okay?
Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Man-Teats explains that, "by vanquishing The Source Of All Evil," the Glamorous Ladies "have fulfilled [their] shared destiny." As a result, they are being offered a "reward." The gals can carry on as they have in the past with their "witchly powers" intact, or they can relinquish those powers and "lead normal lives again." No more demons knocking on the front door, no more scrabbling together potions and vanquishes, nada. Piper howls that Man-Teats can't possibly expect them to reach an immediate decision. Raige snorts that they'd reject the offer, anyway. Phoebe too-quickly agrees with her, then mumbles a bit before suggesting that they chat about the offer amongst themselves. Raige gets screamy as Man-Teats crosses to the window to allow them a bit of privacy. Raige shrills that Piper and Phoebe couldn't possibly be considering the offer seriously. Phoebe and Piper counter that, after everything that's happened in the last four years, they might actually welcome the change. Phoebe makes mention of the Phoetus, and Piper reminds Raige that all that demon fighting has left her sterile. Man-Teats, who would have been eavesdropping had the gals not been shouting at each other, suggests that the Ps take a little time to think it over. As their connected destiny as the Charmed Ones is the issue at hand, he tells them, "majority will rule. Two sisters will decide the fate of all three." Turning to leave, he urges them to choose wisely. He catches sight of Piper's bag on a nearby table and pauses to add, "Perhaps what happens will help you to decide." Man-Teats flares up into a gold blob that streaks out the front window, ruffling plants and newspapers as it passes through the parlor.
The moment he's gone, the helicopter chitters again on the soundtrack as Piper's cell phone rings. "Hey!" the Dolt yelps. "Did you just freeze me?" "No, dear," Piper grits. "The Angel Of Destiny did." The Dolt goggles at the news. Piper asks him to consult with the Elders on the matter, and he orbs out immediately. Piper answers her phone to find Detective Darryl on the other end. "Don't talk," he orders. "Just listen." Darryl's learned that the gals are being placed under surveillance by the FBI, because the FBI would rather chase after a trio of twentysomething fashion victims in San Francisco than track al Qaeda operatives enrolled in American flight schools, or something. An Agent Jackman pulled the records on unsolved cases in the Bay Area and discovered the Ps' names on far too many witness lists. Darryl intends to unearth what he can regarding Jackman's motives and information, but he advises the sisters to abstain from using bitchcraft in the interim. Oops. I meant "witchcraft." Slip of the tongue and all. Darryl signs off, but not before I compliment him on his ensemble. He's wearing a crimson button-down with a matching tie under a black suit. It's all terribly attractive, though I doubt a public servant in Darryl's position would ever be able to afford it. Maybe he tools around in that shitty Saturn of his because he sinks all of his take-home pay into his wardrobe.
"So, we're screwed?" Raige asks. Piper doesn't think so. If Agent Jackman presented that great a threat, it would serve only to wrest control of their collective destiny out of their hands. And that, she explains, is not what Man-Teats meant when he suggested that the phone call would help them reach a decision. Phoebe shushes them both with "ix-nay on the angel-nay talk," and drags them towards the stairs. God, she's an idiot.
Down in the street, an SFB Telecom van slides into a parking space across from the Manor. Season finale stunt-cast guest-star Bruce "Army Of Darkness" Campbell emerges from behind the driver's seat to scurry around to the back of the truck. This would be Agent Jackman. According to spoilers and other pre-finale media items, the character's name was meant to be Agent Jenkins. I suppose Bruce convinced his old Briscoe County buddy Brad Kern to make the switch because they both appreciate a good masturbation joke. In any event, I'll be calling him Bruce, so it doesn't much matter either way, correct? Bruce hops into the back of the van and sets to activating an array of surveillance devices. He places a lightweight headset over his ears, and directs the microwave towards the Manor. Presently, Raige is heard to whine, "I still don't understand how coming up here is gonna help." "Actually," he hears Phoebe reply, "it's pretty simple." A blistering guitar riff floods the headset. Bruce yanks the thing away from his ear and fiddles with the dials on his console. Oh, dear. That sounds filthy, doesn't it?
Up in the attic, Phoebe exposits that Bruce couldn't have bugged the Manor that morning, which means he must be listening in from outside. Ergo, the boom box she has just activated in the attic window. Phoebe crosses to the Book of Shadows as Piper remarks on how it's "ironic" that they've been presented with an opportunity to relinquish powers they can't currently use. Phoebe notes that if Cole continues his attempts to contact her, they'll be exposed as witches regardless of whatever they choose as their destiny. Raige protests that Phoebe can't contact her "dead demon husband." Phoebe counters that she has no choice. If she doesn't reach out to Cole, she warns, "it's gonna be the same thing as last year. And we don't want that, now do we?" Holly Marie and Rose twitch nervously and glance at each other, fearing that the same heavy hand that crushed Shannen will fall upon them as well if they continue to argue with Alyssa. Phoebe flips the Book open to a spell entitled "To Find A Lost Love," which reads as follows:
Whither my Love
Wherever you be
Through time and space
Take my Heart nearer to Thee.
My, that's an awkward little piece of verse. Make note of the wording, though, as it figures in an egregious continuity error later. Phoebe intends to recite it on her own, in hopes that it will transport her to whatever astral plane Cole calls home at the moment. Once there, she intends to convince him to go into the light, or something. She believes the only reason he has yet to do so on his own is their mutual need for "closure." Piper and Raige, clearly believing this is Phoebe's eighty-fourth stupid idea in the last twenty-two episodes, silently roll their eyes but prudently agree to the plan. Mortgages, after all, are a bitch to pay off if you've been fired from your job. They will work on a "distraction" down in the street on the off chance that Phoebe's spell "creates any fireworks." Raige and Piper trail out of the attic as Phoebe sighs and stares intently at the spell.
Downstairs, Piper spies the suspicious telecom van out the window as Raige enters from the kitchen with a bulbous pitcher of lemonade. Raige tries to suggest they spike the lemonade, but Piper quickly shuts her up, directing her attention to the suspicious van below. Raige pouts that she doesn't understand why Piper doesn't just do her thing to everyone on the street. Piper reminds her of the possibility that someone could wander around the corner and stumble into the middle of it all. "Now you just need to use some of your God-given magic," she tells Raige, unbuttoning the top of the white lace camisole Raige is calling a blouse. Piper then fluffs Raige's boobs. No, seriously. She grabs one in each hand and smushes them together and up. It was at this point that I finally figured out who Raige looks like in her current outfit. Up until now, I was thinking she resembled one of the county girls changing in Shirley Jones's farmhouse before the box social in the movie version of Oklahoma! However, right here, Rose McGowan looks so much like Vivien Leigh at the beginning of Gone With The Wind, it's scary. You know, the part where Mammy's trying to shove biscuits and gravy down Scarlett's maw so she eats like a bird at the Twelve Oaks barbecue, and Scarlett's throwing a fit while dressed only in her camisole, corset, and pantalets. Take away the pantalets and add a knee-length white skirt of the same material, and you've got McGowan's look right now. She even has the same hair. The effect is eerie. Anyway, Raige glares at Piper for feeling her up, then retrieves the lemonade from the dining room table and heads towards the front door.
What follows is a slow-motion sequence of Raige descending the front steps to the sidewalk while various overweight, middle-aged blue-collar types drool. It does no favors for the actress while at the same time insulting whatever intelligence the audience has left after a season of similarly asinine nonsense, so let's just keep moving. While Raige distributes the lemonade, Piper darts over to the suspicious telecom van and freezes Bruce. Piper then turns to face the Manor and twitches her nose a la Samantha Stephens. Up in the attic, Phoebe spots the signal, switches off the boom box, and retreats to a circle of candles on the floor. She recites the spell and drops dead to the carpet as the camera swirls in on her form.
Somewhere...else, Phoebe's spirit or essence or consciousness or whatever materializes in front of a red stone wall. She spins around to find herself in a sort of vast, demonic arroyo. An unseen beastie shrieks, startling her. She turns to run and slams bodily into Cole. He's wearing black, which is always a good thing, he looks like he hasn't shaved in a month, which is not so good, and he's sweaty, disheveled, and somewhat insane. "What are you doing here?" he hisses. "Nobody's allowed to be here!" "What's here?" Phoebe gasps. Look about, moron. Here is no water but only rock; rock and no water and the sandy road. And amongst the rock one cannot stop or think. Cole basically says the same thing, grabbing her hand and darting out of the frame, for here one can neither stand nor lie nor sit. The much-thinner cousin of the sand worms in Tremors arches from the dirt where Phoebe stood and lunges at the scampering couple. Cole drags Phoebe past the moldering bones of such forgotten world leaders as Millard Fillmore and William McMahon to reach a small pillar of rock, whereupon the two remain temporarily out of harm's way while the Jenny Craig sand worm dives into the dust and disappears. Cole warns that should the thing catch up with them, it "will devour [them] both for eternity." Promises, promises. I suppose I should wonder why Cole's soul can sweat and grow facial hair and why Phoebe's essence has enough corporeal form to allow Cole to grab her hand, but whatever. They hug in defiance of my intrusive logic.
Cole then takes on the thankless task of explaining this latest ass-tastic addition to the general Charmed "mythology" for the audience's benefit. "The Source is gone, devoured" by Jenny, as "this is The Waste Land, where all vanquished demons end up." Yeah, and I will show you fear in a handful of dust if you take off your shirt, sweetpea. Jenny feeds on the vanquished demons' essences and powers. "So, what are you doing here?" Phoebe asks. He gives her the tedious non-response, "Holding onto our love." Phoebe frowns. "I'm a demon with a soul," he explains. "That's rather unique to the cosmos. That's why my soul's been able to cling here. To keep from moving on." "Oh, but that's not healthy," she babbles, therapy-style. "Everyone has to move on sooner or later." Twit, twit, twit. Thankfully, this nattering is interrupted by the screaming entrance of a vanquished demon. He appears through a blossom of flame in the sky, bursting out of his human form into a cluster of swirling, glowing lights that hover above the sand. As Phoebe and Cole look on, Jenny pops up from the dirt to vacuum up the messy little demon cluster with his jagged oral opening. Uh-huh. Now, see, if his cousins over in that Tremors movie had stuck to similar low-fat diets instead of sucking desert Southwest white trash out of trailers and station wagons, they might be alive today.
Cluster-sucking complete, Jenny slips back into his hole. Phoebe wails that Cole can't keep dodging the cluster-sucking vacuum forever. And that's exactly why he's been calling for her, he notes. If she can get the Dolt to yank The Grimoire out of the Andes, Cole can walk her through the resurrection spell The Monkey Boy wanted to use on his dead wizardly brethren. Phoebe stares at him as if he asked her in demotic French to luncheon at the Cannon Street Hotel, then flatly refuses to make use of dark magic. Before they can argue some more about all this, Jenny pops out of another hole to wrap his body around her ankle and yank her off the pillar of rock. Cole grabs onto her wrists as Jenny shoots another tentacle around Phoebe's waist. We get a shot of Cole grimacing against the red sky of The Waste Land, and good God, tonight's effects are cheap. The blue screen shot of Cole layered awkwardly over the animation of the red sky looks like something out of The Ten Commandments, and that movie's fifty years old, people.
So, down in The Waste Land, the essence of Phoebe screams. Up in the Manor attic, her body does the same as Piper and Raige race into the room from the stairs. Down in the street, Bruce snaps out of Piper's freeze just in time to take an earful of Phoebe's caterwauling. He fumbles around the console to record the ensuing conversation between Piper and Raige. Raige shouts that they have to reverse the spell. Piper agrees. Back in The Waste Land, Cole's losing his grip on Phoebe's hands. Up in the attic, Raige and Piper recite:
Return thy love,
Wherever she be.
Through time and space
Bring her back to me.
In The Waste Land, Phoebe vanishes before Cole's eyes. Up in the attic, she screams herself awake as her essence reenters her body. "What was I thinking?" she gasps. Lord. Feebs, hon, you weren't thinking anything at all, because thought requires one to have a...you know what? Screw it. Last episode of the season. You're an idiot, Feebs, okay? And I'm tired of repeating that fact because it'll just go in one of those ears of yours and out the other, because for you to remember you're an idiot requires you to have a...oh, fuck me. I just did it again, didn't I? Shut up, Phoebe. Shut up a lot. The doorbell rings, followed by the sound of a fist pounding insistently on the wood. The gals gather themselves from the attic carpet to head downstairs.
Piper reaches the door first, followed immediately by Raige. Phoebe cowers in the background. Piper twists open the knob to find Bruce standing on their front porch. He flashes his badge and suggests that they all have a chat. It's more of an order than a suggestion, really. Piper and Raige stare defiantly at the oncoming commercial break. Phoebe hangs back, breathing through her mouth.
Back from the break, Bruce slams a thick file of photographs and documents labeled "Halliwell" onto the dining room table. Phoebe glances at a couple of the black-and-white surveillance photos and acidly notes that the existence of the file doesn't exactly engender trust. Bruce claims that if he wanted to expose the gals, he would have done so six months ago when he first was made aware of their numerous connections to various mysterious goings-on in the San Francisco area. "Expose us as what?" Raige asks with an arched brow. Bruce duhs, "Witches." Piper demands that he produce proof to back up his suspicions. He whips a small tape recorder out of his pocket and plays back Piper and Raige's earlier spell-related conversation up in the attic. Piper calls his bluff, asserting that what he has would never stand up in court. Bruce bets the ladies are more concerned about the court of public opinion. "Do you really think your paper wouldn't publish this stuff?" he asks Phoebe. The gals tell him to lay it on the line -- what does he want from them? He wants their help to track down a "witch hunter" serial killer. Piper's had enough of his crap, and tosses a freeze in Bruce's direction. This time, the freeze doesn't take. Bruce has donned a protective amulet that renders the Ps powerless as far as he's concerned. He passes them a few more photos of a severe-looking young woman with fried hair. He identifies her as "Selena," the serial killer. He had her in custody once, but she managed to escape, and she burned her last three victims at the stake. Bruce has traced her genealogy "back to the Salem witch trials," and believes that witch-hunting is somehow in her blood. He then provides the gals with a few of Selena's personal belongings for scrying purposes. If the Halliwells help him find her, he'll destroy all agency files related to the Manor three. He warns them that it's in their best interests to cooperate, flips his business card onto the table, and marches out of the house.
As soon as he's gone, Phoebe insists that the Ps take The Angel Of Massive Man-Teats up on his offer. Raige immediately begins sniping at her, and it's left to Piper to calm things down enough to formulate some sort of plan of action. She sends Raige to the attic to work out a scrying strategy with Selena's belongings, then summons the Dolt. He orbs in to confirm that Man-Teats and his offer are "legit." Piper instructs him to fetch Darryl to determine if Bruce is legitimate as well, as if the man's parentage has anything to do with the situation, and the Dolt orbs right back out of there. Piper then slings an arm over Phoebe's shoulder to lead her into the kitchen for some Constant Comment and Girl Scout cookies.
The Waste Land, and what crap now grows out of this stony rubbish? Cole clings to an outcropping of rock as Jenny slithers just below the surface of the earth beneath him. Another demonic chump comes flying through the sky to burst into a cluster of glowy lights on the sand. Cole hears Jenny's approach, and hops down onto the sand near the cluster. He bellows for Jenny to take him instead of the luckless cluster at his feet. As he steps forward, screaming, he inadvertently steps into the demonic cluster, which shimmies up his leg to dance around his head for a moment before diving into his mouth. Jenny rears up out of the sand, and Cole instinctively raises his hands to attack position. White bolts of electricity zap from his palms to scorch Jenny's pallid, slimy skin. Jenny screeches a bit, then retreats into the dirt. Cole, confused, stares at his hands as another chump comes flying out of the sky. This one sort of splats into the dirt with a squishy sound, and you know that crack I made earlier about Brad Kern's supposed affinity for masturbation jokes? Yeah, well, now I don't think I was too far off-base. Cole evaluates the clump of demonic semen, glances once more at his hands, and enthuses, "This could be good." Oh, for God's sake. Just use lotion like a normal person.
Manor attic. Raige sets fire to the finger of Selena's glove and drops it into a silver bowl. Over at the Book of Shadows, Piper reads aloud, "Before the flame subsides, let the wax from the candle drip onto the crystal. Once the crystal has been consecrated, scry with the crystal for the one who is sought." Raige follows the instructions as read, and presently a small cloud of smoke erupts from the bowl. "Ain't magic grand?" she snots directly at Piper. Piper ignores her in favor of receiving the latest update on the Bruce situation from Phoebe. Darryl's checked Bruce's story, and the facts seem to be correct. One thing, though: In addition to having traced Selena's genealogy, Bruce traced the Glamorous Ladies' as well, "all the way back to Melinda Warren." It seems that Bruce doesn't intend to release the gals from their obligation once they've found his supposed witch hunter. Phoebe cracks an unfunny about "Charlie's freaking Angels" that should have been made during the first season, and even then it wouldn't have been guaranteed a giggle. Meanwhile, Raige's scrying has produced a result as the crystal slams onto a spot on the map. She wonders if they should still try to capture Selena, given what they've just learned about Bruce. Piper sighs that they haven't much of a choice. "We can't let her run around burning people at the stake." Raige wearily allows her eyes to drop shut.
Cut to a nighttime establishing shot of a nondescript suburban home. Raige orbs into the living room with Piper and Phoebe in tow, and the gals glance around. Piper crosses to a nearby door and silently eases it open. She spots Selena in the adjoining room, surrounded by armed bodyguards. The ladies fret about this development, wondering why Bruce neglected to warn them. One of the bodyguards appears in another doorway and squeezes off a shot at Raige. Piper flings her hands open, freezing both guard and bullet, as Raige cringes with her arms crossed over her face. The bullet hangs in midair about a two feet from her head. Piper strides over from the door, bitching up a storm and batting the bullet to the floor. Another guard enters to fire at Raige. She orbs out defensively, leaving the bullet to shatter through the window behind where she'd been standing. Phoebe slams the guy into a bookcase as Raige orbs back in. Selena pops out just in time to take Raige's fist in her jaw. Selena snipers spread-eagled onto the carpet. Piper drops to her knees to check on the supposed killer, revealing Cole's shadowy form in the dim recesses of the far room. "Phoebe," he whispers. Phoebe gasps and points, but Cole vanishes before Piper can whip her head around in his direction. Yet another bodyguard leaps into the place Cole has just vacated, so Piper freezes him as well. The shot shifts to an overhead of the girls huddling over Selena's inert form. Raige dissolves the group into a great cloud of orbs that shoots up from the floor towards the camera and out into commercial.
I'd buy the "Smallville -- No Warning" concept if you didn't keep counting down the days, guys.
Manor hall. Piper answers the rapping at the door to find a Bruce on her porch. She confirms that they have Selena in the parlor, and he makes to pull his automatic from his shoulder holster. Piper orders him to put it away. Selena's still unconscious from Raige's earlier belt, so there's no need for gunplay in the Manor. The Ps inform Bruce of Selena's armed escort. He seems genuinely surprised to learn of this development, but Raige isn't having it. Why, she wonders, would a serial killer employ bodyguards? Bruce lamely supposes that she's no longer working alone. Phoebe rather more astutely supposes that Bruce isn't telling them everything he knows. He drops all pretense of affability, and dares them to challenge his methods. Piper allows that they can't exactly do that, but they can prevent him from removing Selena from the Manor unless he produces a warrant. He digs a crumpled piece of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket, but not before he sneers something about how all witches are alike. Because they have powers, they think they're "above it all" and "something special." He asserts that the "arrogance" of witches is their "Achilles heel," and that it's also the primary reason "demons and witch hunters are always after [them] and always will be." Thanks for the overshare, doll. You think maybe Mr. Evil Dead here is the real serial killer? Maybe? Yeah. Whatever. He hauls Selena into his arms and turns to leave, adding that the Glamorous Ladies will receive their agency files once he's certain that he's no longer in danger. "I don't want to be another one of those people who mysteriously disappear around here," he snarks, disappearing through the front door with his zonked-out "suspect."
"I knew he'd never give up those files," pouts Piper, flouncing onto the sofa. "In case anybody is wondering, we are officially screwed." "Not necessarily," Phoebe notes, sending Raige into an immediate and loud snit that takes her from the sofa to an overstuffed chair on the other side of the room. She will not relinquish her powers, do you understand? Piper gently explains that had The Angel Of Massive Man-Teats not made his offer, she'd without hesitation soldier on against Bruce and his ilk. However, now that there's an offer on the table and a crisis at the door, Piper's more inclined to "wipe the slate clean" as Man-Teats promised. Phoebe distractedly wonders if they have to consult the Dolt about their decision. Piper notes that the choice has nothing to do with her husband, and that he'll support them no matter what they choose to do. Little Orphan Raige finally cracks and spells out the true reason for her opposition: "Without being witches, I wouldn't have sisters." She attempts to smile and shrug her shoulders as if it's not that big a deal, but she's tearing up a bit. Phoebe and Piper stare at her silently, no longer able to argue.
Attic. The ladies have summoned The Angel Of Massive Man-Teats to inform him of their decision. Piper and Phoebe slump on a couch; Raige sits off on her own, staring out the window. Just before Man-Teats begins to chant his little spell to reorder their world, Piper stops him, demanding confirmation that there's nothing about the arrangement that could possibly swing around and bite them on their collective ass at a later date. "No 'read the fine print' technicalities? No more demons? No more vengeful warlocks?" Phoebe adds, "And we won't have to worry about Agent Jackman?" Man-Teats insists that all supernatural elements will vanish from their lives. "Will we remember?" Raige bleats forlornly from her window seat. Aw. Sniff. Piper and Phoebe glance over at her, stricken. Well, Piper's stricken. Phoebe's pretty vacant, if you ask me. The Angel assures her that they'll remember everything. Nothing about their individual or shared pasts will change, only their future. The Book of Shadows, meanwhile, "will pass to some future descendent." Phoebe then asks about Cole. To this inquiry, Man-Teats has no answer. "[Cole] exists beyond time and space," he explains. "Outside Destiny's reach." And pop goes the continuity error. If Cole exists beyond time and space, how the hell did Phoebe use that spell to travel to the freaking Waste Land? Riddle me that, fat man. I don't know why I bother when it's so painfully clear the writers don't care. Anyway, Phoebe clutches her head at this as if she's been granted an instant migraine. She can't accept the Angel's offer without first closing the book on her whole Cole experience. Right about here is where I'd kick Phoebe in her fucking teeth if I were Raige. As it is, Raige merely rolls her eyes while Piper clenches. Man-Teats looks like he's irritated to be running late for Blossom Dearie Night at the piano bar.
The Waste Land. Phoebe's essence flares in and skips up the rocks to Cole's plateau. "Did you see me come to you?" he asks, with the barely-suppressed, giddy excitement of a six-year-old who's just made it all the way down the driveway without training wheels. "Uh, yeah," she replies, her rhythm thrown. "How did you do that?" "It's a secret!" he giggles. Heh. He's totally insane now, isn't he? The scattered, lonely neurons that Phoebe's calling a brain allow one halfformed thought to pass; then she announces, "I'm giving up my powers. We all are." "What?" he stammers. Phoebe blathers endlessly about their failed relationship, and urges him to move on. He's crushed, and tells her to leave before Jenny stops by for another high protein snack. She gazes at him for a long moment, then turns to flare out. Cole lurches up to a higher promontory overlooking the hastily-painted backdrop as "lightning" flashes in the "sky." Down in the dirt, Jenny lies eviscerated amongst the moldering bones. Cole smiles.
Phoebe gasps herself awake on the floor of the attic. While she was away, Piper and Raige busied themselves with second thoughts about Bruce and Selena. Basically, Bruce's story doesn't add up, and they'd like to check on him once more before relinquishing their powers forever. Meanwhile, Man-Teats paces in a corner all, "Hurry it along, ladies. There's a banana daiquiri with my name on it and a hot new waiter I've been trying to corner in the service area." Phoebe agrees to accompany Piper and Raige, and swivels to ask Man-Teats if it's okay for them to delay the decision one more time. He assures them that whatever they want to do is fine with him. "Frankly," he admits, "I thought you were being a little premature, anyway." "Well, why didn't you say something?" Piper shrieks. "Oh, can't," he replies. "Free will and all. Let me know when you're ready." He flares up into the golden blob and zips out the window, idly humming "Peel Me A Grape" as he goes.
Piper huffs and calls for the Dolt. He orbs into the attic with Darryl, who has some more information on Bruce. Yep, you guessed it -- Selena's actually the witch, and Bruce is the serial killer. The ladies allow their jaws to rest on the floor.
Cut to a close-up of a flaming torch. In the background, Selena cries out for help. The camera pans up to Bruce's fire-lit face as he tells her she might as well shut up, as there's no one near enough to hear her screams. Selena's lashed to a stake surrounded by bundles of wood and kindling in the middle of a clearing. Bruce casually strolls around in a circle, touching the torch here and there to the brush. He natters a tiresome and blandly psychotic monologue about not stopping in his mission until the last witch lies dead, as the camera pulls up into a swirling overhead shot of the growing bonfire beneath Selena's feet. Selena, looking for help in all the wrong places, wails into the darkness of the commercial break.
Back from the break, there's some more of the psychotic blathering, accompanied by a bit of the pathetic whimpering, before Raige orbs in with Piper and Phoebe. Piper flings her hands out to freeze the bonfire, but nothing happens. Crafty Bruce has littered the area with protective amulets, so the gals have no powers in the clearing. Bruce lunges at Phoebe and aims his automatic at her head. While it's tempting to urge him to shoot, for one thing, it's not his established M.O., and for another, I fully expect Phoebe to engage him in some kind of hair-pulling fight while Piper and Raige rescue Selena. And look at that -- Phoebe nails him with an elbow to the head, then whips her leg around to knock him onto the ground. Piper and Raige strip off their jackets to beat the bonfire into submission, but they seem only to be fanning the flames. Phoebe and Bruce make with the chop-socky action off to the side as Selena chokes and gags on the smoke. Phoebe boots Bruce over a log, then leaps into the air to land both feet into his chest. Piper, meanwhile, regards Selena with an icy resolve, and her stunt double vaults up onto the bonfire's central platform to knock the woman, stake and all, out of harm's way into the dirt at the far side of the clearing. Tongues of flame eat away at their pantlegs, but Raige smothers the small fires with her coat.
Bruce scrambles across the grass for his gun. He hoists it in Phoebe's direction as Cole flares in unnoticed off to the side. Bruce squeezes the trigger, and we slip into bullet-time to watch the tiny missile first tear away from Bruce, then slowly approach Phoebe. Cole raises his right hand in real time to twist his wrist around with his fingers outstretched as if screwing in a light bulb. Bruce and Phoebe's blurry outlines rotate around an invisible central axis in time for Bruce to take his own bullet in the chest. He gasps and drops dead in a woefully anticlimactic finish to his guest spot. Phoebe looks up to find her supposedly deceased husband staring her in the face. "I couldn't very well let you die," he says, ambling over. Phoebe stammers. Cole airily explains that he "picked up a few powers lately. Quite a few, actually." Phoebe gapes. Cole swaggers towards a stand of trees before turning one last time to announce, "I'm not giving up on us, Phoebe. Ever." For what it's worth, I'm willing to give scary psycho stalker Cole a chance. Just don't drag the damn thing out for another two seasons, okay guys? Cole shows Phoebe his back, flares up a bit, then wipes out of the clearing to dissolve through the bushes. Phoebe turns her head away in disbelief to gaze across the bonfire at Piper. Raige scampers off for an ambulance as Piper and Phoebe eye each other silently.
The afternoon, Piper and Phoebe enter the Manor to find an impatient Dolt pacing the hallway, awaiting their return. "How'd it go?" he asks. "Well," Piper replies, "it looks like we got away with everything so far." Phoebe adds that Selena swore to their version of events. One problem is that the FBI "can't figure out how [Bruce] shot himself from twenty feet away." Another is that Piper's worried the whole thing will just start up again when another agent stumbles across their files. The Dolt sheepishly assures her that this won't be happening. "I sorta orbed them into a volcano," he admits. Piper grants him a grateful peck on the lips for services rendered. As Raige staggers through the front door, that metallic vacuuming sound whoomps through the Manor once more. Raige whines, "The door's stuck," and oh, shit.
Way to dress to explain your involvement in an FBI kidnapping, Raige, and with less than a minute to go in the finale, no less. They're doing this just to piss me off, aren't they? It's Eilish's hateful, Satanic parting shot before hiatus, is what it is. Raige is wearing a sleeveless, over-aggressively ruffled pink tuxedo shirt over a skimpy pine-green mini that together conspire to make her look anorexic, but that's not really what's so horrific about her appearance. Not at all. In what might rank as the worst hairstyle of the season, Raige's locks have been swept up into two sloppy buns on either side of the top of her head, with wispy tendrils of hair trailing down the sides of her face. It's like Darlene from the original Mickey Mouse Club grew up to be a crack-whore smack-addict porn star who specializes in those five-hundred-man gangbang videos you hear so much about from time to time. It's sick, it's wrong, and it's thirty-five seconds to the end of the season, so we'll just leave it at that and keep moving.
The Angel Of Massive Man-Teats appears in the dining room to ask if the Glamorous Ladies are ready to relinquish their powers. Nope! Phoebe and Piper have finally had their predictable change of heart. Man-Teats inquires if the gals realize they "won't get this opportunity again." The gals most certainly do. "Very well," he allows, and lumbers down the hallway past the frozen Dolt. "By the way, thought you'd like to know," he says, addressing Piper specifically. "Neither decision would have affected yours and [the Dolt's] personal destiny." "Ohmigod!" Phoebe squeals. "Don't you get it?" Piper says, "What?" about forty times. Phoebe spins around and shrieks in Raige's face while hopping up and down. "Do you get it?" Raige shrugs, clueless. Sigh. No, Grandma, don't get up. I can handle this one.
YOU'RE PREGNANT, YOU MORON!
And there was much rejoicing in Halliwell Manor. The Angel, whom I suppose I should have been calling "Gabriel" this entire time, flares up into his golden blob and sails out through the front door. The breeze generated at his passing gently swings shut the door behind him, and thus endeth Season The Fourth.