Previously on Charmed, they did some stuff in the season premiere, and they also did some more stuff in last week's episode, but we're apparently meant to forget everything about that episode in between. You know, the hateful one with the bareback nag. And the horse. Of particular importance in this sequence? That bit where Pepper Anderson and Detective Doormat storm up the stairs and barge into the Bridal Boudoir, whereupon the Dolt immediately flings Pepper into a wall. Immediately. Remember that. He immediately flung Pepper into a wall.
Currently on Charrrmed! -- ooops! Spoiler! Not -- the camera fades up on the nighttime facade of Halliwell Manor before heading inside to the nonexistent attic, wherein we find the Dolt looking pensive. Oh, shit. This one's all about the stupid Dolt and his Issues, isn't it? Crap. Piper enters from the upper stairwell and, long story short, urges the Dolt to invite one of his ever-useless brethren down for a social. The Dolt hems and haws and harrumphs and finally admits he's been seeing things. Large, floating, shimmery, Head-like things. That speak to him in creepy voices and tell him to spend nine dollars and fifty cents of his wife's hard-earned money on Sky Captain And The World Of Tomorrow. God, Gwyneth Paltrow sucks. Piper, pillar of strength and sanity that she is, instructs the Dolt to ignore the spooky manifestations and get cracking on that invitation thing. Because when something that is clearly supernatural threatens you on this show, it's always best to ignore it. Piper turns to leave, and as she does so, the look of calm determination drops from her face to be replaced by one of anxiety-laden doubt tinged with a little bit of fear. Heh. She thinks he's a fucking loon and doesn't want him anywhere near her kids. Hee. The Dolt, naturally, looks conflicted. Or, you know, constipated. Your pick.
Piper barely makes it down the flight of stairs to the second floor before she staggers a bit and gazes up to plead, "Please let him get through this." Who the hell is she talking to? God? God doesn't exist on this show, Piper. Whatever!
Up in the nonexistent attic, meanwhile, the same ever-useless Elder who encouraged the Dolt to sacrifice the Psycho for the greater good orbs in to greet everyone's least favorite Head-spotting nutjob. Oh, this should help matters. In the sense that it won't help matters at all, ever. The two mentally challenged gentlemen exchange uneasy pleasantries before the Dolt too-casually wonders if the ever-useless Elders have a bead on whomever offed Stupid Uncle Phil. Of course, they don't, but Elder Infanticide here vows that they will in due time. "We have to," he adds, likely referring to the unprecedented threat we're all supposed to be worried about but that no one saw fit to include in the "previously" segment. Because this show's smart like that. Remind us of Pepper's face-plant into the wall, and remind us of Raige's stupid new job at Not!warts, and by all means remind us of Slampiece Sparklies's misery-inducing existence on this planet because we so totally care about that douchebag, but the apparent overall story arc for the season? Don't bother with that one. After all, how important could that be? In any event, the Dolt finally gets to the point and admits to Elder Infanticide that, while he understands he can't be allowed back up to Whitelighterland until this Stupid Uncle Phil thing is settled, he'd still like to help out in some way. Elder Infanticide immediately gives the Dolt the skinny on a recent disturbing development. Two Whitelighters have lost track of their witchy charges over the last three nights. The missing gals are "practitioners" only and "not powerful," but their disappearances are the cause of some concern Up There. The Dolt eagerly accepts the assignment on behalf of the Manor Morons, and Elder Infanticide orbs on out of there.
“ 'Hello?' she asks, for it is incumbent upon every damsel in distress to greet her murderer politely before the screaming begins. Seriously, couldn't they every once in a while bellow, 'WHO THE FUCK IS FOLLOWING ME? You wanna piece of this, huh? HUH?! Well, come and TRY to fucking get it, FUCKKNOB. 'Cause I will GUT YOU like a FISH!' ”
"He LIES, [Dolt]!" Oh, crap. Heady Bizarre immediately squiggles into the nonexistent attic upon Elder Infanticide's exit, and I really need to come up with a nickname I haven't already wasted on squirrelly runts from Not!warts, but all the good gigantic head jokes were used up years ago in the Dawson's Creek reca...hey! So, James Van Der Beek, looking hella rough after a year and a half on the unemployment line -- like, lick it up, dicksmack. Lick. It. Up! -- swoops past the agitated Dolt before reeling around for another pass with "You can't trust him!" As the Beek flies through the air towards the windows, he adds, "You can't trust yourself!" before squiggling out again. The Dolt, considerably freaked by the unexpected appearance of the former teen idol, blunders about the nonexistent room for a bit until we cut to...
...a shot of one of the city's many hills, with the Bay Bridge looming far in the background. Actually, they've used this establishing shot over and over and over again, and if someone would be kind enough to provide me with the name of the street, I'd be eternally grateful. Anyway, once we've established that we are indeed still in San Francisco, the camera cuts to an overhead of a slim brunette exiting what I'm guessing is her little storefront and locking the door behind her. Of course, Slim's not exiting onto the brightly lit and well populated sidewalk, but rather into the dank, forbidding alleyway at the back of the shop, because stupidity is endemic on this program. Slim pockets her keys and begins the trek to, um, her razor scooter, or something, when she suddenly hears a disembodied someone whistling a vaguely familiar and jaunty tune. Well, it would be jaunty were we not echoing through a dank, forbidding alleyway, which almost always has the effect of making any whistled snatch of music sound psychotic and stalkerish. Slim freezes and warily pivots to scan the alleyway behind her. A gust of dry-ice "fog" billows around the far corner and rolls towards her as the disembodied whistling continues. The shot cuts to reveal a matching wave of dry-ice "fog" advancing upon Slim from the opposite direction. Slim tightens her ankle-length knit wrap around her body and makes to push herself out of the frame, but freezes again when the whistling is replaced by the sound of someone taking deliberate, heavy steps through the mist. "Hello?" she asks, for it is incumbent upon every damsel in distress to greet her murderer politely before the screaming begins. Seriously, couldn't they every once in a while bellow, "WHO THE FUCK IS FOLLOWING ME? You wanna piece of this, huh? HUH?! Well, come and TRY to fucking get it, FUCKKNOB. 'Cause I will GUT YOU like a FISH!" It does seem a little more appropriate to the situation, don't you think? No matter. The whistling kicks back in by way of response, so Slim quickens her pace to flee. The fog, which had been swirling about at knee level, rears up to fill the alleyway. The sound of shattering glass tinkles in the near distance. Slim gasps a bit and darts through encroaching mist to vanish as her tuneful, as-yet-unseen, broken-bottle-wielding murderer paces slowly behind her.
“ Finally! An opening travelogue! I don't know about you, but the lack of an opening travelogue for three straight episodes was beginning to unnerve me. Because I fear change. ”
Somewhere else, but presumably somewhere nearby, Slim slams into a tiny little apartment and locks the door behind her. She deserves to die for that hideous blouse alone. Seriously. It looks like someone (Eilish) scarfed down a rack of vintage Pucci and vomited the resulting mess all over Slim's torso. Slim heaves a sigh of relief now that she's safe, but ooops! She'd left the window open. Dang! Don't you hate when that happens? You're Jamie Lee Curtis, and you're running from something in the fog, and you run and you run and you finally get to your house and safety and slam and lock the door behind you, only to realize you've stupidly left every fricking window in the house open, so the fog creeps in anyway and DEATH! Speaking of death, sorry about your mother's, Lady Haden-Guest. No, seriously. I loved her in The Manchurian Candidate. Anyway, Slim scurries over to shut the window, and yes, the mysterious whistler pops into the frame at that very moment to grab her arm and spin her around into a chokehold. Only he comes at her from behind instead of leaping in through the window along with the mist, because this show is ass, and I want to die. "Anyone tell you not to walk alone at night, witch?" he hisses into her ear, and he's a pirate. No, really. He's got the do-rag and the earrings and the scurvy-ridden teeth and everything. Arrr! He also recently appeared as Richard Dawson in the critically acclaimed Auto Focus, so it's nice to know his career's been going so well lately. The pirate slings Slim over his shoulder in a fireman's carry as Slim cries for the help that of course will never arrive. The scurvy cur then leaps onto the windowsill and vaporizes into the fog as Slim's screams echo into the night. Because Raige will soon require a clue -- and by that I mean an actual, physical clue and not, you know, the brain she's been missing for a good two years, though she's sorely in need of that later on as well -- the pirate manages to drop a skull-emblazoned doubloon as he goes. The coin spins madly on the hardwood floor for a bit before settling into the opening credits.
Finally! An opening travelogue! I don't know about you, but the lack of an opening travelogue for three straight episodes was beginning to unnerve me. Because I fear change. The travelogue is brief, ovary-free, and anviliciously reliant upon shots of the early morning mist rolling across the city from the ocean, but it is oh, so welcome at Casa Demian. Over on Prescott Street, the kettle whistles -- get it? -- up in the kitchen as Piper futzes with a baby monitor at the center island and the Dolt groans in frustration at the table. As Piper prepares some tea, the Dolt agonizes over his failed attempts to scry for the two missing "practitioners." Piper settles into a chair to her ex-husband and instructs him to list the disappearances' "common denominators." "Besides the fact that they're witches," the Dolt replies, "the fog rolled in just before they disappeared." "Well, of course the fog rolled in," Piper deadpans playfully. "It's San Francisco." She begins flipping through the Book of Shadows as the Dolt smirks at her fondly. "What?" she asks, catching his eye. "Nothing," he shrugs. "It's just that I miss this." "Sleepless nights and endless exposition?" she prompts. "Not me." Aw. Not.
“ Pepper goes cross-eyed and drops out of the frame, revealing Kerr Smith, Who Is Still Not Gay In Case You Were Wondering, And In Fact Has Perfect Non-Gay Aim With His Little Dart Gun, in the background. Oh, whatever. ”
La Cueva Del Booty. Phoebe and Piper arrive with the chalice. As his merry band of swashbuckling sissies looks on, Harrr!ve takes the chalice from Phoebe's hand and, after depositing his parrot on a nearby stack of trunks, crosses to The Fountain Of Pock-Marked Plaster Of Paris, where he orders Piper to recite the following spell:
With these offerings, I call on Thee,
The Goddess Of Fertility:
Rise now. Show us the truth.
Give us the gift of eternal youth.
The Fountain Of Pock-Marked Plaster Of Paris, which features a nymrod toting an urn, immediately expels a stream of glowing blue liquid into the chalice. The pirates Arrr!, as is their wont. Harrr!ve sucks down about half the liquid in the cup and immediately flares white before morphing into some twentysomething actor who looks absolutely nothing like a young Harrr!ve Presnell, but no one really cares, because he's not sticking around long enough to merit much of our attention. You see, when Piper demands he live up to his end of the bargain by restoring Raige, Not Really Harrr!ve replies by ordering his underlings to off Piper and Phoebe. Phoebe invokes parley, correctly arguing that, as Not Really Harrr!ve has broken a promise, his crew no longer owes him allegiance. The Scurvy Cur knocks Not Really Harrr!ve to the ground and runs him through with a cutlass. That would be the sword, not the discontinued automobile. Not Really Harrr!ve morphs quickly back into Yep It's Really Harrr!ve form before dissolving in a puff of smoke and ash. Scurvy Cur and the other guys hang around long enough to thank Phoebe for freeing them from their particular brand of Hell on earth before they, too, break apart into dust. Harrr!ve's parrot gets in one final squawk before he vanishes as well, and I'm sorry, but if he was a corporealized ghost, too, how did he get to the Manor in broad daylight with no fog? I hate this stupid, assy show. Phoebe snatches up the chalice to deliver its remaining contents to Raige as Piper, noting that they "don't want this happening again," detonates The Fountain Of Pock-Marked Plaster Of Paris with her Hands. Pepper, who'd sneaked up behind them during all of the fun, pulls her service revolver on them and orders them face-down onto the ground. Pleas to the Doormat for assistance go unanswered, but quite suddenly, Pepper goes cross-eyed and drops out of the frame, revealing Kerr Smith, Who Is Still Not Gay In Case You Were Wondering, And In Fact Has Perfect Non-Gay Aim With His Little Dart Gun, in the background. Oh, whatever. "Who are you?" Piper demands. "Someone you owe now," he replies before adding, "Go on, get out of here. You got a sister to save, right?" Piper and Phoebe goggle for a bit before leaving La Cueva Del Booty for good. Once they've gone, Kerr Smith, Not Gay And Loving It!, tucks the dart gun into his waistband and asks of the Doormat, "Think you can give me a hand with her?" The Doormat gapes. "Seriously," Kerr Smith, Who Is Most Strenuously Not Gay, Yet Not Quite Heterosexually Strenuous Enough To Deal With Pepper On His Own, adds. "I think I'm gonna need some help." They bend to haul the still unconscious Pepper to her feet as the screen cross-fades to a brief closing travelogue that eventually takes us back to the Manor.
“ Raige mumbles something about the Dolt doing 'a good job.' Wish I could say the same for the continuity editor. ”
Up in the Bridal Boudoir, the neglectful Dolt lies unconscious on the bed with a book open on his chest. Tiny Gay Chris writhes beside him atop the comforter while the dead-eyed Psycho stares at them both with murderous intent. We find Piper, still clad in her ridiculous Dieterwear, gazing fondly at the trio from the doorway, as a freshly rejuvenated Raige bounds down the stairs from the attic. There's banter about the aging process before Raige wonders what "that Agent Brody guy" wanted. Piper admits she hasn't a clue before Raige redirects her attention towards the slumbering Dolt. The book's gone from his chest in this shot, but reappears in the cut over to the bed after Raige mumbles something about the Dolt doing "a good job." Wish I could say the same for the continuity editor. The gals ponder the Dolt's many mysteries for a moment before Raige bids her sister goodnight and heads back up to the attic. No sooner has Raige vanished up the stairs than Elder Infanticide orbs in to take her place. "It's not over yet, you know," he opens. Piper spins around, shocked at the intrusion. "Just don't give up on him, Piper," he continues. "We're all going to need him back before The Gathering Storm." And with that, Elder Infanticide orbs right back out through the ceiling, leaving the violated Piper to very deliberately cross into her bedroom and lock the door behind her.
All The News That's Fit To Fuck Me, and EW! I am not recapping this. Phoebe arrives to apologize for skipping her "date" with Sparklies earlier that evening, and by way of apology has sex with him on her assistant's desk. No, I'm not kidding with that. And...scene!
Oh, and...episode! as well. How...long overdue. week, something happens, but I really couldn't tell you what that something is because the promo's all about The Amazing Incredible Heterosexual, Charisma Carpenter, and Nick Lachey. Watch it if you dare.