Episode Report Card Demian: C | 1 USERS: A+ YOU GRADE IT Welcome To Fantathy Thithtern!
By Demian | Season 6 | Episode 6 | Aired on 10.25.2003
Over in Raige's fantasyland, several bleeping machines monitor the elderly magician's condition in a curtained corner of the emergency room while, in the background, a disembodied voice pages "Dr. Kurtz to Demonology." Kathryn Joosten worriedly hovers over the unconscious gent as Raige eases through the curtains to enter the room. Kathryn offers her heartfelt thanks to Raige for saving her husband's life. Raige begs off, noting that the hospital's medical staff is responsible for Charley's continued well-being. "I was just his cosmic taxi," she insists. Kathryn waves away this display of modesty and continues to lavish praise on the increasingly befuddled Raige. Raige once again wonders how Kathryn knew of Raige's bitchcraft. Kathryn doesn't directly answer the question as asked. Instead, she gets a bit feisty and asserts, "This ain't Salem, honey. There's no shame in being a witch today -- you should use your magic with pride!" Raige bugs out her eyes in disbelief as we…
…slam back to the Manor for a face-full of ass. No, seriously. One of the man-pantied GAY MALE STRIPPERS is wriggling his scantily clad rear end directly into the camera as Piper's dozen or so guests whoop and holler. Piper, by contrast, is mortified, likely because this GAY MALE STRIPPER sucks. What's that you said? Well, of course he sucks that way, but I'm talking about his utter lack of rhythm. You'd think with all the nipple ponies prancing around West Hollywood, the casting director would have found at least one who could dance. And you'd be wrong, as the next GAY MALE STRIPPER proves when he bounces gracelessly into the parlor to gyrate before the screeching clumps of estrogen arrayed on chairs around the room. Whatever. This scene represents an embarrassment for everyone involved -- and when you're talking about Charmed, that's saying a lot -- so let's cut to the chase: Piper hears Tiny Gay Chris wailing through the baby monitor, and excuses herself to check on him. Once she reaches The Patricia Campbell Hearst Commemorative Child-Care Nook, she realizes Tiny Chris is "burning up," and shoves one of those baby thermometers in his ear. When it beeps, she removes it to discover that he's working a hundred-and-two fever. "[Dolt]?" Piper cries, looking up. "Come on, [Tiny Chris] needs you!" There's no answer.
A bizarre quick-frame montage of three people waiting for the Number One bus to California and Sixth from Chinatown whisks us away from the Manor to dump us in the back of Chronic's limousine. No, seriously. Frame through that transition yourself and tell me if there was anything else of interest going on. And yes, I'm loosely defining "of interest," so feel free to mention that riveting shot of the lower two-thirds of a streetlamp if you must. Phoebe's unease increases as Chronic admits that he's already lined up affiliates in the twelve largest United States media markets to carry Ask Phoebe. Phoebe protests that things are moving far too quickly, but he just waves a hand at her all, "Stop whining." The bodyguard announces they're approaching "the penthouse," which only adds to Phoebe's mounting tension, as neither she nor Chronic lives in anything remotely resembling a high-rise. Wow. You really can't place a phrase like "mounting tension" next to "Phoebe" without eliciting a rapid-fire burst of revolting imagery, can you? Let's not dwell on those unpleasant thoughts, though, because something many of you have been praying for is about to unfold on our television screens. The bodyguard slides the limousine into a space adjacent to the apartment building, and a screaming horde of Phreaks crowd around the vehicle. As the edgy Feebs and beaming Chronic push their way through the throng, Phoebe shouts, "I don't think any of this is real! I think there's something wrong!" Chronic, basking in the glory of owning as valuable a media property as the woman on his arm, shrugs off her concerns, even when a skinhead breaks through the crowd to bellow, "My wife left me because of you!" Chronic hustles Phoebe along, but she stops him to insist, "This isn't my world -- this isn't even my fantasy! I know this isn't going to make any sense to you, but I think we're in some kind of alternate reality." As Chronic busts her chops for "talking crazy," the bodyguard spots a revolver poking up above crowd's collective head. He shouts, "Gun!" and the throng instantly parts as the divorced lunatic skinhead attached to the revolver yells, "It's time for you to feel pain!" Heh. Even in Chronic's alternate reality, people want Phoebe dead. Chronic dives to cover the Feebs, and the two slam towards the asphalt just as the pistol goes off. The skinhead scampers off as Chronic, bug-eyed, grunts, "Better get you inside." Phoebe withdraws her hand from his jacket to find blood trickling down her fingers. Hooray! But he should have shot Chronic in the face.
Phoebe hoots and yodels in shock and despair while the camera tracks back to take in alternate-reality vignettes of all three Glamorous Ladies, as currently monitored by Thimon through his cistern. In the upper image, Phoebe and the bodyguard yank Chronic to his feet and drag him out of the frame. Below, Piper enters the attic with the feverish Tiny Gay Chris as Raige continues chatting with poor Kathryn Joosten in the hospital room. "I don't understand!" Thimon rants as Big Gay Chris orbs into the cave. "Something wrong?" Big Chris too-casually wonders. Thimon explains that Chronic took a bullet meant for the Feebs, and that nothing like that has ever happened before in any alternate reality Thimon's created for his victims. Big Chris is all, "Whoa. Back up. You tried to kill one of them already?" Thimon notes that he simply creates worlds based upon individual dethirezth. How those worlds then operate is out of his control. "It's okay," Thimon mumbles as he turns and agitatedly crosses away from Big Chris, "their dethirezth will kill them eventually. That is what you dethire, isn't it?" Big Chris retrieves the vanquish from his pants pocket and palms it, waiting for the right moment to hurl it into Thimon's back. Unfortunately, Thimon conjures up a Darklighter's smoking crossbow and whips around to plant one of the arrows in Big Chris's stomach. Big Chris drops the vanquish and collapses rather fetchingly onto a conveniently placed animal pelt, where he gasps and shudders in anguished torment. Sigh. He's even pretty when he's impaled. Um. That reads a hell of a lot dirtier than it was meant. Just so you know. "I could sense your dethire from the beginning," Thimon sneers. "You never wanted to kill your charges, just teach them a lesson." Thimon grinds the vanquish beneath the toe of his boot as he confirms that the arrow now poking my husband's innards is, indeed, of the Darklighter variety. "The poison shouldn't take long," Thimon adds, "but with luck, you may just live long enough to watch the Charmed Ones learn their lesson after all." That should be a DUN!, but you know what? Desmond Askew wasn't in the opening credits, which means he'll be dead by the end of the hour, so I'm just not feeling the urgency here. Sorry. Big Gay Chris prettily pants his big gay way into the commercial break.