Previously on Charmed, nothing prior to last week, apparently.
Currently on Charmed, a bored-looking Raige leads a bespectacled prospective student named April and her father on a tour of the Not!warts facilities, and I'll let you in on a little secret: This scene has absolutely nothing to do with anything else that happens this evening. Nothing at all. And during it, they even manage to fuck completely with the continuity, notably when Raige introduces "Professor Drake" to the prospective and her dad as the "visiting lecturer on advanced magical compositions," like, NO, Raige. He's the literature teacher, you idiot. Elder Q should be shot in the face for giving you this damn job. Drake, who'd been flung from his Dixieland-jazz-flooded classroom by some damn thing or another, actually amends Raige's description of his job with, "In this case, magical musical compositions -- that's the use of meter and tempo in spell-casting and conjuring." Pity no one thought to teach the proper use of meter and tempo in spell-casting and conjuring to the benighted Glamorous Ladies of Halliwell Manor, who, despite being the most powerful trio of witches in the world's history, regularly compose garbage couplets that barely rhyme and never scan. And...that's all I have to say about this. Really. This utterly pointless scene finally ends when Drake quite literally shimmies into the opening credits, and I have never been so happy to hear a Smiths cover in all of my life.
Hello, time-wasting opening travelogue with ovary! Tonight's features time-lapse shots of the bay and the city's waterfront section as the ovary groans, "I can't make me love you" a couple of times before dissolving into a series of Whoa-Ho-Oh-Ohs, and that pretty much has nothing to do with tonight's plot, either. Not that I'm complaining much, because with the previouslys, the pointless pre-credits sequence, and the travelogue, we're already a tenth of the way through the episode's running time, and I've reached this point in less than 350 words. Hooray!
The camera eventually dives down amid the skyscrapers to find a visibly distraught middle-aged security guard jittering around the middle of a street, wildly swinging his automatic around as various passersby shriek and duck for cover. The actor entrusted with the thankless task of portraying the guard this evening is Charlie Robinson, an apparent veteran of Night Court. Which I never watched, because it was pure, unadulterated evil condensed into bite-sized thirty-minute chunks of time. However, many on the boards found his a reassuring presence tonight, and I suppose that's all that really matters. Except for the potentially troublesome bit that follows. Charlie, not so much simply deranged as he is crazed with fear and grief, wails, "They'll burn!" over and over again as all those within shooting range ignore his cries in favor of cowering behind various potted plants and such. "We're all trapped!" he practically weeps, before wandering over to a terrified motorist and waving his gun around outside the woman's tightly closed driver's-side window. "I don't wanna hurt nobody, but I need somebody to listen to me!" we hear Charlie plead as a uniformed cop stealthily weaves through stalled traffic with his service revolver at the ready. "We need help!" Charlie weeps, tapping the car's window with the butt of his gun for emphasis. "We need help!" And this is the potentially troublesome bit I mentioned earlier: Few on the boards were able to believe a white cop would simply tackle a frenzied and armed black man to the ground before cuffing him, as Officer Non-Deadly Force now does. I'd like to say that thought never occurred to me, because I knew from spoilers that Charlie is an ex-cop himself and therefore would be extended the courtesy -- if you can call it that -- of not being plugged, Diallo-like, with eighty or ninety slugs prior to his corpse's subsequent arrest, but to be honest with you? The thought never occurred to me because I've long since shut off most of my brain while watching this crap. So there you go.
In any event, Officer Dainty McFluffycakes manages to knock Charlie's gun from the latter's hand during the tackle, and as he hustles the now-manacled Charlie off towards a squad car, Charlie pleads once more, "You don't understand -- the fire! We gotta help Marie!" "They're gonna burn!" he moans repeatedly as he's dragged out of the frame. As Charlie's cries dissipate, the camera pans across clusters of supposedly shaken eyewitnesses before it leaps over to the idle construction site I'm thinking we're meant to believe Charlie was guarding. A few deeply ominous tones hit the soundtrack as the camera shudders in close to land on a couple of half-buried and blackened timbers as the unearthly screams of twenty or thirty people erupt from the ground. That was sort of creepy, actually, but I'm guessing it's because I used to work on the same downtown block that pretty much saw both the Iroquois Theater fire and the Eastland disaster, so I understandably get a little tense when the souls of the tormented urban dead start shrieking at me from beyond the grave.
Um. That does happen to everybody occasionally, right?
As the howls of the damned echo away, the shot abruptly cuts to the dead-eyed Psycho perched upon the Bridal Boudoir's duvet back at the Manor, and hee! I'm certain they were aiming for the whole unnerving-juxtaposition-of-dark-demonic-horror-with-dewy-blond-innocence thing, and if that's so, their aim couldn't have been farther off. You can almost hear the Psycho murmuring, "Excellent! It's all going precisely as planned!" Unfortunately, the bemulleted beast has nothing to do with the howls of tonight's doomed day-players, but still: Funny. He's actually pawing his way through what appears to be an Italian phrasebook, as his parental units intend to orb off on a short vacation with him and the mutant, chewed-up wad of whale blubber currently masquerading as his eventually far-prettier younger brother. Piper can't wait to reach -- in her cracked pronunciation, not mine -- "Eye-talia," but the Dolt, somewhat predictably, has his reservations, and believes they should hold off on any traveling until the ever-useless Elders have pronounced their judgment on him for his role in the recent Avatar debacle. Sounds tiresome, yes? Well, make sure you're sitting down for what I'm about to say: This scene's actually embarrassingly endearing, in the way such Piper-and-the-Dolt interludes frequently used to be before those tedious and never-ending bouts of marital strife devoured their shared storyline, like, four years ago. Yes, all this too has little if anything to do with this evening's plot, but Brian Krause actually manages to elicit a snerk from me at one point in the conversation when the Dolt shoots the disapproving Piper a goofy, too-bright smile in response to one of her withering glares. Heh. In any event, Piper overrules all of the Dolt's objections to the trip and, lugging the blubber wad from its product-placed hand-me-down playpen, crosses to join her husband, older son, and luggage at the bed. The Dolt swings his arms around the wife and the Psycho and orbs everyone off to the Leaning Tower of Pisa.
Oh, Christ on a stick. Someone thought it would be amusing to cut from that to a leaning tower of plates down in the kitchen. On the plates? Pizza. Geddit? I hate this show. Have they cancelled it yet? Why won't they cancel it? Sigh. Even more painful than that awful visual joke is what follows, as the camera rises above the plates to focus on Phoebe in the background of the shot. She's balanced on the center island with her pink cell pressed to her ear, nattering something to Elise Rothman, Girl Editor on the other end of the line, but that's not what's so soul-suckingly hideous about this. No, the eye-searing monstrosity would actually be the stripey, tightly fitted top Phoebe's barely wearing in this scene, which is scooped so far below her sternum that the audience is now catching more of Alyssa Milano's titties than Cinjun Tate, Justin Timberlake, Carl Pavano, Barry Zito, and Matt Leinhart saw while those gentlemen were dating and/or married to her. Combined. Seriously, I have no idea what's keeping the Fun Bags from popping right out of that thing to clog-dance on the center island. Nor do I care to learn. In any event, Phoebe's trying to get Elise to shift her scheduled interview with Cosmo from the office to the Manor, because Phoebe's Issue Of The Week involves her problems with, uh, time management. Or something like that. I so do not care at this point. Elise evidently puts Phoebe on hold to discuss the latter's demand with the magazine's representatives, allowing Raige an opening to snort something about Phoebe's newfound obsessive-compulsive disorder with regards to scheduling. Just go with it. It Is Always Easier When You Just Go With It. "What's going on?" Raige wonders. "I don't know," Phoebe sighs. "Maybe meeting Drake and realizing what little time he has left has made me want to make the most of the time I have left?" she guesses. "Of course!" Raige responds instantly. "That must be the answer," she continues, turning to deal with that asinine stack of dishes. "I mean, I don't know why I even bothered asking in the first place -- after all, I should have known you'd take a complete stranger's problems and make them all. About. YOU." Or maybe Raige says none of those things and instead attempts to kick-start her own Issue Of The Week by bitching about all the time she's been spending at Not!warts. Before I get a chance to scream at her for that statement, the doorbell rings. Phoebe hops off the counter to answer it while babbling something into the phone about her busy day, which includes a lecture she's giving at "City College" that afternoon. City College? Excuse me? Let's just pretend she actually said "The Learning Annex" and keep this moving, shall we? Because it is way too early in the recap for an embolism. Bitch.
Phoebe snaps shut her cell just as she reaches the front door, and Raige, who'd trailed along behind her from the kitchen, guhs, "Jeez, woman, you're a machine!" "Every moment counts!" Phoebe chirps before -- get this -- ordering Raige to have the Manor cleaned up by two. Raige does not employ her orbing telekinesis to brain her loathsome, repugnant, self-centered hag of a half-sister with one of the parlor's handy andirons. Rather, Muggy McGowan squints her eyes, wrinkles her nose, and drags her collagen-enhanced lips out to either side of her face while rolling her shoulders around and gesticulating antically with her arms and such as Phoebe spins to open the door. The woman is having a goddamned seizure right there in the hall. Not that I particularly care, mind you, for we finally -- at long, long last -- get this evening's A plot moving with the arrival of Detective Doormat, who's there with news of a possible demonic possession. Distraught Charlie, whom the Doormat notes was his "mentor" and "the one that brought [the Doormat] into the force," has evidently been pitched into the mental ward. The Doormat, however, claims to have worked with the Glamorous Ladies long enough to know when something Hellish is involved, and refuses to believe his friend's lost his freaking mind. "Mike," upon retiring from the department, took a security job "at a jewelry store on Market," and just lately has begun experiencing "episodes" to the point where "he just snapped" yesterday, waving his gun around and raving about "some terrible fire at Cabaret Fantôme." The Doormat, who's been such a tiresome pill for such a long time, rather gratifyingly begs the gals to help him figure out what's really going on, so Phoebe shifts around the various items on her day's agenda to allow for a bit of research in the paper's archives. Raige, meanwhile, is to head off to the loony bin with the Doormat to interview Mike, and they'll all meet back at the Manor at -- as Phoebe would have it -- "1:10." As Phoebe vanishes off the front porch, the Doormat wiggles an eyebrow in Raige's direction. Muggy McGowan twitches her shoulders uncontrollably while twisting her face into a series of garish grimaces and shaking her head vehemently back and forth. Dude. It's Tourette's, isn't it? Three and half years on this show, and she's ended up with Tourette's. Again, though, I can't feel too sorry for her, especially because it only took me eight episodes. Fart! Dildo! Buh-buh-buh-big! Big titties! Shit! SHIT WHORES!
What's this? "Bay General Hospital"? What happened to The Only Hospital In San Francisco? Is it closed for repairs? Whatever. Like I care. After we linger on the establishing shot of this never-before-seen medical institution, the camera jumps to a room indoors, where an orderly's strapping an agitated Mike into restraints. "I don't have much time!" Mike howls as Raige and Detective Doormat gaze at him from the hall. "It doesn't seem demonic," Raige breathes softly. "He just mostly seems afraid and panicky." "Here goes," she sighs, striding over to the bed. The moment she reaches his side, Mike jerks violently in his restraints and gasps, "Marie?" "No, I'm [Raige]," she gently corrects before asking, "Who's Marie?" "My fiancée," Mike snaps. During the feverish exchange that follows, we learn that Mike believes he's someone named "George," and that these George and Marie people are "trapped" along with everybody else at the club. When the Doormat attempts to address his friend, Mike howls, "We're all gonna die! Don't you understand that?" "If that's not a possession, what is it?" the Doormat demands. Raige, clueless, nonetheless shoots a compassionate look at the old man bound to the gurney before darting out of the frame.
Over at Not!warts, Phoebe slaps a Xeroxed copy of the November 17, 1899, edition of The Daily Clarion -- and no, no newspaper of that name ever existed in San Francisco -- onto a table in the Not-So-Great Hall. The main headline, positioned above a rotogravure of the ludicrously moustachioed David Anders, shouts, "DIABOLICAL DEATH AT CLUB FANTOME." The text of the story itself is mostly blurred but does manage to reveal that "about a hundred" people died when the cabaret burst into flames "at the stroke of midnight." "Looks like [the Doormat]'s friend might not be so crazy after all," Phoebe notes. "It seems the Count's club," she continues, referencing the article, "was 'the biggest, most corrupt in the city' right until it burned down, killing everyone inside." Raige, leaping to entirely unwarranted conclusions, wonders why this Count person would torch his own club and then stand there to roast along with everyone else. "Maybe we should talk to George," she muses. At Phoebe's prompting, Raige reveals she believes George to be "somebody who died in the fire." "I think he's a spirit who's possessed Mike," she continues, "and he's crying out for help." "Why would he need help?" Phoebe dims. "The fire happened over a hundred years ago." "Help from the pain of being a lost soul, perhaps?" Drake rather theatrically supposes as he powers into the room from points unknown, toting a rather dusty tome entitled Possessions, Confessions, And Ghostly Obsessions: A Demon's Guide To Everything Magical. Drake dumps the book on the table, parenthetically explaining he used to sell them "lair to lair" back in the day. "Talk about a tough item to move," he adds with a smirk, and good goddamn. This episode just got a massive shot of adrenaline the second he appeared onscreen.
In any event, the book, of its own accord, flips open to an entry on "Lost Souls," which it defines as "spirits of the dead unable to move on because of spiritual confusion." Drake helpfully notes that such confusion tends to be linked to major disasters like "the fires of Gomorrah," "the Flood," and "Pompeii," and I feel like smacking somebody for looping stories from the Old Testament into this show's mythology, but before I get a chance to do so, Drake's book starts jumping around on the table. "Likes to show off," he smiles, as Phoebe and Raige goggle. Eventually, the book spits out a length of rope that stretches up towards the ceiling. There's a heavy, tangled knot halfway up, by the way. "What the hell?" Raige bleats. "Don't be afraid," Drake assures her. "It's simply illustrating a point -- that when souls die at once, the good ones can't move on because the bad ones are holding them back, and vice versa. They're lost, stuck in their respective afterlives, unaware of their tragic fate. It's really...sad, actually." Through all this, the rope has been sliding up and down as if in a tug-of-war between Heaven and Hell. Also, Raige has been gaping at Drake all, "You are totally making this bullshit up as you go along, aren't you?" Heh. Yes, Raige. Yes, he is, but remember the audience's trusty incantation in situations such as this one: Just Go With It, For It Is Always Easier When You Just Go With It.
As the rope shudders back into the book, Phoebe wonders, "If they're unaware, how are we supposed to help George?" A far better question would have been, "If they're unaware, how in fucking hell did George know to possess a security guard with friends on the police force?" But Phoebe's an idiot, so whatever. Also, and this probably goes without saying, we never do learn the answer to that far better question, because this show blows, and I want to die. In any event, Drake hastily exposits that they'll have to enter the lost souls' world via a spell he'll not reveal unless they agree to take him along for the ride. Once they've traveled into the past, or the time loop, or the parallel dimension, or wherever the hell the subsequent scenes are meant to take place, they'll simply have to find a way to vanquish "the bad soul" that's holding all of the good ones back. Phoebe protests mightily that she's not about to let the ex-demon tag along on the trip. "Come on," he grins, "how many chances do we have to go back to the 1890s?" How'd you know it was the 1890s if you were in the other room while Phoebe was supplying that necessary bit of exposition, you big, oddly appealing dork? Oy. Raige needlessly reminds them all that going to the 1890s isn't the problem -- the problem is getting back in one piece. "The spell will only keep us with the souls until the moment they become lost," Drake explains. "In this case, it's when the fire begins." How...convenient. But trust me, it's far from the most conveniently appearing plot contrivance we'll be meeting this evening. Not by a long shot. Raige puckers her lips in frustration and exits to consult other sources as Drake moves in to croon Phoebe into joining him on his merry little jaunt backwards in time to the horrific, ghastly, unspeakable disaster that cost a hundred people their lives. Phoebe begs off, citing her stupid Cosmo interview, but Drake's undeterred. He points out that her power of premonition would be most helpful in this particular situation, and adds, teasingly enough, "It is the logical step in our whirlwind romance." Despite herself, Phoebe twinkles with delight and beams back at him. "What whirlwind romance?" she grins. "The one we'd be having if we had time," he smirks, cocking his eyebrow. "Come on -- I don't have long to live," he continues. "I'm dying, here, and a soul needs your help. So whaddya say?" Phoebe sighs and shakes her head around a couple of times, but it's clear she's fallen for the Zane. As would I have, frankly, despite his using a line so hoary it didn't even work during the Black Death. I mean, "I'm dying"? That's never pulled tail for anyone anywhere, has it? Oh, wait a minute. It actually turned Susan Lewis into a statutory rapist onE.R. Never mind.
As a few pensive strings hit the soundtrack, the shot cuts to focus on the rotogravure of the ludicrously moustachioed David Anders, in the process revealing the text of the accompanying article. Once again, the article contains details mentioned nowhere else in the episode that clarify, to an extent, what's actually going on. The most important bit is the fact that Anders's "Count Roget" was "on the verge of bankruptcy" at the time of the fire. Keep that in mind so I don't have to rant about his apparent lack of proper motivation later on in the recap, but it would be nice if they managed to include such information in the actual dialogue every now and then. Assholes.
Back at the construction site from the top of the hour, the camera pans past various pieces of earth-digging equipment as Raige swings Piper's Grand Cherokee into a parking spot. As she shuts off the engine, Raige gives the lot a skeptical side-eye and wonders, "Are you sure this is the place?" Phoebe, referencing the old newspaper article, confirms this is indeed the location of the horrific, ghastly, unspeakable disaster that cost a hundred people their lives. "A vacant lot after a hundred and six years?" Raige squints, and I have no idea why this is such a huge, hairy deal for her. The site of the St. Valentine's Day Massacre in Chicago is now a vacant lot. I'd imagine the site of the Iroquois Theater fire would also be a vacant lot had some genius not come up with the macabre idea to build the Oriental Theater on the same plot of land. Besides, it's clearly not going to be vacant for much longer. Shut up, Raige. Drake babbles something stupid about the spot being "cursed" before leaping into the back seat with the Feebs. Only he's much more charming with the stupidity than Raige was, so I can forgive him for it. The spell, which Drake snaps into existence in his hand, will render both Drake and Phoebe unconscious, and it's less "conspicuous" for the two to be "slumped" in the back seat, you see. Raige had made the point that it would be even less conspicuous if they took their fucking naps back at the Manor, but Drake claims they need to be as close as is physically possible to the souls they intend to save. Phoebe takes a moment to remind Raige to have Elise bump her Cosmo interview by two hours. "I'm all over it," Raige assures her. Liar. Drake mutters something unimportant about making every moment count before reading the following from his conjured piece of parchment:
Free our souls from their shells,
See where the lost spirits dwell:
Long enough to find their pain,
Quick enough to return again.
With that, Phoebe and Drake's heads instantly drop back against the seats. Raige eyes her unconscious companions uneasily for a moment before settling back to wait for the spell to run its course. The shot cuts to take in the Grand Cherokee from across the street before the screen flares white and dumps us...
...back in 1899, where Phoebe and Drake materialize on a balcony at the top of a winding staircase above Cabaret Fantôme's main floor. Billy Zane's wearing his tuxedo from Titanic, along with far too much mascara. Alyssa Milano's sporting a long, red, satin number that's far more concealing than you'd expect it to be, with a tuft of matching feathers in her hair and a black ribbon at her throat. She doesn't look good, exactly, but she's not entirely hideous, either. "Oh, my!" Phoebe exclaims, pleased with her ensemble as she and Drake gaze down upon the crowd below, which seems to consist of an odd mix of whores, their johns, and a startling number of slumming society ladies. Maybe the latter are "actresses." There's also a small stage, upon which a piano player sits at an upright, pounding out "The Band Played On." From 1895. Yes, I checked, because I was certain they'd fuck something up in these sequences, and anachronous musical selections seemed a likely choice. But get this: Someone on the production staff finally learned how to Google, apparently, for all of the tunes featured in the club scenes were written in or before 1899. I'm shocked, I tell you. Then again, they also apparently used their newfound mad Googling skillz to strip tacky-sounding MIDI files of those tunes off the Internet in order to slap them onto the soundtrack, so don't think I'm giving any of them too much credit. In any event, Phoebe and Drake compliment each other on their respective looks and begin to descend the stairs. "What do we do now?" Phoebe worries. "Mingle," he winks. As they dive into the crowd, David Anders and his ludicrously fake moustache catch sight of the pair, and he leaps to his feet to exclaim, "Toulouse! Who the hell is that?" "Toulouse," an older flunky-type with facial hair even more elaborate and asinine than David Anders's, admits he's never seen them before and obediently trots off to learn their identities as David Anders eyes the new arrivals with an inordinate amount of interest. This, unfortunately, will be the greatest amount of interest he shows in any of tonight's proceedings for the remainder of the hour. Snore. Also, I feel sort of sorry for the guy. I mean, he's only twenty-four years old, and he's already going bald. And then there's that fake moustache. Shudder. As the pianist reaches the first chronologically correct tune's final flourish, Drake and Phoebe meet Count Rogaine's steely yet curious gaze with a pair of their own before disappearing into the commercial break.
"So all of these people are stuck in some sort of ghostly limbo?" Phoebe asks when we return. Incidentally, the piano player's moved on to "Daisy Bell," better known as "A Bicycle Built For Two," better known as "That Creepy-Ass Song HAL Sang As Dave Ripped His Brains Out In 2001: A Space Odyssey." HAL so wanted in Dave's pants. It's sad, really. Could have been one of the great love stories of our time, if that bastard Dave had just realized how much HAL cared for him. Stupid Daves ruin everything. Anyway, Drake basically confirms Phoebe's suspicions before encouraging her to enjoy herself, noting that it's not often one gets to experience "The Gilded Age" first-hand -- an era, by the way, he defines as "a time when everyone thought life couldn't possibly get any better." Because raging cholera epidemics were, like, so totally da bomb. Tuberculosis? I'll take two, please -- one for each lung! And what's that, you say? Typhus? Yummy! And for dessert, how about a little of that emerging polio pandemic with a sprinkling of diphtheria on top? Absolutely stupendous! Drake also rather inanely exults, "There was science! There was art! There was peace and love and romance! Everything was a celebration!" Yeah. The Spanish-American War was one big fucking worldwide party, wasn't it, doll? Don't be such a retard, Drake. That's Phoebe's job. And get back to the damn plot already while you're at it. Unfortunately, he ignores me entirely, so it's left to a scantily clad showgirl to further the story along as she bellows, "George!" a couple of times before storming over to the nightclub's fortune teller to demand, "What did you do to him?" The fortune teller lies that she hasn't a clue what Marie's talking about as Phoebe and Drake exchange significant glances. "Don't lie to me!" Marie continues, hands firmly planted on her sassy little hips. "I saw him over here talking to you, and now he's gone!" "He likes my cards," the fortune teller rather cryptically replies, before turning to welcome an apparently well-heeled customer to her table. Marie huffs in frustration and stomps off, only to be stopped by Phoebe and Drake, who quickly determine that Marie knows nothing of the impending inferno. As Marie disappears towards another corner of the nightclub, Drake correctly surmises that none of the people around them realize what's about to happen, as they're caught in "a loop." "What could cause such a thing?" Phoebe demands. Um, dumbass? Over here. Yeah, that was a stupid question, because you nearly DIED four years ago as a result of a cursed time loop your sister and your ex-boyfriend had to break in order to save your sorry ass. And how did you repay them? That's right. You killed them. Shut the fuck up, you dim hag. Drake ignores me -- because he can, because he presumably has no knowledge of those bits of Halliwell history -- and rephrases Phoebe's question to wonder who would cause such a thing. He shoots an accusatory glare in Count Rogaine's direction, which Phoebe follows with one of her own.
Over at Count Rogaine's table, poor David Anders is fighting a losing battle with the ludicrous moustache they've indifferently taped to his upper lip. In all honesty, however, he doesn't look like he much cares. Just another paycheck, I'm guessing, but I probably should take a moment to note that I quite simply do not get the raging lust this guy sparks up in the hearts of those wacky Alias fans. At all. Then again, I never got the Clay Aiken thing, either, so what the hell do I know? Well, aside from good taste and better judgment, I mean, at least as far as that...that...garden gnome from North Carolina is concerned. In any event, a brief scene ensues during which Count Rogaine pretty much spills the entire secret of the time loop to the thick-headed Toulouse, who doesn't get it. Count Rogaine sighs wearily and orders Toulouse to fetch the new arrivals a couple of cocktails, as he'd like them to be "comfortable" when he finally meets them. The camera cuts back over to a suspicious-looking Phoebe and Drake before the screen flares to whisk us back...
...to the Manor, where Raige has arranged the still-unconscious Phoebe and Drake upon the wicker chairs on the sun porch. I'm just going to assume she was told to move the Grand Cherokee at some point in a scene we'll never see, after which she returned to the Manor and orbed the two from the car into the house. That okay with everyone? Good. The doorbell rings, and it's Elise Rothman, Girl Editor with the Cosmo crew, and I don't care about any of this at all, so let's cut to the end: Elise is horrified to find Phoebe passed out on the sun porch, but Raige assures Elise she'll have Phoebe meet them all at All The News That's Fit To Fuck Me in "a couple of hours." No, you don't need to know anything else about that scene. No, you don't. Shut up and trust me for once, okay? Raige, frazzled, clomps back onto the sun porch and bellows at the ceiling for Piper and the Dolt, who presently orb in with the kids from Venice, where, as Piper peevishly snits, they were about to embark on a gondola ride, so "this better be an emergency." The second she spots the unconscious Feebs, she blurts out something in Eye-talian I'll not be transcribing, as the screen flares and we head back to...
...Cabaret Fantôme, where the piano player's moved on to "The Maple Leaf Rag" while Phoebe and Drake have moved onto Count Rogaine's private sofa. Drake spots Sally Rand or whomever on the stage, which allows Count Rogaine an opportunity to wax both rhapsodic and skeevy about the many wonders of the fan dance. "Is the dance ever performed by a man?" Phoebe coolly replies once he's finished. No, Phoebe, because that would be the gayest thing ever. Ew. Get a grip, woman. And I'm not certain, but this whole otherwise pointless discussion of the fan dance might be the glaring anachronism I've been searching for all evening. I called the fan dancer "Sally Rand," but she didn't become a national sensation until the Chicago World's Fair of 1933. However, in 1893, a San Francisco talent agent named Sol Bloom was hired to concoct and manage the Midway Plaisance at Chicago's World Columbian Exposition, and he ended up introducing the country to both Little Egypt, the infamous belly dancer, and "The Streets Of Cairo," better known as "The Snake Charmer Song." My point? They should have had a fucking belly dancer. Ignorant assholes.
Heh. Got 'em.
Anyway, Phoebe and Drake inquire as to George's whereabouts, thereby allowing Count Rogaine to claim he's been increasingly concerned about George's erratic behavior as of late. Count Rogaine then changes the topic by slyly suggesting -- in a futile attempt to get them out of the nightclub -- that Drake and Phoebe slip across the street to his favorite tobacconist's. He views them as a threat, I guess, but I was actually paying far more attention to the music in the background during all of this to care much one way or the other. When Phoebe agrees to do so if and only if Count Rogaine joins them, Count Rogaine offers them a sad smile along with his regrets as he glances up at the clock to note it's now two minutes to midnight. "The show must go on," he offers by way of explanation as the pianist calls the Count to the stage. Count Rogaine mounts a couple of steps to the applause of the cabaret's oblivious patrons as the piano player swings into "When The Saints Go Marching In." Oh, how cute. Not. Zip it, tinkly boy. Phoebe eyes this all with an oddly bemused smile on her face until one of the club's windows suddenly explodes inwards. Another set of windows quickly erupts in sparks and flame, sending a cluster of hookers and their johns screaming to the floor as the camera pulls this stupid two-step shudder up to the clock, which by now has hit the witching hour. "Right on time!" Phoebe chimes as she and Drake leap from Count Rogaine's table to dodge their way through the ensuing panic. Over beneath the staircase, a pair of explosions hurls the fortune teller against the wall and sends another group of patrons racing towards the back of the bar. "Could've waited until after the show," Drake grumbles as he yanks Phoebe by the hand. "Come on, we have to get to that spot." Meanwhile, people are rushing the exits, only to find the gates slamming shut in their faces and barring themselves, seemingly of their own accord. And after that? Complete mayhem. Fire pouring in through every window. Flaming curtains and beams crashing to the floor. Gaslit chandeliers dropping. And in a nice bit of stunt work, a sudden explosion sends a showgirl hurtling from the balcony at the top of the stairs to crash lifeless onto the carpet below. Phoebe pauses briefly on the landing when she hears Marie screaming for her fiancé. "We have to help her!" Phoebe cries. "We can't!" Drake counters. "We stay, we burn, just like everybody else. Don't worry -- she'll be back tomorrow." And with that, he hustles Phoebe up the remaining flight to the balcony as the screen flares and we head over to...
...the insane asylum, where a nurse is rather unsuccessfully attempting to contain Mike as he thrashes and moans and shouts something about the fire. The Doormat tears into the room and sends the nurse for additional aid. Just as she exits, Mike's body glows white. As George's essence, or whatever, passes out of Mike's frame, the latter instantly stops with the thrashing and the moaning and passes out.
Back in the doomed nightclub, Phoebe and Drake spot George as he materializes behind the bar and calls out for Marie, who flies into his arms. There are a couple of unexpectedly harrowing shots of shrieking chorines and bar patrons pressed up against the barred gates as the flames rise ever higher, before the camera cuts back over to Count Rogaine, who glances up at the staircase balcony just in time to watch Phoebe and Drake dematerialize. Count Rogaine gets a little "Huh!" look on his face as the screen flares once more, and we find ourselves...
...back on the Manor sun porch. The Dolt bumbles into the room with a baby monitor and news that his Book abuse has proved useless just as Phoebe and Drake gasp and shudder back to life. "Are you all right?" Piper asks. "I don't know," Phoebe admits before vanishing into the commercial break. That actually wasn't such a bad sequence. For this show, anyway. Can they cancel it now? I think they should cancel it now. You know, go out while they're on top.
Sorry! Sorry. Sometimes I crack myself up. But they should still cancel this fucking show. No, seriously.
Manor. Aftermath. With an extra-special processing summit included at no additional cost to you, the viewer. Well, no additional cost save your sanity, one could argue, for the conclusions they jump to during what follows make little, if any, sense, but whatever. Everyone pretty much agrees that Count Rogaine must have brokered some sort of deal with a demon, though none of them mentions the Count's looming bankruptcy as a likely motive, because this show is ass. The demon, evidently, reneged on his part of the bargain, killing Count Rogaine along with everyone else in the club, and now Count Rogaine's soul is struggling to maintain the endless, century-old time loop both to avoid the pain of Purgatory and, perhaps, to buy himself enough time to finagle an escape. I'm pretty sure I explained it all better than they just did. Just Go With It, For It Is Always Easier When You Just Go With It. Piper and the Dolt head towards the nonexistent attic to research demons who traffic in human souls as Phoebe proposes that she and Drake head back to the hospital to see what George can tell them (through Mike, of course) of Count Rogaine's visitors in the hours prior to the inferno. Raige splutters something unnecessary about that Cosmo subplot I'm doing my best to ignore. Phoebe gets the absolutely brilliant idea that Raige should glamour into Phoebe form and take care of the Cosmo interview herself. This should suck. Phoebe and Drake, allowing almost no protest from Raige, rise to leave, and suddenly...
...it's the middle of the night at The Other Hospital In San Francisco. I hate this show. Phoebe and Drake get the skinny on Mike's current condition from the Doormat before they themselves fill the Doormat in on what's really going on. We still don't know how George managed to escape the loop to possess Mike, and I've a sinking feeling we'll never find out. During all of this, incidentally, Mike writhes and howls and moans in the background on his bed. Phoebe and Drake eventually break away from the Doormat to enter Mike's room, and, with Phoebe taking the lead, the two begin to quiz Mike/George on the events leading up to the fire. The only bit we have yet to hear is the following, from George: "Every night before the show, [Count Rogaine] sits at the center table with this frightening-looking man, and then the Count -- he signs something." And...that's not what happened the last time through the loop at all, so either George is a lousy witness, or Phoebe and Drake are too stupid to realize there's something else going on here. I'm betting on the latter, especially because "George" took great trouble to learn how Phoebe and Drake manage to pass in and out of the loop without being harmed, and seemed rather intrigued when Drake admitted they "had to sort of die" to do so. Or maybe I'm reading way too much into all of this nonsense. Whatever. Not caring! Phoebe and Drake make a quiet exit as the Doormat wearily strips off his jacket to keep his tormented friend company through the night.
Back in the nonexistent attic, the stupid Dolt's defacing the priceless Book of Shadows with a Sharpie. Idiot. Piper enters with news that the kids are down for the evening, but stops short when she notices what her husband is doing. She strides over and notes he's actually creating a new entry entitled "Tips For Future Whitelighters." Aw. Not. Shut up, Dolt. Getting a little red in the face, the Dolt stammers that he's been working on the entry for the Psycho and Tiny Gay Chris in case the ever-useless Elders decide to recycle him, or whatever. Piper gently assures him they wouldn't dare do such a thing, as they know they'd have to face her considerable wrath should they attempt it. The Dolt uneasily processes this for a moment before changing the subject to reveal that he actually found an entry in the Book for "Sargon," a demon who trades souls and "preys on the afterlife." Piper agrees that the Dolt likely found the demon they'd been seeking, but there's one problem: "We vanquished him already." D'oh!
All The News That's Fit To Fuck Me, and hello, scene I shall not be recapping! Raige enters the building, glamours into Phoebe, and Alyssa Milano proves to the world that she's no more skilled at portraying Rose McGowan portraying Raige portraying Phoebe than she was the last time she did it. At least we don't have to endure that fucking lollipop schtick this time around. Long story short, Raige-as-Phoebe makes a complete, bumbling ass out of herself before turning the Cosmo interview into an article All About Raige, and I hate this show, and I want to die, but what I want much, much more than that is for the WB to cancel this shit already, and look at that -- the scene's over! Thank God. Fuck off and die, Charmed.
Nonexistent attic. Phoebe jiggles in with Drake to learn from Piper that they vanquished Count Rogaine's demon "five years ago." She and Drake, over Piper's strenuous objections, determine that the only way to break the loop is to return to the doomed nightclub, whereupon Drake will somehow persuade Sargon to cancel the deal. And that's a stupid idea, because if Sargon exists in the time loop with Count Rogaine and all of the others in the nightclub, then the Glamorous Ladies wouldn't have been able to toast his ass five years ago. God, these people are morons. Nevertheless, Phoebe and Drake arrange themselves on Aunt Pearl's sofa, Drake snaps his fingers to conjure the appropriate spell, and the screen flares to shoot us back over to...
...Cabaret Fantôme, and already something's gone wrong, because Phoebe and Drake have arrived midway through "The Maple Leaf Rag." "We're late," Phoebe quickly realizes, and a cut to the clock confirms they have fewer than three minutes to break the loop. "There's no one at that center table," she frets as Drake hustles her down the stairs. "Your demon is long gone," Count Rogaine smirks, approaching them as they reach the main floor. "In fact, he left one hundred and six years ago right after we made the deal, long before the fire." Phoebe and Drake have the gall to look surprised at this news, despite the fact they should have known Sargon wouldn't be there A WHOLE SCENE AGO. Rrrrgh. HATE. In any event, Count Rogaine shifts into George's voice to make it clear it was he who spoke with Phoebe and Drake at the hospital, as the camera cuts to reveal George and Marie being held at gunpoint in a far booth. As the pianist calls out his introduction of Count Rogaine once more, Count Rogaine alters the script by turning back to Phoebe and Drake while drawing a small derringer from his pocket. "I regret to inform you," he smiles, "that tonight's fan dance has been cancelled." He cocks the gun as the explosions begin, and, as the patrons surrounding them rapidly descend into a panicked frenzy all over again, Count Rogaine squeezes the trigger, plugging a hole in Drake's chest. And here's where the episode really starts falling apart logically. First off, Drake should be dead. Like, right now, because if the fire can kill them as he previously claimed, so can the bullet that just plowed straight through his heart. Secondly, Count Rogaine prances up the stairs to the balcony to dematerialize in Drake's place, and since his presence in the loop was the only thing holding it together, once he's thus found, as he puts it, his "permanent way out," the loop should dissolve of its own accord, and all of these tormented souls should be free. And once that happens, Phoebe should either return to her own body or -- far better yet -- Get Killed In The Process! However, none of these things happen, and once again, an episode I sort of enjoyed the first time I saw it really starts pissing me off the moment I give it any thought at all. As Drake and Phoebe gaze uneasily up a the space the now-gone Count had been occupying, we get a couple of cuts to the screaming and still-doomed patrons before flashing back to...
...the nonexistent attic, where Piper and the Dolt pace the floor. Soon enough, Drake's body flares white with the infusion of Count Rogaine's soul, and he opens his eyes. "Drake?" Piper begins, more than a little worried. "What happened?" she continues as The Drount slowly examines the room before gifting Piper with a crafty leer. "Why isn't Phoebe waking up?" Piper demands. The Drount tosses a too-casual glance in Phoebe's direction and sleepily announces --with a hint of a malicious grin crossing his face, and once again, Billy Zane is too good for this show -- "I suppose she didn't make it." Piper steps back a bit in shock as the Dolt gapes. The camera slides back to the still-smirking Drount and lingers on Phoebe's heaving bosom for a second too long before dropping into the final commercial break. Hey, here's a hint: If you want us to believe Phoebe's dead, tell Alyssa Milano to hold her fucking breath for the five seconds it takes to film her scene. Morons.
And we're back. The Drount is examining his new face in a mirror as Piper and the Dolt pepper him with questions about the time loop, while demanding he return to said loop to save Phoebe. Billy Zane, having a sort of free-wheeling and dizzy fun with the character that poor David Anders never seemed able to muster, slips between the British accent Anders had been using for Count Rogaine and a pretty damn good imitation of how untrained Englishmen mimic American dialects as The Drount insists returning to the loop will prove useless. Heh. Heh to it all. Damn you, Zane! Piper finally realizes what's going on and deploys the mighty Hands Of Discontent as The Drount attempts to slip out of the nonexistent room. Unfortunately, the mojo simply sparks harmlessly against Drake's still-partially-demonic shoulder. "I guess I did choose the right body," smirks The Drount as the Dolt raises his own hands to spork the intruder. The Drount, interestingly enough, reflexively and defensively squiggles out -- much as Raige used to orb when we first met her, you'll recall -- leaving Piper and the Dolt to grunt in exasperation as the screen flares and we head back to...
...the burning nightclub. Well, this is certainly convenient. Phoebe and Drake quickly realize that George escaped the loop with the fortune teller's assistance and dart over to the woman's table, where Phoebe flips through the book she finds there until she lands on what appears to be an actual spell entitled "Escape From The Ordinary." The relevant part of the entry reads as follows:
Place five cards face up in the shape of a box. Card 1: The Magician
Card 2: The Chariot
Card 3: Two of Wands
Card 4: Eight of Pentacles
Card 5: Death
This spread works best if, while placing the cards, you concentrate on your potential course of action within the situation. Card 5 shows the desired result -- in this case, a change from one world to another. When the cards are placed, speak the following: "Vita Brevis Abraxas!"
Phoebe proceeds to place the cards on the table in absolutely the incorrect order as Drake reminds her that, should they not be able to evict Count Rogaine from his body, they'll have to vanquish his sorry ass. Phoebe babbles a promise to return for Drake before reciting the spell, upon which she instantly vanishes in a puff of white smoke. Drake gags, as much on Phoebe's smoke puff as on the foul and fetid odors rising from the hundred or so people burning to death around him, and calls out for a glass of water. Shut up, Drake. Sort of. Heh.
Back in the nonexistent attic, Piper's found a potion vial that should "dispossess" Drake's body, if only they can find him. At that moment, Phoebe gasps and snaps awake on the sofa. "Where's [Count Rogaine]?" she breathes. "Wait a minute," Piper squints. "What's my middle name?" "Uh, surly?" Phoebe shoots back with a grin. "That's my girl," Piper snorts. The three babble about The Drount's possible whereabouts until Phoebe realizes he's probably stupid enough to go off in search of his favorite tobacconist's shop, even though Count Rogaine knew more than a century had passed since he initially fell into the time loop, and if he's that fucking dumb, he deserves what's coming to him. Also, I hate this show, and think they should cancel it immediately. As in, this very second. Just air a goddamned test pattern. The Manor Morons leap into action anyway. They always do. Sigh.
Over near the club's former location, Piper, Phoebe, and the Dolt quite naturally find The Drount bumbling around in search of a good Cuban cigar. Yeah, he needs to die now. "Go to Hell!" Phoebe cries as she flips the vial at his feet. Count Rogaine's white-tinted soul immediately pops out of Drake's body, which collapses in a heap on the asphalt, and oh, boy do I hate what happens . Mainly because I hated it the first time I saw it at the end of Ghost, when the Hell Shadows erupted from the pavement to carry the wickedly duplicitous yet somehow attractive Tony Goldwyn away. And...that's exactly what happens here. Except for the whole "somehow attractive" villain part, of course. Smoky tendrils of Whatever! materialize from the various shadows cast around the block to encircle and taunt David Anders before sucking him down through the pavement. They just ripped off Ghost, people. Fucking GHOST, of all things. CANCEL THIS SHOW! NOW! As soon as David Anders has disappeared, the production staff then proceeds to rip off the end of Ghost Ship, as the heretofore trapped souls of the whores and their johns and all those slumming society ladies waft up through the ground of the construction site to shoot up into the sky. For some asinine reason, we get a brief scene of Mike coming to his senses in the psych ward, despite the fact that the Doormat's already told everyone that Mike's perfectly fine when George is not inhabiting his body, which would not be now, because George was still trapped in the club, and whatever, and this show sucks, and now we're back on the street, where Drake's soul has reentered his own body. Phoebe skips over to help him up with a playful, "Welcome back!" Drake thanks her and reaches up for her arm, in the process yanking her down into his lap on the street, where they giggle and snicker and flirt with each other as Piper and the Dolt roll their eyes and wander off. Would that I could do the same, Piper and the Dolt. Would that I could do the same.
Closing travelogue, during which an entire day passes via the miracle of time-lapse photography before we end up at P3, where the usual clot of dot-bomb yuppies plugs up the entranceway. Down in a nook off the main bar and over a bottle of wine, Piper and the Dolt giggle at his mangled pronunciation of the Eye-talian from the phrasebook before they wrap up her Issue Of The Week, which involves Piper vowing, "I think from now on, I'm gonna stop trying to control every little moment." Yeah. You call me when the shuttle lands, Piper. Like you're ever going to stop being the insane control freak we've come to know and occasionally tolerate over the last six and a half godforsaken years. Meanwhile, Raige arrives to join Phoebe at a table nearer the stage for some bottled Perrier so the two might tie up their Issues with neat little bows. Phoebe accomplishes this by...I don't know. Promising not to micro-manage her schedule? I don't care. Nor do I give a rat's ass about Raige's sudden need to leave Not!warts behind, because sweetheart? Darling? Honeypie? YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO TAKE THE FUCKING JOB IN THE FIRST PLACE. Ugh. HATE.
Quite unexpectedly, the off-screen P3 M.C. announces, "Ladies and gentlemen, P3 is proud to present a one-night only show by Drake DeMon!" Oy. This show can blow me. Piper and the Dolt join Phoebe and Raige at the table as Phoebe bleats, "Oh, my God!" "This is what happens when you have one week to live?" Piper sarcastically chimes. "What is he gonna do?" Raige wonders, casting a suspicious eye towards the stage. "Just be grateful it's not a fan dance," Phoebe smirks as the band kicks in, and that's a pretty damn special band, for although we see only a pianist and trumpet player on stage with Drake, the soundtrack includes an entire string section. I'm not going to bust too much on what follows, however, and it's not just because Billy Zane is a pretty good singer. Nor is it due to the fact that he looks rather casually suave in his loosened tuxedo shirt and undone tie. Nope, the reason I'm not going to bust too much on what follows is because I've never recapped the crooning testicles on this show, and I don't have to start now. Hooray! Drake finishes his thirty-second performance to wild applause -- natch -- and stands silently at the microphone for a long moment before snapping his fingers and extinguishing the light behind his head, taking us at long last, to black.
No new episodes until April 10th. Enjoy the break. I sure as hell will.