Previously, on Charmed: Dude, it just ended three minutes ago. Has your brain been so fried by this garbage that you need a reminder from me?
We fade back up where we left off: With Big Gay Chris receiving heaping helpings of abuse from The Specially Enhanced Glamorous Ladies Of Halliwell Manor. Piper whines that, "outside of a costume party," she can't possibly be expected to battle evil in her current outfit. Big Gay Chris exposits that their togas are part and parcel of their enhanced powers. He then goes on to clarify for the utter morons in the audience that Raige is now The Goddess Of War, and Phoebe is The Goddess Of Tawdry One-Night Stands In Cheap Motels Out By The Airport. Or, you know, "Love." It's your call. Piper interrupts to snark, "Well, that must make me The Goddess Of Sanity, because I find this ridiculous." You're not the only one, honey. "Actually, Mom," Chris responds patiently, "Dad gave you dominion over the earth and all of its natural elements." Maybe he said "Piper" and "[the Dolt]" in place of "Mom" and "Dad," but I heard the latter. Phoebe skanks up to Chris, twists her hair "girlishly" around a finger, and skeeves, "Do you have a girlfriend in the future?" Chris is like, "Feebs? Scabby hag? Yeah, for one thing, I'm your goddamned nephew, and for another, I'm gay, so get those horrific Fun Bags out of my face. Ew!"
Or maybe he just snorts dismissively. Lord, this is going to be a long hour.
Chris reminds the Glamorous Goddesses not to lose sight of their fundamental humanity -- a distinct possibility, given their new power levels, and something that kept the ever-useless Elders from unleashing The Mythological Mojo after the mistake they originally made with the mortals we now know as pantheon of Greek gods. As you can tell from Phoebe's behavior, she's already losing a good deal of herself to her new powers. Oh, who am I trying to kid? Phoebe's always this inappropriate and slutty. Raige is a better example of what I just described, as she's having far too much fun waving her trident around like she means business. In fact, she attacks Big Gay Chris from behind (no comment), and hoists him into the air by his snagging his shirt on the end of her weapon. After a mercifully brief castration "joke," Chris orbs off the trident to the other side of the room. He urges them to remain focused on vanquishing the Titans, reminding them that in his original timeline, all of the Elders were slaughtered, and life as we know it really began to suck, what with the Republicans repealing the constitutional amendment on presidential term limits -- that they pushed through in the first place after the endless humiliations visited upon their national party courtesy of Franklin Roosevelt and Harry Truman -- so Dubya could be reelected and reelected and reelected by a public beaten down to subhuman levels of intelligence as a result of countless hours of exposure to reality programming, Rupert Murdoch's media empire, and Hilary Duff movies, thereby allowing the national embarrassment from Texas to stack the federal courts with terrifying theocrats like that fuckbat Rick Santorum. Also: No smoking in bars. Anywhere. Hateful, isn't it?
Raige makes it through Chris's considerably tidier speech, then vanquishes the upright piano over in the corner. Piper's furious, and insists that her husband "must have lost it up there," because her addled siblings "can't be seen in public" in their current condition, much less be expected to battle three-thousand-year-old demonic entities. Aphrophoebe naturally takes this as her cue to spin away to The Bay Mirror's charity bachelor auction at P3. She takes off in a small pink whirlwind that shoots out a giant Valentine's heart, as if her method of transportation were designed by the same graphic "artists" who gave us Love, American Style's opening credits sequence thirty-five years ago. Rathena gets a crazed look in her eyes, and bolts out of the Manor to gather some bootlicking toadies of her own. No, seriously. She disappears in a blaze of blue lightning bolts. Piper freaks, and demands that Chris orb after them. Chris is all, "Sorry, Mom. That's your job." The Dolt turned Piper into a latter-day Demeter to provide the Glamorous Goddesses with some of that earthy-crunchy Mother Nature balance. Piper snots something about already having a Whitelighter to lecture and guide her, and that if said Whitelighter wants her to go after her stupid sisters, he can damn well come down from Heaven and tell her himself. "You want Dad?" Chris retorts. "Then vanquish the Titans. If you can't do that, then you'll find out what a world of darkness feels like." "My world," he reminds her after a beat, for emphasis. Piper, finally, has been struck dumb. Thank you, Big Gay Chris!
Antarctica. Bogtrotter and Bitch Tits plot to exterminate the few ever-useless Elders who managed to escape Whitelighterland before the last Titan attack, after which they'll head to Buddies' for a couple of smart cocktails. Scene.
P3. Elise Rothman, Girl Editor hosts the charity bachelor auction, and summons Joe Firestone to the stage. The rabid females in the audience place their paltry bids, only to have those meager bids squashed by Aphrophoebe's massive one. Aphrophoebe slinks down the club's staircase, a mysterious breeze dancing through her ludicrously long blonde locks, looking for all the world like a walking, talking billboard for Summer's Eve. All of the men in P3 are smitten, and all of the women think Phoebe's a total bitch. Guess whose side I'm on?
Over on the forest clearing set they used for that assy nymrod episode, Rathena confronts a posse of dark demonic types, challenging them to fight. One flings a Flaming Ball Of Death. Rathena catches it in her hand and squashes it out. The FBOD emits a strangely satisfying sizzle as she does so. Rathena quotes Archimedes, then toasts the dark demonic force who originally tossed the FBOD. The remaining demons kneel and pledge their eternal devotion. Rathena is way stoked until buzzkill Piper swirls in amid some dead leaves. Apparently, she exposits, one of her new responsibilities as Earth Goddess is to keep the other gods in line. Someone with a deeper understanding of Greek mythology will have to confirm if this really was true for Demeter. The forums never close, people. Piper orders Rathena's assembled demonic underlings to make themselves scarce. They refuse. Piper screams, unleashing a small earthquake. The various demonic toadies flare and smear to points unknown. Piper latches onto Rathena's arm and swirls back to the Manor…
…where she locks Rathena's trident in the foyer's much-abused mirrored armoire. Freaky Tiny Iguana Lady pushes The Woefully Neglected Done One out of the parlor in a baby carriage, sassing away at full tilt. "This," Iguana Lady sneers, "is a house of ill repute." Well, it's about damn time somebody else noticed. Piper and Rathena enter the front parlor to find Aphrophoebe surrounded by a dozen or so slavishly devoted and shirtless gentlemen from the P3 auction. Aphrophoebe makes with that "peel me a grape" line that, really, only Mae West ever managed to pull off -- mainly because Mae West was, at heart, a female drag queen. Speaking of queens, I suspect more than half of these gentlemen would normally be ogling Aphrophoebe's orbing nephew. And speaking of Aphrophoebe's nephew, here he is now to deliver his line from the promos: "What is this? Goddesses Gone Wild?" Many found that line amusing, which depresses me. You all do realize that if Big Gay Chris really did travel backwards through time from some hellish, Republican-controlled, smoke-free future twenty years hence, he'd know nothing about the Girls Gone Wild series of videocassettes? Oh, you do realize that? You say you just don't care? Well, then. I'll just be shutting up now.
Not.
Piper gripes that she's got everything under control, then proves this assertion by screaming. Hurricane-force winds rip through the parlor, flinging the various himbo love slaves into a sweaty pile of gym-toned manflesh by the front door. That might sound more appealing than it actually plays out on screen. You have to remember, I've been recapping this finale for a good fourteen hours by now.
Once the himbos have fled the Manor, Piper orders her addle-brained, dimwitted sisters to get a grip. She lectures that they were granted their enhanced powers to defeat Bogtrotter and Bitch Tits, not to "form armies or love cults." Big Gay Chris backs Mom up by pointedly reminding Aphrophoebe and Rathena that the original gods allowed their powers to turn them into "petty, evil, [and] vindictive" creatures. Rathena responds by quoting Tacitus. Aphrophoebe tries to top that with something from Captain and Tennille, with the expected amount of success. Fortunately, the Dolt picks this moment to ring their collective bell. Piper, outraged, shrills, "[The Dolt] can't jingle!" He can now, doll, Big Gay Chris states for me. The Dolt's warning them that one of the remaining ever-useless Elders is in danger. "It's time to face [Bogtrotter and Bitch Tits]," Chris concludes.
Over in Munchkinland, Mike the C.S.I. leprechaun bravely guards the imperiled Elder. Shit. It's pissy, punk-ass Tom Cruise. Let him fry, Mike. He's so not worth it. Unfortunately, Mike doesn't listen to me, choosing instead to open up one of those rainbows to whisk Punk-Ass Tom Cruise far, far away. Bitch Tits hurls a jet of flame at the vanishing pair of midget and punk-ass, scorching the midget to that great little people convention in the sky while flipping the punk-ass halfway across the clearing. The Glamorous Goddesses variously whirl, swirl, and bolt in to protect the odious Cruise-alike. "Who are you?" asks Bitch Tits. "The Supremes," Rathena snaps back before attempting to spork him with her trident. Bitch Tits shrugs off the blow, then he and Bogtrotter smack the gals up with a jet of flame and a few lightning bolts, respectively. The Glamorous Goddesses toss out some sort of glimmering shield that protects them long enough for an anonymous force to orb them away from Munchkinland with Punk-Ass Tom Cruise. Bitch Tits glares until he's overwhelmed by the onrushing commercial break.
Back from the break, we hit the sewer for a round of expository dialogue delivered by the Glamorous Goddesses and Punk-Ass Tom Cruise. The sewer is actually a "sanctuary" constructed by the Dolt using a shield of "fairy magic." There's a Clay Aiken joke in there somewhere. I know it. Anyway, the Dolt's been tracking scattered surviving Elders and orbing them into the sewer for their own protection, as Bitch Tits and Bogtrotter can't sense the ever-useless ones beneath the fairies' shield. Piper's tired of receiving all of this information about her husband second-hand, so she screams. The sewer's rocked by a minor trembler. Alas, no chunks of masonry drop from the ceiling to flatten the loathsome Punk-Ass Tom Cruise, whom Aphrophoebe's been molesting in a most unladylike fashion throughout this scene. Needless to say, Piper doesn't receive an answer from the Dolt, so it's back to the Manor. As Rathena's trident failed to vanquish the Titans, Aphrophoebe wants to try her brand of enhanced witchcraft on them. Aphrophoebe, darling. Antibiotic-resistant strains of syphilis can take decades to kill a guy. You think you could come up with something a little quicker?
Manor parlor. Aphrophoebe lounges on her ridiculous ruby-red goddess couch. Did I neglect to mention her ridiculous ruby-red goddess couch in that scene? Sorry. In any event, Bogtrotter appears, and Aphrophoebe plies him with her womanly wiles. Bitch Tits shows up, berates Bogtrotter for lusting after the Aphrofeebs, and the two hurl their Titan mojo at the Fun Bags. Rathena, heaving a tremendously put-upon sigh, walks right through Bogtrotter and Bitch Tits while waving a tired hand around and ordering, "End war game!" You see, Rathena apparently has access to futuristic holographic equipment. Just go with it. The discouraged Glamorous Goddesses slouch over into the sitting room and collapse onto the sofa and armchair. Their nephew orbs in, wondering what gives. The gals, gradually dropping their goddess attitude during the conversation that follows, whine a lot and ask for the Dolt. Big Gay Chris reminds them that the Dolt has more important matters to handle at the moment, and asks again, "What is wrong with you?" "You seem hopeless," he adds. Phoebe and Raige deliver these long-winded speeches about how much they depend upon the Dolt's pep talks before heading off to slay demons, like, whatever, ladies. I've been watching this show for far too long to put up with this truckload of bullshit you're shoveling into my lap during this scene. You want to convince me the Dolt's a vital part of your lives? Then show me. Don't present me with a character so useless and dull-witted and limp that a nasty nickname like "The Dolt" would almost immediately take hold in my mind, and then expect me to switch gears and believe he's this super-fabulous asset now just because you say so, forty minutes before his son blows him the fuck up. Whatever. I hate this show.
This tedious conversation does lead to an amusing moment, though. Big Gay Chris, fed up with their moping, leaps to his feet and demands that they tell him what he needs to do to get them motivated. Phoebe goes all Horshack on Chris's unsuspecting ass, hooting, "Oooh! Oooh!" before offering, "Try saying this: 'Your power comes from your emotions.'" "Or what about this?" Raige interjects, before adding with appropriately Doltish solemnity, "'Trust. The Power of Three.'" Phoebe giggles and snerks, "How about, 'I'm gonna go check with the Elders'? Do you actually thinks he checks with the Elders?" Raige duhs, "No. He probably just orbs to a bar and buys his buddies rounds of drinks." Big Gay Chris just stares at them all, "My family is full of FREAKS." Heh.
Whitelighterland. Bogtrotter and Bitch Tits stalk the Dolt. The Dolt pulls this invisibility power out of his massive ass and vanishes just as the two Bs peek around the pillar where the Dolt's hiding. Bogtrotter and Bitch Tits stalk away.
Bridal Boudoir. Oh, fuck me. Piper's cradling yet another new infant in her arms. This has to be a running gag, right? Every shot, a different Done One? Whatever. Big Gay Chris barges into the Boudoir like he owns the place. Which he sort of does, being Piper's kid and all, but they don't address that directly. Again, it comes through in little snatches of dialogue. "I need help," Chris flusters. Piper chides him for invading her private space. Chris explains the situation downstairs. "I got [Phoebe and Raige] working on the Titans, but I don't know how long that's gonna last." "I thought you needed me," Piper states. "I did," Chris blurts, then corrects himself with, " I do." Piper eyes him coolly. Chris pleads with her for assistance, vowing that he gets it -- Phoebe and Raige need the Dolt as much as Piper does. "You forgot the baby," Piper snits. "The baby needs his father, too." "Fine," Chris whatevers, "but pay attention, because the world I grew up in? Families hardly existed. I never had a chance to know mine." "Not my fault," Piper counters. "Not yet," Chris snaps back. "Is that what this is about?" Piper asks, irritation entering her icy tones. "You blame us for what happened to you?" Chris non-answers with, "I just want you to get it right this time," which I'll take as a big old "yes." He is so The Done One, and he blames Piper and the Dolt for falling apart at a moment of crisis. That's my story, and I'm sticking to it. Piper blows past her adult son to fetch his much-younger, shape-shifting incarnation a bottle. Big Gay Chris wanders over to Tiny Gay Chris's bassinet. Tiny Gay Chris tosses out his fabulous shimmering blue shield. "Don't worry," Big Chris smiles. "You'll learn to trust me. They all will." I hope that wasn't supposed to be a DUN! moment, because I've got to tell you, I'm not feeling the DUN! here. At all.
Whitelighterland. Bogtrotter and Bitch Tits are still stalking the Dolt. Big Gay Chris orbs in, alerting the Bs to his presence by his "orb trail," which sounds absolutely revolting. Chris orders the Dolt down to the Manor, pronto. Chris will lead the Bs away from Piper and the Dolt with his "orb trail" for as long as he can. The Dolt vanishes.
Bridal Boudoir. Piper mopes on the bed. The Dolt orbs in, clad in one of those hideous gold-toned velour robes favored by the ever-useless Elders. Schmoopiness ensues. Yawn. The two eventually head out into the hallway, where they're met by the Freaky Tiny Iguana Lady. She promptly curtsies respectfully. Piper testily assures Iguana Lady that, despite appearances to the contrary, her husband's not an Elder. Iguana Lady's not buying it, but holds her tongue. She watches the marrieds continue down the stairs, practically glowing from having been in the Dolt's magnificent presence. Ew.
Parlor. Tedious, endless Dolt pep talk. At the end of it all, the Dolt flares up in this heavenly golden glow. Ick. Piper eyes her newly promoted husband with a mixture of suspicion, denial, and dismay.
P3, because they've used up all of the other sets already, so they might as well cut over to this one again, yes? Bogtrotter and Bitch Tits smear in through the ceiling, stalk through the bar, sense the Dolt's presence at the Manor, and prepare to smear out again.
Bridal Boudoir. The Players: Piper, the Dolt, and the Gay Chrises, both Tiny and Big. Piper insists, "You're not an Elder, [Dolt]! Tell [Big Gay Chris] you're not an Elder!" Big Gay Chris and the Dolt urge her to join her sisters downstairs, as the Titan's final attack is imminent. Piper refuses to leave the room until her husband denies his, uh, Elderhood, or whatever the fuck it is. The Dolt sadly replies that he can't do that. Piper screams, in the process taking her frustrations out on her big gay son with a massive burst of free-floating Earth Goddess telekinesis. Big Gay Chris flies through the air to vanquish the closet door with his ass. No, I am not making that up. The Dolt hovers over Chris, determines that he'll be okay, congratulates Piper on accessing her goddess power, and sends her downstairs to battle the Titans.
Down on the sun porch, Bogtrotter and Bitch Tits smack Phoebe and Raige around with a little telekinetic mojo of their own. Piper swirls onto the sun porch from above in a cloud of dead leaves. The Bs hurl electricity and flame at -- get this -- her womb. Sweet Jesus. Earth Goddess Piper's Super Uterus chews up the Titan wickedness and spits it right back out. "It's not nice to piss off Mother Nature," she intones with a slight arch of her brow. She calmly spreads wide her arms, and a gaping hole opens up in the sun porch floor. After encountering Earth Goddess Piper's Super Uterus, I'm sad to say that the hole in the floor resembles nothing so much as it does a giant reverse birth canal leading straight down into Hell. And now that I've noticed that, I can no longer bear to look at this scene. The Giant Reverse Birth Canal Leading Straight Down Into Hell swallows a chandelier shaken loose from its mooring, then a cabinet, and then, finally, Bogtrotter and Bitch Tits. Raige helps that last bit along by aiming her trident at their feet, hacking away with lightning bolts the final bits of flooring that kept the Titans out of The Giant Reverse Birth Canal. Once Bogtrotter and Bitch Tits have vanished for good, Piper seals up The Canal To Hell. Phoebe, by the way, contributed absolutely nothing to that battle. Figures.
The Dolt lopes in to offer his congratulations, and then suggests that the Glamorous Goddesses are now ready to return The Mythological Mojo back to its alabaster urn. Piper shoots him this glorious "bite my ass, dicksmack," glare, and swirls out of there. Phoebe and Raige avert their eyes as the Dolt grimaces all the way into the commercial break.
Manor parlor. The Dolt sucks the goddessy goodness out of Raige and places it all in the urn. Raige, delighted that she's rid herself of her elevated powers, joins the already de-goddessed Feebs on the sofa to scry for Piper. The Dolt's all, "Well, call me when you find her," and he orbs on out of there. Irked at the Dolt's decidedly un-Dolt-like callousness as far as Piper's imperiled humanity is concerned, Phoebe and Raige demand that Big Gay Chris level with them: Is the Dolt a goddamned Elder or not? "He's on the path," Chris grins, with a somewhat sarcastically reverent tone coloring his voice. "Don't give us that creepy pod-people smile," Phoebe snarls. "In your world, being an Elder may be cool, but in our world, it pretty much sucks." I feel absolutely filthy for saying this, but preach it, Phoebe. Just as the gals work themselves into a lather, the raging thunderstorm outside sends a small tree through the parlor's front window. Raige puts storm-tossed tree and deadbeat husband together, and realizes that Piper's trying to drown San Francisco. Well, you know, if you're a goddess and you have absolutely nothing better to do, drowning San Francisco might seem like a fun way to spend an evening. Especially if Judd Winick still lives there. Whoa. Where the hell did that come from? Anyway, Phoebe and Raige bang their heads together and decide that, were they to set about destroying an entire city, they'd probably head to the highest point possible to enjoy the show.
The highest point possible appears to be in front of a green screen, for that's where Phoebe and Raige find Piper. As effects technicians frantically plug stock footage of a stormy Bay Area into the background, Piper stands in a torrent of soundstage rain, directing the occasional "thunderbolt" at "the Transamerica Pyramid." Phoebe and Raige orb in beneath an enormous golf umbrella and beg Piper to return to the Manor. The Woefully Neglected Done One needs her! Doesn't she understand that? Piper stares silently at them, then swirls from the rainswept hilltop set…
…over to the Whitelighterland bathhouse. Wow. Holly Marie Combs looks fantastic with wet hair. And can you tell I'm over this episode already? The Dolt asks the other ever-useless Elders for a little alone time with the insane ball-and-chain. The other ever-useless Elders meekly comply, for the Dolt is now their all-powerful and ultra-fabulous leader, or some such bullshit. Piper finally finds her voice, and uses it to rip the Dolt a new one for abandoning his family. I sort of care, until the Dolt starts blithering about how their "transcendent love" allowed him to move to a higher plane. Shut up, Dolt. Piper finally allows her human emotions to wash over her and, weeping, surrenders her goddessy goodness. The final bit of on-loan Mythological Mojo emerges from her body and heads back into the super-secret vault, presumably never to be used again. Piper sobs some more as she frets about raising their son on her own, especially after the Dolt reluctantly admits that he doesn't know when he'll be able to see them again. The Dolt offers to "help [her] find peace" through his new powers. Piper, wary, insists that he'll not be able to wipe out her memories of him. Pity, that. God knows, if he could wipe out my memories of him, I'd leap at the chance. The Dolt hugs her, the two get that heavenly, sick-making golden glow about them, and the screen flares white.
Night s-l-o-w-l-y fades into day. Over on Prescott Street, Phoebe and Raige whip up some fixings for brunch up in the Manor kitchen, babbling all the while about things I really don't care about. Like Chronic. And Raige's non-existent career goals. And the Dolt. As they tote their plates over to the dining room table, the doorbell rings. Darryl and The Dazzling Mrs. -- who, by the way, has yet to receive a first name -- enter with a floral arrangement and near-funereal attitudes. The four discuss Piper's current situation in hushed tones, like Piper just found out she has the cancer. Piper bursts through the gloom by bubbling down the stairs with hearty hugs and hellos for her houseguests. After the initial greetings, the conversation grinds to an uncomfortable halt. "Come on, guys!" Piper perks. "This is a celebration! [The Dolt] got promoted. We should all be happy for him. I am." Quizzical looks greet this last statement, but Piper insists that she's not lying to cover her real opinions on the matter; nor should anyone else see what just happened as some kind of loss. She invites everyone to sit while she races back upstairs for the baby monitor. Phoebe and Raige send Darryl and The Dazzling Mrs. into the dining room, then scuttle to the foot of the stairs for an urgently whispered processing summit. "That wasn't Piper," Phoebe hisses. "Maybe she moved on," Raige shrugs. "Piper doesn't move on. She fights," Phoebe insists. "I'm telling you, that wasn't Piper!" Is that a DUN!? It might be a DUN! Then again, it could just be Phoebe's stupidity marching to the fore one more time before the season's over. I suppose we'll have to wait until September to find out what's really going on.
Outside, Big Gay Chris relaxes on the front steps. The Dolt -- get this -- orbs onto the front walk in his hideous gold-toned velour robe. Way to go, Dolt. Wouldn't want to expose that magic to the neighbors and all those random passers-by, now would we? Asshole. How is this tool anything but a brainless douche? The Dolt's arrived to discuss the ever-useless Elders' plans for Big Gay Chris. It's clear he can't return to the future, as his original timeline's been obliterated by events over the last two endless hours. So, the ever-useless Elders have decided that, in light of the Dolt's promotion, Big Gay Chris is to assume the Dolt's former responsibilities as the Glamorous Ladies' Whitelighter. Hooray! Oh, but it gets even better. When the idiot Dolt orbs back up into the sky for the return trip to Heaven, Chris flicks out a jazz hand and blows the worthless Dolt right the fuck up! That would rate a DUN! if I actually gave a rat's ass about the stupid Dolt. But I don't, so for now I'll just be planning the civil union ceremony Big Gay Chris and I will have in Vermont at his earliest convenience. You know, ever since gay marriage first became a possibility in Hawaii ten years ago, I've wondered about the etiquette for a same-sex ceremony. I mean, would it be "Mr. and Mrs. Demian's Parents request the honor of your presence at the civil commitment ceremony uniting their son and his most recent partner-in-life, Chris Perry, the delightful parricide and son of Widow Dolt of San Francisco"? Or would Piper be the one to handle that job? Who pays? My parents, or the Glamorous Ladies? Should the families go Dutch? Would it be rude to ask Piper to handle the catering, seeing as how I hated my dead would-be father-in-law so much?
No matter. I have a very long summer hiatus to work these things out. In the meantime, let's see what my intended's up to. The sneaky little bastard -- God love him! -- casually glances to his right, then over to his left, just to make sure no one saw him blow the worthless Dolt right the fuck up! Hee! He rises from his place on the stairs, trots up to the front porch, eases open the door, enters, and lingers for a moment just inside the threshold. He flicks his right hand and slams shut the door with a jolt of telekinesis. I love you, Chris! The camera draws back slowly, then rises up into the air as Season Five finally -- finally -- fades to black.