Before we get to the recap proper, I have to admit that this show's switch to Sunday nights has thrown me a bit, given my devotion to the HBO drama series that appear on the same night. It's pretty bizarre to flip from the Glamorous Ladies' bubbly, brainless antics to Janice making Ralphie her bitch with a little Vaseline and a big dildo. Then again, we're never quite sure what Piper does to the Dolt up in that boudoir of hers, are we?
I just grossed myself out.
It's evening at Halliwell Manor. Up in the attic, Piper burns a bit of the midnight oil, balancing an enormous book of fairy tales in her lap as she reads aloud the story of Snow White. I assume she's reading aloud for the benefit of the percolating infant, though given the Dolt spawn's previously demonstrated abilities, I'm surprised Piper can't simply press the book against her abdomen so the child can absorb the text, Willow-like. Raige enters, evidently returning from her graveyard shift slinging hash at the International House of Pancakes. Seriously -- she's wearing a jaundice-toned, floral-patterned, Empire-waist frock with brown trim, cap sleeves, and a button-down bodice beneath the frazzled, frizzy, auburn tangle of her hair that dangles past her ears. I haven't seen an ensemble quite so hideous since my poor put-upon sister worked the portrait and caricature concession at Hershey Park in the late '70s. Raige is surprised to find Piper awake. Piper places blame for her insomnia on those icky first-trimester pregnant-lady hormones coursing through her veins. Raige offers to whip up some sort of earthy-crunchy Wiccan sleep aid, but Piper declines, afraid as she is of exposing the percolating infant to "anything remotely bad for her," no matter how wholesome and organic that anything might be. Raige snides that if Piper's worried about exposing the infant to harmful substances, she might want to knock it off with the fairy tales. Piper shoots Raige a suspicious side-eye, so Raige clarifies with a fairy-tales-as-anti-feminist-narrative rant that should immediately put an end Piper's insomnia, but for some reason doesn't. Piper counters that fairy tales instill wee ones with a sense of "values," adding that Grams relied upon the stories to raise the Famous Original Glamorous Ladies. Way to hack your own argument off at the knees, Piper. After all, things turned out so well for Prue and Phoebe, didn't they? Raige rolls her eyes, notes that her own grandmother didn't have to rely on stories involving moppet-hungry wolves to instill Raige with a sound value system, and exhorts Piper to rely on her "natural instincts." Piper snarks something about how her "natural instincts are to panic," which likely won't be of much use with a child who could "[orb] out to Tahiti when [she's] sent to [her] room." Raige assures Piper that everything will work out for the best, especially as Piper can rely upon Phoebe and Raige for assistance. Yeah, good luck convincing Phoebe to do something -- anything -- for somebody else, Raige. Raige grabs the Book of Shadows from its stand and exits the attic to work on some potions down in the kitchen.
Piper sighs a bit before resuming her recitation of the tale of Snow White and oh sweet Jesus, that's a lousy transition effect to the scene. A crappy CGI "page" turns in a wipe from the lower left corner of the screen to the upper right, revealing a moonlight castle perched atop an Alp. Okay, I'm not so sure about the Alp thing, but all of the folk tales featured tonight are of European origin, so just go with it. Piper continues with the story in voice-over as the camera enters the castle to land upon an ancient, bewhiskered gentleman wiping down a mirror. Presently, a sharp-nosed, severe, middle-aged blonde wearing far too much eyeliner appears in the glass to sneer, "Aren't you dead yet?" How pleasant. But then, I suppose I'd be a bit on the snotty side myself if I had to go through life looking like an ungodly cross between Cloris Leachman and Sandy Duncan. I'm looking for the glass eye, people. Grampy ho-hos something about Cloris still nursing her bitterness after all these years before turning to blow a ream of exposition in his "apprentice's" general direction, jostling the mirror as he does so. Gramps urges the apprentice to treat the artifacts in the room with more care, as they're "not just symbols -- they're pieces of history." Given that the apprentice is currently fondling a "glass" pump that is obviously molded from Lucite and is therefore shatter-proof, this instruction only serves to annoy me. By the by, other "pieces of history" scattered about the chamber on pedestals include a nutcracker, a pumpkin, Little Red's riding hood, Aladdin's lamp, a harp, a hatchet, and a golden orb I must assume is the Apple Of Discord. Unfortunately, Eris will not be appearing in this evening's presentation to set the Ps at each other's throats over possession of said apple, which really is a shame. The ensuing bitch-fest would have been far more entertaining than what follows, despite the fact that Alyssa Milano would insist she be assigned the role of Venus. Like she needs another excuse to thrust her boobs in our faces.
Grampy totters over to his very own Big Book Of Fairy Tales while babbling about how the "power of every fairy tale emanates" from the artifacts in their care, and that the objects' collective magic influences "every child born, even to this day." Uh-huh. All those dewy-eyed toddlers in Abidjan and Jos and Jalalabad and Yangon? Totally want to be Goldilocks. Go ahead. Ask them. Of course, they're probably too busy scavenging insects and tree bark for dinner to answer you, but don't let that stop you. During all of this, the jostled mirror continues to sway, wriggling the nail from which it hangs out of the mortar anchoring it to the wall. Cloris grins maliciously as the nail finally gives and the mirror drops to the floor. Grampy keens as the glass shatters to release a golden, glowy smear that spills across the floor before rising up into a pillar that morphs into Cloris Incarnate. She whirls about on her heel and snatches at Grampy's throat with her plum-tinted Press-On nails, drawing blood. Snapping Grampy's neck and flinging his corpse to the floor, she claims, "This is the way to begin a story." I hate to admit it, but she sort of has a point there. Not that I approve of snapping the brittle necks of the elderly for sport or anything, but you know what I mean. The apprentice -- who looks far too much like Christopher Moltisanti for his own good, like, back away from the Lucite pumps and start shooting smack between your toes before David Chase has you whacked, buddy -- stutters and stammers and wonders who she is. She acidly notes that he's "a little rusty" on his fairy tales, and gets up in his face to recite the following:
Freedom's loss must be unwitting --
Into the glass to do my bidding.
Excuse me? Evil lady person? Ma'am? Yeah, over here. The only way that couplet makes any sense whatsoever is if the apprentice's name is Freedom and...never mind. Call him whatever you want -- I'm going with Little Rusty for the duration. Little Rusty dissolves into a golden, glowy smear that pours into the broken mirror. Once it's absorbed the Rusty smear, the mirror both repairs itself and remounts itself upon the wall. Cloris smiles and approaches the glass to amuse herself at Rusty's expense. By the way, during these Cloris-and-Rusty conversations, the camera focuses simultaneously on Cloris's reflection in the glass and the actual side-lit Rusty himself. It looks like they've rigged a two-way mirror for these shots, and the effect is oddly theatrical, as if Rusty were standing behind a fabric scrim with a strangely reflective surface. Of course, the alternative -- a crappy CGI Rusty inserted into the mirror's frame -- would suck like nothing has sucked since, well, the crappy CGI Dolt poking his head out of that octagon last week, so, uh, good for them and their tricky two-way mirrors, I guess. Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah: Cloris asks, "Mirror, mirror, on the wall -- who is the most powerful witch of all?" Rusty dutifully replies, "You're much stronger than most witches I see, yet truth be told, there are three more powerful than thee." Now they start in with the crappy CGI, overlaying Rusty with the images of Piper reading in the attic, the Feebs pecking away at her computer in her office, and Raige futzing with potion ingredients in the kitchen. Cloris draws herself up into a right royal snit and pouts, "We'll see about that." That's a miserable excuse for a threat, Cloris. Really. I expect more from you.
Credits, revised for the fifth season with new footage from the few episodes already in the can. There's Alyssa, with her blank expression and that hideous, shredded hairstyle. Fire your burner, honey. Rose, with the dye job. Yeah, you can go ahead and fire yours, too. Holly Marie, irritated, as if wondering why this show hasn't been canceled already. Gargoyle Dolt. Huge, terrifying Gargoyle Dolt. And, finally, the man who made an honest woman out of Dannii Minogue. You're never going to live that one down, Jules.
After Kirstie Alley fills me with the desire to embark on a multi-state firebombing spree involving Pier One outlets across the nation, we return to the Manor. Piper fell asleep reading to her percolating infant and ended up spending the night in the attic. She starts when Raige barrels in and shrieks something about protecting her baby. Seems she was having a nightmare, you see. Raige rolls her eyes and wonders what happened to the Dolt. Piper guesses he's off assisting another of his "charges." Raige whines about her failure to concoct a "protection potion," and gets snippy when Piper suggests that protection potions are quite simply impossible to make. Grams, apparently, was quite close to finishing one before she died, and the evidence is right there in the Book of Shadows. Piper glums, "Too bad she's not around -- she could help us both out." I'd feel sorry for Piper, but as Jennifer Rhodes's name was the first to appear in the credits beneath this scene, feeling sorry for Piper seems a bit pointless, no? Piper continues that she "need[s] some guidance" regarding her percolating infant. Raige babbles something about contacting new mom Wendy from last season for a few words of wisdom, but Piper quickly shoots down that idea, as Wendy's newborn never was able to heal its mother from inside the womb. Piper, you see, needs to speak with someone who's lugged a magical brat or two around in her uterus for nine months. Your run-of-the-mill, barefoot-and-pregnant, SUV-driving, Tri-Delt soccer mom simply will not suffice.
Phoebe, slung into low-riding black leather pants and an absolutely ludicrous top stitched together from the remains of a lavender leotard and a pair of black opera gloves, jiggles into the attic to place unreasonable demands upon her otherwise-occupied sisters. Specifically, she insists that Raige immediately brew a Cole vanquish using those drops of acidic blood he left on last week's letter opener. Phoebe also unloads a season's worth of backstory, referencing her two weeks as queen of the Underworld, Cole's direct attempt on Raige's life, and, finally, the bizarre new mojo Cole swiped from the Waste Land. Piper and Raige, with preternatural patience, calmly endure Phoebe's expository tirade, then eye her balefully as Phoebe jiggles out of the attic to head to her office.
Raige rises to cross to the Book of Shadows while Piper glares into the camera, and the shot tracks back from Piper's peeved expression to bubble through the magical mirror over in Grampy's fairy tale castle. Little Rusty gloats that Cloris will never be able to destroy the Charmed Ones. Cloris begs to differ, as she has a museum full of powerful trinkets with which to assault them. Rusty's horrified. Using the "props" to promote the cause of evil would "change the meaning" of the stories they represent and "shift them away from good." Suspend the disbelief, people. You'll only hurt yourselves if you don't. Cloris crosses to the Big Book Of Fairy Tales, flips to the chapter on Snow White, and summons the story's woodsman from the chapter's illustration. Join me, won't you, for A Nancy Kerrigan Moment: Whyyyyy? WHYYYYY? Seriously, Cloris, why the Woodsman from that story? Everyone and his three-year-old niece knows the Woodsman defied the queen. Rather than hacking up Snow White and returning to the castle with her heart so the Evil Queen could toss it into a salad, he took pity on Miss White and hacked up, like, a ferret or something instead. Don't believe me? Ask Lana Lang. The same thing just happened to her the other night on the Hallmark Channel when one of those IRA terrorists from The Crying Game sent a pocket-sized Raul Julia into the forest with an axe. True story. Cloris doesn't listen to me. Rather, she summons the Woodsman, hands him a hefty, gleaming hatchet, and instructs him to "bring [her] the heart of the witch who's as white as snow." That would be Raige, right? I'm guessing, here. The Woodsman nods his head all "whatever," and leaves. Cloris returns to Rusty and orders him to show her "the witch who's been burned by love."
The mirror bubbles, and presently we dive through to land on Phoebe and her ludicrous top arriving late for work. Phoebe's assistant natters something about Phoebe's schedule for the day, then informs her that the divorce attorney called once and Cole called three times. Phoebe, gripping a mug of coffee, grunts and spins to head into her office. Unfortunately for that ludicrous top of hers, she ends up blindly body-checking a blond gent in a grey suit, jostling the contents of her mug onto her chest. Phoebe does not howl and wail in agonizing pain as the scalding coffee raises second-degree welts on the Fun Bags. Instead, she catches sight of the gentleman's face and horns up. Flirtatious introductions follow. The gentleman's name is "Adam Prinze." Feel free to bludgeon yourself with the nearest blunt object. Lord knows I've already done so at least eight times this evening. Freddie Prinze Charming Junior is played by Sean Patrick Flannery, and I'm compelled to note that Father Time has not been kind to Young Indiana Jones. He looks like a blond David Cassidy, and anyone who's seen Keith Partridge lately knows this is not a good thing. Shame, really, because if Freddie Prinze Charming Junior lost a bit of the bloat around his face, he'd look enough like Michael Vartan for me to be able to call him Kink Arthur, thereby sparing me the pain involved in typing out a "joke" dependent upon Sarah Michelle Gellar's butt boy. Prinze Charming makes with the profuse apologies, and offers to spot Phoebe for the dry-cleaning. Okay, so the guy's a blind Keith Partridge. Rip the hideous thing off of her and burn it, Freddie. No, wait. Scratch that. I saw enough of the Fun Bags last week. In any event, it turns out that Prinze Charming is a devotee of "Ask Phoebe," which surprises the column's purported author, as her "target audience" is made up of "closeted housewives pining for love." "Well," Prinze Charming grins, "one out of two isn't bad." He's a closeted housewife? Kinky. Not as kinky as Janice and Ralphie, but still.
Cole brightly barges in at this moment to greet Freddie Prinze Charming Junior. Prinze Charming gets the short version of the Cole and Phoebe backstory, and we learn Prinze Charming is the scion of a prominent publishing family that owns newspapers and television stations across the country. Phoebe, appalled, drags Cole into her office to shriek at him. Her efforts to chastise him for interfering yet again in her life are somewhat undermined by the presence of that coffee stain on her ludicrous top, which makes it look like she's lactating silicone. Cole, unsurprisingly, was simply trying to further Phoebe's career by hooking her up with someone who could syndicate her advice column. Phoebe remains convinced that Cole harbors some dastardly plan to drag her back to the Underworld, and threatens him with death should any harm come to the Fun Bags. Cole, mopey, exits wordlessly. Prinze Charming, overeager for Cole's sloppy seconds, edges towards the Feebs with an invitation to accompany him to a benefit that evening at the St. Regis. Phoebe's flattered, but declines.
Manor. Out on the sun porch, Piper's busy with some shrieking of her own, shrilling for the Dolt to drag Grams down to the house from Whitelighterland. She's stuck on that whole needing-advice thing from earlier, you see. The Dolt protests that he can't resurrect the dead, and thank God for that, because The Dolt As Christ would be far too great a cross for one recapper to bear. He suggests she summon Grams on her own as she has in the past. Piper bitches that she tried that already, and it didn't work. "This is a very special baby with very special needs," she gripes, "and I need someone pretty damn special to help me figure it out, and when I say now, I mean now!" Rather than receiving a supernatural smackdown from The Powers That Be for this bitchy hissyfit, Piper instead gets exactly what she wanted. A Swirling Cloud Of Glowing Golf Balls materializes on the sun porch to disengorge Jennifer Rhodes and her new hairdo. Grams! Hooray! New hairdo! Not so much! Evidently, Grams was feeling blonde and did something drastic about it. No matter, really, as she's always an enjoyable guest star.
Grams is shocked to find herself corporealized in the Manor. Piper thanks the Dolt, but he insists he had nothing to do with it. They surmise that Piper "tapped into" the percolating infant's powers, and this is what dragged Grams to the Manor. Grams is touched, and hugs Piper before getting down to business. Grams immediately rattles off a list of tasks Piper should have performed by now but hasn't, including concocting a potion "to ward off demonic parasites." Upon learning that Piper's been a lazy, misguided cow thus far, Grams wonders how, exactly, Piper's been spending her time. "We built a nursery in our bedroom closet!" perks the Dolt. "Closet?" Grams intones, her voice dripping with contempt. "No wonder this baby summoned me." Thank you! God! Shoving a baby into a goddamned closet. What were they thinking? Grams motors to the stairs to put an end to this abusive closet nonsense once and for all. Raige appears on the landing at this moment to snark playfully, "Don't tell me you're already interviewing nannies?" Grams beams, introduces herself, and drags Raige into an embrace that clearly sets Raige's teeth on edge. Seriously, Raige looks like she's just plowed face-first into a pile of dog shit on the sidewalk. "Aren't you supposed to be dead?" she asks. "Oh, I'm over that," Grams blithely replies with airly dismissive hand gestures. Snicker. Piper shoos the Dolt to the nursery as Grams, unaware of Raige's unease, lovingly babbles that Raige has her great-grandmother's eyes. "She was a real looker, too," Grams adds confidentially, all cool grandmother you always wish you had. "I bet you have plenty of boyfriends." Raige reluctantly admits that that's not the case, addressing Grams with a somewhat frosty "Mrs. Halliwell" as she does so. I mention this exchange only because Raige's relationship status becomes an issue later on. Just so you know.
Just then, the Woodsman rudely interrupts the reunion by crashing through the sun-porch doors, the gleaming and hefty hatchet in his hand. He swipes at Piper with a blow that should have whacked off her arm at the shoulder. Instead, Piper tumbles to the floor with a slight scratch on her bicep. Whatever. Grams dives to Piper's side as the Woodsman takes a swing at Raige, who instinctively cringes and orbs out, allowing the hatchet to embed itself in the wall. Raige rematerializes, and the Woodsman backhands her across the room. Meanwhile, the percolating infant knits up the wound on Piper's arm. If you ask me, that's a pretty nifty evolutionary adjustment to external threats for the brat, but if they overuse it -- which they will -- it's going to become incredibly annoying. Then again, this development tends to push the Dolt further into irrelevance as far as the Glamorous Ladies are concerned, and any development that reduces Dolt screen-time is fine by me. The Woodsman retrieves his hatchet and hoists it above his head to relieve Piper of hers. Piper shrieks and freaks and flings out her hands. The Woodsman howls and explodes in a gout of flame, leaving the hefty hatchet to drop to the floor. Piper grunts, "What the hell was that?" Yep. Exactly.
As the Dolt scampers down the stairs to apply the tingly touch to Raige's pimp-slapped noggin, the camera tracks back through the Mirror Mirror. Rusty fades into the glass to snipe, "Try as you might, fairy tale magic ends at midnight." Cloris remains unconcerned. The Woodsman might have failed, but she herself won't. She retrieves a red apple and the Lucite pumps from their respective pedestals, gestures with a flourish of her free hand, and smokes on out into the commercial break.
Attic. Raige and Grams head to the Book of Shadows to research axe-wielding demons while Piper crosses to her Big Book Of Fairy Tales on the sofa. The Dolt flails uselessly in the background. Despite the fact that no known demon stomps around with a hatchet, Raige insists that the guy had to have been Hell-sent. Piper disagrees and holds up the illustration of the Woodsman facing Snow White's entry. Raige protests the idea of fairy tales coming to life as patently ridiculous. Grams lays a little science on her granddaughters, noting that every fairy tale is based upon actual events. Raige makes "whatever" faces behind Grams's back. Shut up, Raige.
Meanwhile, down in the kitchen, Cloris smokes in with a gift-wrapped box, which she sets on the center island. She then draws the apple from a pocket in her cloak and places it carefully in a bowl of fruit further down the counter. Wicked tasks complete, she flourishes on out of there. Enter the Feebs, who instantly assumes the gift box is for her and opens it. Upon seeing its contents, Phoebe glares.
Up in the attic, the lecture continues. Grams reveals that the stories are actually retellings of ancient battles between good and evil. Raige finds this all more than a little difficult to believe until Piper and the Dolt remind her of her own past life as The Evil Enchantress. Raige, busted, sneers as Phoebe storms into the attic with the gift box. She pulls herself up short when she spots Grams, and the two embrace. After learning of the Woodsman's attack, the Feebs grinds her teeth and displays the Lucite pumps, proposing that Cole is up to his old tricks. Grams reminds Phoebe that an evil witch bears responsibility in the traditional stories, but Feebs isn't having it. Cole knows Cinderella is Phoebe's favorite fairy tale; therefore, Cole is to blame for the sudden appearance of the pumps. The Dolt decides that now would be an opportune moment to consult with the ever-useless Elders, and orbs out.
Phoebe rashly decides to don the pumps to prove Cole's involvement. Raige counsels caution, as they can't be certain it's not some other demonic force promoting the attacks. Unfortunately for Raige, Grams nixes this idea, arguing that they can't loll around the Manor waiting for the evil character to burst through a window. Piper, ever the sheep, follows Grams's lead, and urges Phoebe to try on the shoes. Phoebe slips the things onto her feet. Almost immediately, the pumps glow white, and a shimmering spiral of glowing pixie dust swirls up her body as Walt Disney's heirs speed-dial their lawyers to file breech-of-copyright lawsuits against Brad Kern. I, meanwhile, speed-dial my lawyer to file a pain-and-suffering lawsuit against Eilish for the unspeakable monstrosity masquerading as a ball gown that now assaults my senses. Phoebe's ensemble nearly beggars description, and quite frankly seems better suited for a belly dancer. A low-rent, talent-free, syphilitic hag of a belly dancer, but you get my drift. The outfit consists of a backless, strapless, midriff-baring opalescent bodice piece, connected to a foofy, bustled, be-bowed train, dangling over a white miniskirt, accented with tiers of silver lame ruffles that descend to the floor from her right hip. What remains of her hair has been fried into something approximating ringlets. It astounds me that even after all this time, they can still come up with new ways to horrify me.
In any event, the Lucite pumps take on a life of their own, forcing Phoebe to goose-step towards the attic door against her will. The goose-stepping, of course, means that we're all threatened with inadvertent exposure to Phoebe's cooter, so I'll be averting my eyes for most of the following scene. Piper and Raige swarm to Phoebe's side, tugging valiantly at her arms to keep her in the attic. Grams hollers at them to let Phoebe go, the argument being that the shoes should lead Phoebe to the source of their current woes. Piper and Raige release her, and Phoebe clomps out to the stairs like Elsa Lanchester on crystal. Raige tags along after her, the better to orb her back to the Manor should anything go wrong. Piper and Grams hang back to research a Cloris vanquish in Piper's Big Book Of Fairy Tales.
While all of this nonsense transpires at the Manor, Freddie Prinze Charming Junior, clad in a tuxedo and nattering into a cell phone, wanders through the old Buckland's set to an elevator. He enters the car alone. Cloris smokes in, latches onto his neck with her plum-colored Press-On nails, and plants a big, sloppy wet one on his lips. Prinze Charming's face flares yellow as his eyes glaze over. "How can I serve you, my queen?" he monotones. Cloris instructs him to "meet Cinderella at the ball" and to "make sure she's in the carriage at midnight." Should he fail in his assigned task, she'll kill him, or something.
FrankenFeebs clomps across a street in her hateful, spiteful monstrosity, halting traffic as she goes, turning all who gaze upon her to stone. Kidding with that last bit. And look at that -- we have cooter, ladies and gentlemen! Unfortunately, that's no joke. Raige trails along uselessly behind FrankenFeebs until they reach the opposite sidewalk. The Lucite pumps clomp to a halt as a couple of horses drag a white carriage up to the curb. Cue the blaring fanfare of the regal trumpets. FrankenFeebs addresses the driver, who remains silent. The carriage door pops open of its own accord, and the Lucite pumps drag FrankenFeebs inside. Raige attempts to follow, but some sort of force field propels her backwards onto her ass. The carriage pulls away with the FrankenFeebs shouting instructions from the open window. Raige is to return to the Manor. Phoebe will summon the Dolt should the situation warrant.
Attic. Raige frets about the well-being of the FrankenFeebs. Piper glums that if what the Dolt learned is true, they're all in trouble. The ever-useless Elders have managed to yank a bit of helpful exposition out of their collective ass this time around. If Cloris succeeds, she will "corrupt" the fairy tales "for every future generation." Raige wonders how this is possible, as the tales have been in print for centuries. Turns out "every copy is a manifestation of the original," which was entrusted to Grampy for safe-keeping. Yes, you heard that correctly: No Brothers Grimm, no Hans Christian Andersen, no publishing empires built on children's literature, no Shelley Duvall as Mother Goose, and best of all, no Harvey Fierstein as the Sissy Duckling. Every single extant copy of every single fairy tale emanates from the same source, hidden away in a castle atop an Alp. And the eye-rolling was great throughout the land. Raige proposes that they orb on over to Grampy's museum and kick some wicked butt. The Dolt reveals they can't -- the location of Grampy's museum has been kept secret for security purposes, even from The Powers That Be. Raige tosses the long-suffering audience a shout-out by asking, "Where was their infinite wisdom on the day that was decided?" Preach it, honey. Piper, uncharacteristically addled, declares the situation hopeless. Grams, surprised, reminds Piper that she can scry for Cloris just as she would for any other evil entity. Once Piper's located her, all they need do is vanquish her with a potion, which Grams intends to brew with Raige's assistance. Grams and Raige depart with the Book of Shadows while Piper tries to convince the Dolt that everything's fine. She fails. Piper scries for Cloris as the Dolt eyes her warily, convinced the icky pregnant-lady hormones are wreaking havoc with her brain. Are none of the writers currently on staff actual women? If there are a couple of XXs running around the place, do they really ascribe to the notion that icky girl hormones can sap otherwise competent women of their abilities? Should I even bother asking?
I hate this show.
The camera tracks back from Piper and her scrying crystal to bubble back through Mirror Mirror. Little Rusty gleefully announces that Piper is certain to discover Cloris's whereabouts before midnight. Cloris casually snips a lock of hair from her head while insisting that she wants Piper to find her. Cloris slips the lock into Little Red's riding hood as Rusty puzzles over this latest development. You see, hair-stuffed riding hoods don't really mesh with the original story. Cloris darkly reminds him that luring Little Red away from the house is a part of the tale, as is a bad-ass wolf.
Over in the St. Regis ballroom, violinists saw away at the waltz from Die Fledermaus while various extras stagger gracelessly about the dance floor. The only couple who can actually waltz appears to be a pair of sixtysomethings over by the buffet table. It's sad. Freddie Prinze Charming Junior surveys the crowd and anxiously checks his watch. Across the hall, FrankenFeebs bellows her clomping way through a cluster of guests to land at the top of the stairs. Rather than ordering security to remove the unspeakably-clad monstrosity from the benefit by any means necessary, Prinze Charming excuses himself from a clot of donors and hustles to FrankenFeebs's side. They flirt with each other as the FrankenFeebs assures him she's there alone. Not so fast, FrankenFeebs. Cole appears behind Prinze Charming, looking mighty fine in a tux of his own, and wonders why Phoebe decided to attend. Phoebe spits something nasty about Cole knowing very well why she's there, adding, "These boots may be made for walking, but they're not walking back to you!" Cole clearly believes that Phoebe is now insane. Prinze Charming suggests they head off to the bar, sans the ex-husband, and FrankenFeebs agrees. Cole calls for them to hold up for a minute, and now it's Prinze Charming's turn to snap at him. He threatens Cole with bodily harm should Cole try to muscle in on his hideous monstrosity of a date. Cole cocks his head, instantly aware that Prinze Charming's suffering the effects of some sort of spell, and responds to the threat of bodily harm with a wrenching twist of Prinze Charming's demonically-possessed arm. The FrankenFeebs breaks up the pissing contest and drags Prinze Charming off to the bar, over Cole's protests.
Manor kitchen. Grams drops the final ingredient into the pot of Cloris vanquish, which agreeably erupts into a cloud of smoke and sparks. Color Raige impressed. Grams whipped up the whole thing without once consulting the Book. "Honey," Grams grins, "I wrote the Book. Well, all the good potions, anyway." She asks Raige to fetch an empty vial from the cabinet. As Raige does so, she's inexplicably drawn to the poisoned apple perched in the fruit bowl. Of course, it probably helps that the apple tosses a little enticement her way by means of a sparkly flare, but whatever. Grams yanks Raige out of her reverie to opine that resigning from THE BLACK HOLE OF SOCIAL SERVICES was the best thing Raige could do at this point in her witchy career. Raige is surprised that Grams knows about THE BLACK HOLE and her resignation therefrom. Grams confesses to peeking in on Raige from time to time. Raige takes offense at this, reminding Grams that she, Raige, already had a grandmother she loved very much. Raige feels Grams is forcing both herself and this mentor relationship upon Raige, and Raige would very much appreciate it if Grams would back the hell off. Grams, with refreshingly little drama, insists that she understands she could never replace Raige's adoptive grandmother. However, Raige just might have a little place in her heart for Grams as well, yes? Someday, perhaps? Raige caves. "Well, at least I know where I get my stubbornness from." The two chuckle kindly at each other. Where have I heard all of this before, hmmm? They've completely abandoned slutty, free-spirit Raige in favor of turning her into Prue II: Attack Of The Indifferently Coiffed Clone With The Lousy Dye Job, haven't they? Okay, that's a little unfair. Raige actually looks quite fetching in this scene. In any event, Grams pockets the finished vial while Raige crosses to fetch another couple of bottles for Phoebe and Piper. Unfortunately, Raige finds herself yanked sideways by the gravitational pull of the poisoned apple.
Somewhere dark and woodsy, Piper and the Dolt pedebitch through the underbrush about Piper's icky pregnant-lady hormones. Piper insists they're not to blame for her current addled state of mind. Rather, it's the physical presence of Grams in the Manor. Piper feels "like [she's] ten years old again." So, why'd you call her back in the first place, moron? The conversation grinds to a halt when they stumble across Little Red's riding hood hanging in a tree. Piper realizes they're "off the beaten path," and whispers, "Oh, no. Grams!"
Kitchen. Raige inhales half of the poisoned apple and immediately morphs into Morticia Addams, after which she drops dead to the floor. No, seriously. No. Seriously. Grams gasps and races to Snow Raige's side as the bad-ass wolf makes its presence known by snarling a bit in the doorway to the dining room. The wolf begins a loping gallop over to Grams as the camera discreetly tracks up the wall to display what follows in shadowy silhouettes. The shadow of the Big Bad-Ass leaps into the air and drops, gaping jaws first, onto the shadow of Grams. The shadows collapse into each other and drop out of the frame while Grams screams. After a moment, Grams's shadow reappears on the wall. The shot cuts over to Big Bad Grams, leaning casually against the counter and sucking its teeth a bit before using a nail to dig out a bit of Grams's jewelry from its back molars, or something. Big Bad Grams kneels beside Snow Raige, presumably to snack on the corpse, as Piper and the Dolt orb into the kitchen behind her. Piper, toting Little Red's hood, bleats, "What happened?" Big Bad Grams bugs out its eyes and mutters, "I'm afraid she's dead." DUN!
Kitchen. Aftermath. Big Bad Grams edges past Piper to scratch away at the scruff of its neck while Piper flips through the BoS and the Dolt applies a useless tingly touch to the rapidly-cooling corpse of Snow Raige. Neither Piper nor the Dolt, needless to say, notices that Grams is behaving strangely. Instead, Piper seems to be regenerating a bit of her spine, insisting that if Snow White can resurrect herself from an encounter with a poisoned apple, so can Snow Raige. The Dolt reminds Piper that Snow White woke up as the result of a kiss from one of the many, varied princes charming over in fairy tale land, and here's the bit where Raige's lack of a love life swings around to bite her in the ass. Big Bad Grams grabs Piper's hand to "find [Raige's] boyfriend." Piper reminds Big Bad Grams that Raige is a single loser. Big Bad Grams belches. Piper's too busy even to dispense with a wicked side-eye, choosing rather to recite the following desperate spell over Snow Raige's soon-to-be-maggot-infested corpse:
Hear our call for those who fall --
Purge her to awaken
From this toxic taken.
Nothing happens. Piper howls at Big Bad Grams for a solution. The Big Bad shrugs its shoulders helplessly and guhs. The Dolt, of all people, suggests they focus on vanquishing Cloris in the hopes that doing so will reverse the effects of the poisoned apple on Snow Raige. Big Bad Grams immediately whisks the pot of vanquish from the stove and dumps it down the sink, claiming it was a bad batch. I'm not even going to wonder how the Big Bad knew about the vanquish but forgot about Raige's status as a lonely loser because just then, the doorbell rings. The Dolt exits to answer it. Big Bad Grams is about to wrap its jaws around Piper's head when the Dolt calls from the hall. Piper bolts from the kitchen while Big Bad Grams grimaces in frustration.
Piper trundles over to the front door, where the Dolt introduces her to Snow Raige's Seven Ethnically Diverse Dwarves. The Seven Ethnically Diverse Dwarves are grinning like seven ethnically diverse fools. The lead dwarf asks, "Somebody eat a poison apple?" Piper hoots.
The Ball. FrankenFeebs and Freddie Prinze Charming Junior stumble through an approximation of a waltz before we cut to a strange blue-screen shot of the two swaying along with the music. This blue-screen shot has then been superimposed over a tracking shot of the rest of the dancers. Needless to say, the supposed progress of FrankenFeebs and Prinze Charming across the floor fails to match up with their apparent progress as indicated by the background tracking shot. And I was going to retire "tawdry" after last week. Damn you! Damn you all to hell! Anyway, the two blither about Phoebe's divorce before Prinze Charming notices that the midnight hour approaching. Just as he suggests bailing for a little alone time, the FrankenFeebs spies the Dolt lurking near the entrance. FrankenFeebs promises she'll return, and heads off for a Dolt confab. When Prinze Charming moves to follow, Cole bodily blocks him from the exit, making with the threats. While the gentlemen in the tuxedos busy themselves with the whipping out of appendages for measurement purposes, the Dolt brings FrankenFeebs up to date on the goings-on in Halliwell Manor. The FrankenFeebs resolutely and stupidly refuses to believe that Cole is not responsible for the current brouhaha, despite the Dolt's Elder-backed protestations to the contrary. FrankenFeebs eventually rolls her eyes and agrees to follow the Dolt back to the Manor.
Parlor. The Seven Ethnically Diverse Dwarves have fashioned a glass bier, within which lies the rapidly decomposing corpse of Snow Raige. I take that back. Seems the Seven Ethnically Diverse Dwarves specialize in anti-decomposition glass biers, so Snow Raige won't be losing any fingers to corpse-eating rats anytime soon. Lead Dwarf (and I'm strenuously avoiding calling him "Head Dwarf," as that would be far too tasteless for reasons that should be obvious to all) wonders what's keeping Snow Raige's prince. Piper explains the whole lonely loser thing to the ethnically diverse swarm at her feet, and they immediately set to bickering amongst themselves over who gets to slip Raige the tongue. Lead Dwarf shuts them all up, then apologizes for their behavior, cracking an unfunny as he does so about how long it's been since they've gotten laid. Piper whatevers and crosses to retrieve the Woodsman's axe. Big Bad Grams tensely wonders what Piper intends to do with the weapon. Piper has no intention of sitting on her rapidly expanding pregnant-lady ass and waiting for Little Red's wolf to attack. Big Bad Grams pshaws, claiming that of all the fairy tales, Little Red Riding Hood is the one that has no basis in fact. Piper disputes this claim, and the two head to the attic to consult Piper's Big Book Of Fairy Tales. As they wander up the stairs, one of the underling dwarves asks Lead Dwarf, "Think she knows that's a wolf?" Lead Dwarf deadpans, "None of our business." Oh, fine: Heh.
The Ball. FrankenFeebs and the hideous monstrosity Eilish is calling an evening gown plow through the outer reception area, trailed limply by the Dolt. Freddie Prinze Charming Junior appears to offer FrankenFeebs a ride home. Cole races onto the scene to warn Phoebe about Prinze Charming's ulterior motives. FrankenFeebs clocks him one in the jaw, grabs Prinze Charming's hand, and disappears from the hall after ordering the Dolt to keep an eye on the ex-husband. "He's evil," Cole warns. "And what are you?" counters the Dolt, aiming for "stoic and manly" but ending up somewhere in the general vicinity of "gargoyle-faced pantywaist."
Attic. Piper consults her Big Book as the Big Bad lurks in the shadows, twisting the red riding hood into a satin garrote of sorts. Piper runs through the whole "what big ears/eyes/teeth you have" checklist while Big Bad Grams silently advances on her from behind, answering in kind. When Big Bad Grams reaches "the better to eat you with," its voice tumbles down into a guttural howl. Piper whips about on the sofa, takes one look at the Big Bad off-screen, and unhinges her lower jaw to shriek in terror. The camera dives into her mouth, and...
...emerges outside the St. Regis. FrankenFeebs and Freddie Prinze Charming Junior stride out onto the empty sidewalk from the lobby as the clock strikes twelve. The Dolt follows briefly, but, sensing Piper's distress, orbs immediately back to the Manor. The scene shifts into slow motion as the carriage from earlier rounds the corner, the horses charging ominously through the mist. Phoebe yodels and tries to break free from Prinze Charming, but he yanks her back into his arms. One of the Lucite pumps slides off FrankenFeebs's sweaty foot to clatter on the cobbles in front of the hotel. Prinze Charming stuffs the FrankenFeebs into the carriage's cab just as the clock chimes midnight. The carriage -- driver, horses, FrankenFeebs and all -- morphs down into a pumpkin on the hotel's front drive. I idly wonder what happened to the mice that are supposed be scurrying around somewhere as the camera bubbles back through Mirror Mirror. Cloris eyes the image of the rodent-free pumpkin and smirks, "The. End!" Not really, hon. Just another commercial break.
And we're back. Freddie Prinze Charming Junior gazes at Phoebe's sweaty Lucite pump for a moment, then snatches up the pumpkin to dash it on the ground. Cole appears from the lobby to threaten Prinze Charming with an agonizing death should anything happen to the pumpkin. Prinze Charming, struggling against the Cloris mojo currently controlling his body, wails that should he not off the Feebs, Cloris will kill him anyway. After an agonizingly long, tension-free moment, Prinze Charming hurls the pumpkin to the ground. Cole zaps the scene with a little mojo of his own, freezing everything involved. He saunters over to retrieve the pumpkin, then decks Prinze Charming in the teeth. Some heinous, Hell-sent, demonic beast forces Julian McMahon to deliver the line, "Keep your hands off my pumpkin." Oy.
Attic. The Big Bad-Ass -- and yes, it's back in wolf's clothing, so to speak -- snarls and snaps at the Dolt, who stands off to one side with the Woodsman's axe, pretending to be threatening. "[Woof woof]," quoth the wolf, according to the closed captioning. The Big Bad-Ass leaps for the open Big Book Of Fairy Tales on the sofa. The Dolt, belatedly realizing that the Big Book functions as a sort of portal, screams, "No!" As the Big Bad-Ass flies through the air, it suddenly explodes, sending Piper and Grams tumbling to the floor. You'd expect them to be slathered in wolf guts, would you not? And you'd be wrong. Piper and Grams gather themselves from the carpet and reveal to the Dolt that Piper blew up the Big Bad from inside. Cole smears on into the background with the FrankenFeebs pumpkin, swearing he had nothing to do with the evening's hijinks. Piper realizes the only way to confront Cloris directly is by donning Little Red's hood and entering the Big Book Of Fairy Tales herself. Grams passes her the vial of vanquish and proudly grins, "Go on. Show her who's the most powerful witch of all." Aw. Grams and Piper share A Moment; then Piper places a hand on her Big Book, vanishing downwards into the swirling text.
Fairy Aerie. Little Rusty taunts Cloris from the Mirror Mirror for a bit before Piper whirls into the room. Piper wastes little time in flinging the vial of vanquish at Cloris's feet. And yes, as a poisonous cloud envelops Cloris's body and little bits of her drop to the floor, Cloris shrieks, "I'm melting! Meelllll-tiiiiing!" The Estate Of Margaret Hamilton speed-dials its lawyer to file a misappropriation-of-image lawsuit as Little Rusty smirks triumphantly, like, ass. You did nothing to effect this outcome, so shut the hell up. As melted Cloris seeps through the cracks in the flagstone, Little Rusty smears out of Mirror Mirror, and the various errant artifacts materialize upon their proper podiums. Long story short, with the death of Grampy, Little Rusty is now the new trustee at Fairy Aerie. Everything should be back to normal in Piper's world, save for the fact that one of the Lucite pumps is missing. Rusty interprets its absence to mean that FrankenFeebs's story has yet to meet with some sort of resolution. Piper nods her head around, then wonders how she's supposed to return to the Manor. Rusty gets an impish grin on his face and fetches a pair of ruby slippers for her. Check the book, idiots. The slippers were silver. MGM switched colors for the movie because ruby read better in Technicolor. Rrrgh.
Manor. The Seven Ethnically Diverse Dwarves break down the glass anti-decomposition bier and prepare to hi-ho their stumpy little asses out of there. Raige demands to know how she ended up in a coffin. Grams: "You were dead, dear. But bright side? At least we now have something in common." Ha! Lead Dwarf suggests that Raige get herself a boyfriend should something like this happen again, then reminds them all to expect a bill for services rendered. And with that, we bid farewell to the Seven Ethnically Diverse Dwarves as Phoebe and Cole descend the staircase. Phoebe's back in what passes as normal clothing for her -- a midriff-baring button-down pink blouse with plunging neckline and ruffled accents. Cole's still in his tux. Piper materializes in a copyright-infringing shimmering spiral of glowing pixie dust, after which the ruby slippers warp back to the Fairy Aerie of their own accord. Grams grins at a job well done, and announces her departure. This news meets with the expected protestations from the Glamorous Ladies, but Grams insists. Lessons learned? Let's see: Piper didn't need Grams's help as much as she needed Grams to remind her that she's strong enough to handle any given situation on her own; Raige has room in her heart for more than one grandmother; and Phoebe's a self-serving bitch. Grams crosses to the Dolt's side and takes his hand. Why do we love Grams so much? Because instead of spouting some tedious mouthful of crap like "Blessed be" by way of goodbye, she comes up with a heartfelt "Be safe, my darlings." Atta girl. Grams and the Dolt orb back to Whitelighterland.
Piper and Raige bolt, leaving Phoebe and Cole to provide the denouement. Phoebe has Trust Issues, which Cole proposes to resolve by pushing her into the arms of Freddie Prinze Charming Junior. And so that's exactly what Cole does. Over in the empty St. Regis ballroom, Prinze Charming gazes forlornly at Phoebe's leftover sweaty Lucite pump as Cole and the Feebs smear unobtrusively into the background. Cole exhorts her to give Prinze Charming another chance. Phoebe complies. Prinze Charming sets the sweaty pump on a chair to escort Phoebe...elsewhere as Cole watches from behind a pillar. The sweaty Lucite pump dematerializes on its way back to the Fairy Aerie. Cole mopes. Sullenly ever after, if you will. Well, sullenly ever after until the crackheads on the writing staff fling Phoebe back into his arms. Yawn.
week, there's a new slut in town, and she's set her sights on the Dolt. Ew.