We all saw the promo, right? Dawson and Gretchen smooching, followed by Joey sobbing into her hand, right? And we all know that that had nothing to do with anything on the actual show, and that the editor of the promo pretty much hacked up the episode into seven-second bits, tossed them up in the air, picked random pieces up off of the floor, and cobbled them together -- right? Because we've watched a TV show before, and we can spot this sort of amateurish manipulation on the part of the WB, right?
Right. On we go, then.
Previously on the Creek: Dawson discovered Mr. Brooks's yearbook and found that the two of them share a love of film, but Mr. Brooks colored himself unimpressed with this epiphany; Jen bitched at Drue for trying to capitalize on The E-Tarts Incident; Grams expressed her disappointment with Jen; Pacey and Joey noted that Dawson and Gretchen had become "going-out-together buddies"; Gretchen thanked Dawson for making her "transition" from college "a lot more enjoyable than [she] ever thought it could be," leading me to believe that she equated the return to her hometown to a raging case of dysentery or something, because…Dawson? "Enjoyable"?
Pan along the porch of Reconciliation Ranch and up to the window of the Sanctum Dawsonorum. "Scary" "music" plays. Inside, we see Dawson "Bad Hair-y Truman" Leery sitting against the foot of his bed. Gretchen "Laugh Lines -- Except For The 'Laugh' Part" Witter -- non-cleverly non-hidden behind the panel of a bookcase for the first few frames, so that members of the viewing audience born yesterday might think she's actually Joey -- lolls on the bed. On the TV, a black-and-white movie plays. Cut to a full-face shot of Dawson and Gretchen, Dawson absorbed in the film, Gretchen arching a skeptical brow in Dawson's direction. The film ends with a woman screaming hysterically over a man's dead body in the rain, and the end credits inform us, "Directed by A.I. Brooks." Dawson clicks off the set and sighs, "Wow." Gretchen asks if he means "wow, great movie," or "wow, that sucked." Except, of course, she takes about a hundred and twelve more words than that to say it. Dawson confesses that he "wanted to hate it," really, but he can't: "This is the…heartbreaking work of a staggering genius." Somewhere in Brooklyn, Dave Eggers clutches his head, drops dead, and begins spinning in his grave like a rotisserie spit. Gretchen waxes doubtful about Turn Away, My Sweet, saying she only saw a formula gangster movie and she's "still picking the pulp" out of her teeth; Dawson admits that the movie is pulpy and formulaic, but argues that it has a "thumping heart," and he mangles the pronunciation of "Sturm und Drang" before calling the film "a love story masquerading as a genre piece." Symbolism comes in and tells me it's a friend of Foreshadowing's and can it use my bathroom as Gretchen points out that the girl hired the guy to kill her.
Dawson reminds Gretchen in turn that the girl fell in love with the guy even though she'd given up on love, and then he couldn't kill her because he loved her too, and Symbolism yells all echoey off the bathroom tile, "Everything okay out there?" and I yell back, "Yep, don't get up, I GET IT," and Gretchen sniffs that "Tarantino does this stuff a lot better, and in color." Do the writers draw these pop-culture references out of a hat or what? Tarantino doesn't "do this stuff" at all, much less "better" than A.I. Brooks. Scorsese is the reference they want here, but I suppose it's too much to ask the writers to yank their thumbs out of their butts for five fucking minutes and think a reference through, when they probably think Raging Bull is a fucking Playstation game. Jesus.
ANYway. Dawson says smugly that Gretchen's Tarantino reference "completely prov[es] his point even more [sic]" -- huh? -- because "A.I. Brooks was way ahead of his time." Gretchen says all buck-up-little-camper that she likes Dawson "like this," all worked up about the film, and Dawson rolls his eyes and wonders aloud why Brooks quit making movies, and Gretchen says she could ask Dawson the same thing. She rambles on about how, when she left for college, Dawson had moviemaking on the brain, and now "film is like this unfinished project you've sort of stuffed in your closet." She goes on to say in her best Behind The Music-announcer voice, "Which begs the question [AGH!], whatever happened to the talented young filmmaker Dawson Leery? Why did he stop, and where is he now?" During the requisite tertiary-character ego massage, Dawson looks pensive; then he laughs with that off-putting oh-you-have-to-say-that-but-I-still-know-it's-true face he wears whenever he hears praise of himself.
Oh, God. I've only gotten up to the credits? Sigh. Credits. Cat in dunk tank.
And while the commercials roll, let me take a moment to refer you all to A Dictionary Of Modern American Usage, written in fine acerbic style by Bryan A. Garner. It makes a great Christmas/Chanukah/Kwanzaa/Winter Solstice gift for the grammarian in your life. Here's what Garner has to say on "begging the question":
Begging the question does not mean "evading the issue" or "inviting the obvious questions," as some mistakenly believe. The proper meaning of begging the question is "basing a conclusion on an assumption that is as much in need of proof or demonstration as the conclusion itself." The formal name for this logical fallacy is petitio principii. Following [is a] classic example…"Reasonable people are those who think and reason intelligently." (This statement begs the question, "What does it mean to think and reason intelligently?") [Boldface and italics Garner's; you can find the entry on pp. 77-78.]
In other words, to beg the question is to use a tautology as a proof. In other other words, shut up, writers.
Yacht Club. Non-Liz Non-Claiborne snipes at Joey "Ivy Beleaguer" Potter that she's not paying her to study for her GED. Joey snipes back that she's early, so she can spend the time before her shift starts as she likes, and why can't NLNC keep in mind that Joey and Drue go to the same school? NLNC simpers that she'd rather forget; she adds that she saw Bessie at the drugstore that day, but she gets Bessie's name wrong and throws in an Abby Morgan-esque comment about Bessie obviously not buying contraceptives, like, stow it, NLNC. Joey sneers, "It's Bessie." NLNC doesn't care. A middle-aged man approaches and asks NLNC if everything is ready for Saturday night, and NLNC oozes yes, of course, "fully stocked and fully staffed," just about to tell "little Joey Potter here" that she has to work Saturday, fishcakes. Joey starts to object, but NLNC cuts her off to exposition that Mr. Kubelik is hosting a "networking party" for promising applicants to Worthington, and Joey had better show up to "wait on them." After much unamusing blather, Joey finally makes it clear to NLNC that she'll attend the party "as a guest." NLNC cackles in disbelief all Cruella DeVille until Mr. Kubelik asks, "Wait -- you're Josephine Potter?" He compliments Joey on her essay, tells NLNC that Joey's "one of our most promising applicants," and instructs NLNC to give Joey the night off and seat her at his table. NLNC tries to cover for her earlier bitchitude, yammering that she doesn't know who she'll get to replace Joey since "she's such a shining member of our wait staff," and Joey suggests Drue. NLNC smiles coldly.
International House Of Fishcakes. Dawson hunches over a laptop, his greasy hair shaped into a perfect sphere. In the background of the shot, Mitch "The Flash" Leery and Gale "A Womb Of One's Own" Leery hang Christmas lights. Dawson announces that, at that "historic moment," he's finishing up the last of his college applications -- namely, the essay for USC film school. "Congratulations, honey," Gale says, with a barely-suppressed eye-roll in her voice, and tells him that now he can relieve his pregnant mother of her light-stringing duties. Gale then makes a big show of clutching her aching back and arching it so that we can see the pregnancy pad under her little red maternity jumper. Apparently, her gestation has sped up to double time or something. Gretchen blathers something effusive about the "annual Leery holiday party," and Gale and The Flash exchange a significant look and don't answer, and Gretchen asks if she said "something wildly inappropriate," and Gale stammers, and The Flash demurs that "we haven't done that in a while." Look, Gretchen presumably knows the whole divorce backstory; why not just say that you haven't thrown the holiday party for a couple of years and leave it at that? Oh, right, because then Dawson wouldn't get to pipe up with yet another snotty, entitled comment about his parents' marital woes, to wit: "Let me decode. We haven't had a Christmas party the past couple of years because Mr. and Mrs. Leery have been busy riding the roller coaster otherwise known as their relationship." Do Gale and The Flash tell Dawson to hold it down, since there's a restaurant full of workers within earshot? No. Do they tell him to lose the judgmental attitude? No. Do they point out that his own relationships haven't exactly held to an even keel? No. Gale and The Flash actually look chastened and make "aw, he's right" faces. Maybe they've given up, figuring that it's too late to change Dawson's view of himself as the sun of Capeside's solar system. Or maybe the writers don't have the faintest understanding of the difference between "cunningly self-aware" and "fucking rude." Either way -- shut up, Dawson.
Gretchen apologizes, Gale says it's okay, Gretchen says she always loved those parties, Gale says that it seems "overwhelming" to plan one what with the baby and the IHOF and all, Gretchen proposes planning it herself and begs Gale to let her, Gale could not look any less enthusiastic when she gives Gretchen the go-ahead, Gretchen tells Dawson that they have a lot of work to do, Dawson makes "what's this 'we'?" noises, and Gretchen drags him off to help her.
Weird panning cut to Jen "Not-That-Bad Seed" Lindley, sitting on her bed and knitting. Music plays. Pan around to Jen not noticing that "Candy" Grams Ryan and Jack "Girl's Best Friend" McPhee have come in. Grams turns off the music, and Jen looks up and greets Jack with, "Will." Jack makes that weird little I-know-kung-fu head movement and says, "Grace." Aw, that's sweet. Grams asks if Jack wants anything; when he says no thanks, Grams glares pointedly at Jen and bustles out out of the room. Jen snarks that no, she's fine, nothing for her, thanks. Heh. Jack laughs and flops on Jen's bed, asking, "What was that all about?" Jen says that it's an "external manifestation" of Grams's disappointment in her over The E-Tarts Incident, and that Grams hasn't spoken a word to her in weeks. Jack says that Grams will get over it, "she always does," and does a back-flip off the bed. Jen changes the subject, asking if Jack wants to see a movie, and he says he'd love to, it's the perfect way to celebrate the fact that he finished his college applications, and he rambles on about how the essays nearly killed him while Jen rubs her hands uncomfortably; when he finishes, Jen offers flat congratulations and changes the subject back to which movie they want to see, suggesting "that gay one with Dean Cain" and saying that all the reviews "are calling it St. Homo's Fire, sounds awesome, what do you say?" Jack, eying her suspiciously, says it sounds good. After a moment, he wheels the desk chair he's sitting in over to the bed and asked if Jen has finished her own apps. Jen, not meeting his eye, lies, "Yeah pretty much why?" "How much is 'pretty much'?" Jen lies again that she's just got essays left. Jack says that the college advisor mentioned to him that Jen hadn't turned anything in yet. Jen concentrates a little too hard on her ball of yarn. Jack says he told the college advisor that that's ridiculous, then quizzes Jen on where she applied. "Buncha places." Jack asks what's up with "all the vague answers here." Jen tells him to chill. Jack reminds her of the "deadline, and it's quickly approaching." Jen says not to worry, she's "totally fine." Jack folds his arms and studies her, eyebrow aloft. Jen decides that she's not in a "movie mood" after all and asks if they can catch up later. Jack makes a face, says "sure," and heads out. Jen goes back to her knitting for a second, then looks worried and slumps down on her bolster pillow.
Downstairs, Jack lopes into the kitchen and asks Grams for a favor. "Of course, anything. Cookie?" Grams says. Mmm. Cookies. "Do you think you could talk to Jen?" Jack asks, watching Grams put sprinkles on his cookie (aw). Grams doesn't miss a beat: "Anything but that." Jack knows she's not on the best of terms with Jen right now, but he's worried; he doesn't think Jen has filled out any of her applications, and he thought Grams could talk to her about it. Grams shrugs that "Jennifer is a big girl," and that she's tried to help Jen, but Jen doesn't want or appreciate Grams's help, so she's on her own. Jack sighs and looks at his cookie. Mmm. Jack.
Yacht Club. "Our" Mr. Brooks eats a solitary meal. Enter Dawson, who clomps right up to Mr. Brooks's table and takes a seat without so much as a by-your-leave. "So," he says, "have you seen any good movies lately?" Shut up, Dawson. Mr. Brooks stares at him for a moment, then grunts that he saw Star Wars "a while back," but he "didn't get it." Dawson points out mildly that "Star Wars came out in 1977." "Like I said, it was a while back." Hee! Dawson announces that he saw a good movie recently. "Bully for you," grumps Mr. Brooks, but Dawson blunders ahead, calling the movie an "incredible fusion of, uh, film noir [which Dawson pronounces 'nooo-ahr' -- shut. Up. Dawson.], black comedy, and a love story." Then Dawson tells him the title. Mr. Brooks rolls his eyes, remarking that Dawson must think he's pretty clever. Duh, Mr. Brooks. He's a wunderkind; don't you read the papers? Dawson eagerly asks how he's supposed to "deal with the fact" that the "grumpy old man" (shut up, Dawson) who forced him into "indentured servitude" (SHUT UP, Dawson) is actually "a cross between Sam Fuller and Cameron Crowe?" Oh, my God, shut up, Dawson! Mr. Brooks has never heard of Cameron Crowe, but comments that Sam Fuller made some "good pictures." "And so did you, Mr. Brooks," Dawson smarms, and adds that he's seen every movie of Mr. Brooks's that he could find, Mr. Brooks "is like this true American primitive," he has so much respect for what Mr. Brooks has done, blah bling blah -- all in a tone that suggest Mr. Brooks ought to find the acclaim all the more lofty since it comes from Dawson. Shut. Up. Dawson. Mr. Brooks grumps that "they're not 'fiiiiilms,' they're pictures," pictures that he himself considers "hackwork," and "this newfound respect" Dawson has for him makes him uncomfortable. Dawson, confident that he can win Mr. Brooks over, smugs, "You can play the curmudgeon all you want, A.I. Brooks, but you can't fool me." "Well, that's a load off," Mr. Brooks snorts. Snerk. Dawson prates that Mr. Brooks obviously cares about things like love and honor and morality and blah blah blah blah BLAH, and Mr. Brooks retorts that he "cares" about eating his meal in peace, so Dawson makes to leave, but first he has to tell Mr. Brooks that his "pictures" really had an impact on Dawson, and Dawson thought he might like to hear that. Because, you know, Dawson knows film, so a compliment from Dawson is like money in the bank. FUCKING SHUT UP, DAWSON! Dawson won't shut up, though; after Mr. Brooks grits out a grudging "thank you for the kind words," Dawson bounces all eagerly in his seat and wants to know about the chemistry between the two leads in Turn Away, My Sweet, but Mr. Brooks has hit saturation level, and he hisses at Dawson to "kindly remove [him]self from" the general vicinity. Dawson finally, FINALLY leaves, a Smirky Balboa look on his face. Mr. Brooks sighs heavily and picks up his fork.
Cut to a dress shop, where poor Joey Potter, who supposedly can barely afford college, is modeling a strappy silk dress in the mirror. It would look a lot better if Joey stood up straight for once, but Gretchen supplies the obligatory flattery of the so-called tomboy: "The girl can't help it. She's beautiful." Blah blah "too much?" blah blah "only if Pacey wears his camouflage pants" blah blah Joey feels kind of bad dragging him to "this thing" blah blah Joey needs his support, Pacey "gets that" blah blah doesn't want Pacey to feel out of place blah blah Pacey's "nuts about" her, planning on making "a career" out of staying close to Joey blah blah relax blah blah don't let Pacey "do that nervous joke-telling thing that he does" blah blah blah blah blaaaaaah. Gretchen expositions for Joey that she's revived the traditional Leery holiday party. Joey says that she loves those, and they always put her in the right mood for the holidays -- which she finds strange in retrospect, since she and Dawson usually spent them hiding in his room. "Which has its own distinct charms," Gretchen smiles. Ew. Not. Joey gives Gretchen the furry eyeball as Gretchen says that Dawson can make a movie rental and popcorn "seem like an event." Well, by that definition, projectile vomiting -- nah, forget it. Too easy. Joey says wistfully that she knows what Gretchen means. "You're gonna do great, Joey," Gretchen tells her. Joey, her mind elsewhere: "Huh?" "Saturday night. You're gonna do great." After a long pause, Joey smiles shyly, then looks down. Abrupt cut to commercial.
And then we have a scene with Dawson and the college counselor, in which the college counselor asks him why he wants to become a filmmaker, and Dawson thinks his essay covers that, and the counselor says that his essay skirts the issue, and Dawson calls it a tough question to answer, and the counselor says that USC is one of the most competitive film programs in the country so he'd better find a way, and she hands him back his essay and tells him to "do better." Dawson flares his nostrils in exasperation.
Elsewhere in the hallowed halls of Capeside High, Pacey "Wimp Daddy" whines about having to go to the Worthington function, and I don't blame him -- I know Joey doesn't have parents handy to go to these types of events, but boyfriends don't customarily attend them either -- and Joey says he has to come, and Pacey suggests that she hire an escort, and she fires off a non-witty comeback involving the word "man-meat," and Pacey mock-suggests dumping her to get out of it, and Joey says he should do what he has to do, but he's still coming with her. Pacey asks if they'll have "any fun." Joey doubts it. Pacey says that they should go to Mitch and Gale's party, then. Joey whines that bailing on the Worthington thing "would severely diminish [her] chances for getting into college." Don't these dumb parties serve as a means for the college to sell itself to you, and not the other way around? Whatever. Pacey grumbles. Joey lectures him in the same whiny tone that he knows the party is important to her, and that "being in a relationship means that sometimes you do have to do things you don't particularly enjoy for that other person." She's not wrong about that, but it doesn't apply here. Joey, who really needs to decide what she wants out of those weird choppy bangs, adds that she doesn't really love the Sunday dinners with his family, and Pacey shoots back that he doesn't either and they can stop going "at any time," and they continue on down the hall, still batting the issue back and forth.
Ryan Home. Jen comes home from school to find Grams unpacking a box of wrapped gifts from Jen's mom and dad. Jen comments, somewhat sadly, that she knows what they contain: a sweater from Barneys from her mother, "hand-picked by the maid," and jewelry from her father, which one of his trampy secretaries probably threw back in his face. Grams folds her lips in a line and suggests that Jen take them upstairs and open them in her room, but Jen opens the fridge and snaps that Grams should take them to Goodwill: "Donate 'em to somebody who cares." "That is not an appropriate attitude for the holidays, child," Grams says, and Jen leans on the fridge door and snarks, "Yeah, well, Merry Effin' Christmas." Grams airs her out, calling her a "spoiled, self-involved" brat, and Jen sighs sarcastically that Grams is "absolutely right," so she'll just go to her room after all. Grams suggests curtly that, while she's up there, she get started on her applications. Jen, eyes full of tears, grits out, "Right, of course. Anything to get me out of the house quicker, huh?" "That is not what I meant!" Grams protests, but Jen snarls that Grams hasn't spoken a word to her in nearly a month, so she doesn't get to "instill [Jen] with motivation" anymore: "You lost that right when you wrote me off." Jen snatches the gifts, hurls them into the refrigerator on top of a product-placed six-pack of Canada Dry (shout-out?), and stomps out of the kitchen. Grams watches her go, taken aback, and it looks like she's wondering to herself if Jen might not have a point there.
Reconciliation Ranch. Gretchen tries to buck up the little camper, saying she doesn't see why Dawson's having "such a problem with this" and he should just tell USC "the truth" -- that he wants a three-picture deal with Columbia (we get it), and a spot on the Premiere power list (we GET it) high enough to bag himself "one of the girls of the WB." We get it. Also, like, ha ha. Not. Gretchen then suggests he take a break and help her hang the mistletoe; she fiddles with the mistletoe for a moment, then wonders why he doesn't ask Mr. Brooks for help on his essay. Dawson snorts that he doesn't think so; he told Mr. Brooks he liked his movies, and Mr. Brooks nearly took his head off. Oh, Dawson. Shut up. Gretchen preaches on about Mr. Brooks "a resource" blah blah "real-life filmmaker" blah blah blah talking to Mr. Brooks will "get rid of the cobwebs" blah blah blah and a partridge in a pear blah. Then there's banter about tradition, and Gretchen says that "you don't monkey with tradition," and Dawson chuckles condescendingly that he didn't have her "pegged as a traditionalist," but he likes it. Uch.
On a pier -- the same pier, I believe, where James Van Der Beek ulcerated millions of stomachs with his rendition of "crying" -- Grams confides to Jack that he's right about Jen's college situation: "She hasn't filled out one application, and she's not going to." Jack suggests that maybe if they gang up on her…no, Grams says, that won't work, because she knows Jen, and Jen's "far too stubborn" to go for that. Jack agrees, and asks if Grams has "any better ideas." Grams murmurs conspiratorially, "Actually, I do," and she'll need Jack's help.
Brookshaven. A jazz version of "Jingle Bells" plays. Dawson comes up the front steps and raps on the door, then lets himself in, again without so much as a by-your-leave. Mr. Brooks sits at his desk, working on what looks like a bonsai tree, and Dawson scares the hell out of him by booming, "Mr. Brooks!" The customary crustiness ensues. Dawson says he wants to talk to Mr. Brooks. "If you came to ask me if I slept with Marilyn Monroe, you can crawl back from whence you came," Mr. Brooks grunts. Dawson: "No, it's nothing like that, I -- did you?" Ha! Okay, that's funny. Mr. Brooks expels a sharp "heh!" and asks what he can do for Dawson. Dawson needs advice. "Have you tried the teen help-line?" Mr. Brooks asks. Zing! Then Mr. Brooks says half to himself that "this is clearly gonna take longer than [he] had hoped," and he supposes he should offer Dawson a soda pop, and then he interrupts himself to thunder, "Would ya like a soda pop, Mr. Leery?" I can't do Mr. Brooks's stab at the niceties justice, but it's funny. Anyway, Dawson says no thanks, and Mr. Brooks rolls his eyes and says he's now ready to dispense advice, and tells Dawson to sit. Dawson expositions that he's "gotta write this…essay" for USC, and it's killing him (yeah, we wish), and he can't for the life of him put into words why he wants to be a filmmaker.
Quick sidebar. I find Dawson's whole film "thing" pretentious and overwrought, ordinarily, but I can -- gulp -- sympathize with him here. It's really hard to apply to arts programs and to have to explain why. When I applied to MFA programs, the essays asked me to explain why I wanted to study writing, and I didn't really have an answer. I made up an answer, because I had to, but it's not a matter of "wanting" to write or "becoming" a writer, it's just…this thing that I do, that I never made a conscious choice to do but just, you know, do. So now I sound pretentious and overwrought, and the writers probably got this to feel genuine by accident anyway, but Dawson's block isn't totally affected.
Anyway, moving on. Mr. Brooks gruffs that, if Dawson "can't do better than that," perhaps he should fill out an application to work at "MAC-Donald's" instead. Dawson sighs heavily but doesn't take the bait, saying that he needs to know why Mr. Brooks stopped making movies. Mr. Brooks demands, "What's that got to do with anything?" "'Cause I've stopped too," Dawson says intensely. "Well, that's a tragic loss for the arts," Mr. Brooks quips. Zing! And, WORD. Dawson protests that he's "serious," that he "was going full-steam ahead" with filmmaking but "life got in the way." Mr. Brooks peers at Dawson as though he's discovered a particularly loathsome new species of insect. Dawson says that he had "a crisis of faith." Mr. Brooks snorts in a tone of disbelief that Dawson's a little young to have had a crisis of faith -- thus echoing the hundreds of times that Wing and I have told Dawson to give the midlife-crisis routine a rest for another thirty years or so -- and asks, "What are you, fifteen?" Ha! "Seventeen," Dawson corrects him wearily, pinching the bridge of his nose all embattled Drama Club vice president, and Mr. Brooks declaims, clearly amused, "Seventeen, and already had a crisis of faith!" More nose-pinching from Dawson, who then stammers that he thought they'd gotten "beyond this" and "moved on," and he gets up to deliver a whimpery indictment of Mr. Brooks, thus costing him the itty bitty shred of sympathy I mentioned before: "I guess…whatever happened to you made you the kind of person who would tear on a seventeen-year-old kid whose only mistake was to equate talent with kindness and wisdom, so…" Who equates talent with kindness and wisdom? Damn, Dawson -- pick up a copy of Vanity Fair sometime and get a clue. Dawson flounces out, slamming the front door behind him. Mr. Brooks shakes his head, befuddled, as we go to commercial.
The Yacht Club. The String Quartet Of The Class Struggle saws away at their violin strings as Joey and Pacey enter the Worthington party. Pacey says it's not too late to turn around; Joey mutters nervously that that sounds "incredibly appealing." Pacey is kitted out in a charcoal suit and grey t-shirt-type thing underneath, and looks very nice; Joey is wearing the weather-inappropriate brown strappy dress we saw her trying on earlier, and has a lavender-grey wrap slung over her elbows, so she's evidently working Worthington's color-blind quota. Joey accuses Pacey of "grinning like an idiot," and he says that he's "the only guy at this party who gets to walk in with Audrey Hepburn on his arm." Aw. Still, let's not get carried away -- Katie Holmes is quite fetching, but she's no Audrey Hepburn. Joey smiles.
Over at Poinsettia Plaza, formerly Reconciliation Ranch, formerly the No-Fault Hacienda…okay, you get the idea…Jen and Jack enter the Leery party and Jen oohs and aahs at Gale's pregnancy pad; in the foreground, Gretchen scans the party looking for Dawson. She has a sequined split-neck top on, and it's loud, but I actually kind of like it; the wardrobe department should put Gretchen in way less pink from now on, because light blue suits her a lot better. Anyhow, she weaves her way through the guests…
…and upstairs to the Sanctum, where Dawson fiddles with a camera and sulks. Gretchen says she thought she might find him up there, and when he asks how the party's going, she chirps, "Somewhat lacking in cute high-school boys at the moment." The entire viewing audience wonders aloud, "And Dawson coming downstairs would change that…how, exactly?" Gretchen urges Dawson to come try her eggnog. Oh, so that's what the kids -- all right, ew, I can't even finish that thought. Dawson says he'll come down in a minute. Gretchen turns to go, then stops to ask, "You okay?" Dawson's "just thinking." About? About what Gretchen said to him the other night; about the fact that he's applying to "one of the best film schools in the country," and he's not even sure he wants to go, or deserves to go. Gretchen tells him that he sounds "like a guy who just broke up with this girl." Flush! Symbolism comes out of the bathroom and asks if I have any matches as Gretchen goes on to say that "the guy" is happy he broke up with the girl, or says he's happy, and he goes on and on about how he's better off without her, "but the thing is, he can't stop talking about her. Everything comes back to this girl. You loved this girl, Dawson." Dawson grumbles that that hasn't kept "her" -- filmmaking? Joey? Call it. I have to go buy toilet paper, because Symbolism used the last of mine -- from breaking his heart "time and time again." Gretchen says that that doesn't matter; there isn't one right answer. Dawson just has to admit that he loves movies, and then maybe "the geek will resurface" blah blah he won't accept cynicism blah blah people will "respond to" that "great big thumping heart" of Dawson's blah blah blah fruitcakes. "Now come try my eggnog!" Dawson smiles at her fondly, basking in the compliments he considers his birthright.
Worthington party. A girl coos in extreme close-up about the fact that she placed third in the class, and how it keeps her up nights, blah bling blah. Joey admits that she placed only fourth. Yes, I think we get it. Then the girl spots Drue "Festi" Valentine and remarks on his cuteness and makes a big thing of "needing a refill," and Joey wants to block her from calling Drue over, probably because she doesn't want her Poor Little Joey Potter From The Wrong Side Of The Creek cover blown -- and that has gotten so very, very tired, by the way -- but the girl hails Drue as "waiter boy," and Drue comes over and says, "Yes, annoying girl." Heh. Joey cowers. Annoying Girl orders a club soda with a twist. Drue snipes at Joey for "ruining [his] night" and tells Annoying Girl that Joey works as a waitress at the club. Annoying Girl looks dismayed and makes a fake excuse to get away from Joey. Writers, writers, writers -- this isn't Pretty In Pink, y'all aren't John Hughes, and not all rich people act as though the less fortunate have the ick. If Joey feels out of place around the wealthy, fine, but can't that feeling come from her, and not from the unrealistic boorishness of said wealthy? God. Annoying Girl makes her escape. Drue asks, "How badly do you want to do me bodily harm right now?" Joey slams her punch cup onto Drue's tray and stalks off. "Later," Drue quips, "too many witnesses."
Leery holiday party. The college counselor comes out to the porch to praise Jen: "Your essays were wonderful." She adds that Jen should "be very proud of" herself. Jen is confused: "What…did I do, exactly?" She turned her applications in on time, apparently. The college counselor takes her leave. Jen knits her brow.
Worthington party. At dinner, Mr. Kubelik says that Joey hasn't said much; Joey blushes that she's "just soaking it all in [sic], I guess." Mr. K urges her to tell them a little about herself. Pacey shoots her an expectant look, as does NLNC, who clearly hopes that Joey will now put her foot in it. Joey stammers that there's not much to tell and she's just "your average teen-age girl." Mr. K says he's seen her application, and he disagrees with that assessment; the writers finally board the continuity train as Mr. K remembers "a certain fondness for art" and asks if Joey's seen the new Guggenheim. "No, but I've always wanted to go to New York," Joey says, thinking she's dodged a bullet, but after a quick shot of NLNC smirking victoriously, Drue enters the frame to fill her water glass and sneer that the new Guggenheim is actually in Bilbao, Spain. "Which isn't important," Mr. K says quickly, and he goes on to describe the "architectural epiphany" of the building itself. Joey nods and smiles politely, but she's obviously mortified. Pacey observes casually that, if you ask him, "the thing just looks like a big artichoke." Hee! It kind of does look like an artichoke from certain angles. Joey stares at Pacey in frank horror. NLNC stops chewing. Pacey also stops chewing: "What? I'm serious, it does." "You've been?" Mr. K asks. Pacey says no, but Doug is an "architecture buff" who has lots of coffee-table art books, so Pacey has seen all the pictures, and it looks like a big artichoke to him. Mr. K starts giggling and says that Pacey's right, it does look like a big artichoke. Pacey beams. Everyone else at the table laughs along. Joey looks ill.
Leery party. Dawson broods outside. Mr. Brooks hails him, commenting on the "shindig" that's going on inside. Dawson grudgingly invites him in, but Mr. Brooks says he's "not much for crowds." Dawson isn't surprised, and asks if there's something he can do for Mr. Brooks. Mr. Brooks hands him Kiss Kiss Bang Bang by Pauline Kael, whom he calls "the best film critic ever was," and I'd have to agree. Mr. Brooks adds that Kael can say it a lot better than he ever could. "Says what?" "Why," Mr. Brooks says -- why he lived for Saturdays at the Rialto, why he hopped a train for LA as soon as he could after high school, why he nearly cried the first time he set foot on a studio lot, why he did cry the first time he yelled "Action!" Then he apologizes for snapping at Dawson. I light a candle for the beginning of the end of Mr. Brooks as Mr. Brooks adds that Dawson "scratch[ed] an open wound" that hasn't healed yet. "Which is none of my business," Dawson says. Correct! But no, Mr. Brooks isn't finished, and he begins a tale of Louis B. Mayer calling him into his office in 1956 and telling him that he had a "brilliant idea" -- casting Mr. Brooks's best friend and Mr. Brooks's girlfriend in Mr. Brooks's picture, Turn Away, My Sweet. Ohhhhhh, no. No, no, no, no, no, no, NO.
Symbolism: Are you gonna eat this leftover pizza?
Sars: It's all yours, dude.
Mr. Brooks says he couldn't help but agree with Mayer. Then they start shooting the picture, and he's "a madman, crazed beyond belief," and doesn't notice "what was happening right in front of" his eyes. Dawson looks almost pleased. Mr. Brooks sighs, "My best friend falling in love with my girlfriend. By the time I realized it, it's too late, she's gone," but he's still got to finish the movie: "Do you have any idea what that's like?"
Symbolism: You sure? I can heat it up.
Sars: No, go ahead. I'm not hungry.
Dawson: "I would imagine that it would be terrible." Mr. Brooks says, "Yeah!" and it made him hate directing, and the day they wrapped shooting, he caught a train home to Capeside and "never looked back -- started a new life, started a better life." He turns to go.
Symbolism, through a mouthful of cold pizza: Hey, that's just like Dawson, eh what?
Sars: Yeah, thanks for the tip. And could you pick up those crumbs? Some of us live here.
Dawson watches him thoughtfully, then calls after him, "Mr. Brooks. Mr. Brooks!" Mr. Brooks, testily: "What?" "Would you like to come inside?" Mr. Brooks casts about for an excuse, then shrugs, "Eh," and stumps towards the house. Dawson smiles smugly. Mr. Brooks pauses beside Dawson and asks, "Why do you wanna make pictures?" Dawson worries the spine of the book with his fingers and says quietly, "How can you explain the things you love? You can't, you just do." "God help ya, kid," Mr. Brooks says, not unkindly, and heads inside. Dawson snorts, then follows him in.
Worthington party. Pacey delivers the punchline of a rabbi joke, and Mr. K breaks up laughing and tells Joey he had no idea that "[her] boyfriend was such a charmer!" "Who knew?" Joey smiles insincerely. Mr. K remarks that Worthington "could use a young man like" Pacey, and asks why Pacey hasn't applied. Joey says, in a bright tone that does nothing to disguise the naked mean-spiritedness of the question, "Yeah, Pace, why haven't you?" Pacey flounders for a moment before lying that "for me, it's Yale or nothing." Mr. K says that that's certainly Worthington's loss. Joey sets her jaw angrily and whispers that she'd like to talk to Pacey for a second, "outside." Well, that's totally inappropriate. Pacey gets an inkling that he's in trouble as Joey takes his hand and murmurs to Mr. K, "Excuse us."
Outside, Joey reams Pacey, allegedly for lying but in actuality for showing her up. Pacey tries to get a word in edgewise, but Joey keeps squalling about the "pseudo-motivational diatribe" (and no, I don't know what she's referring to either) and repeating that he lied about Yale, and Pacey tries again to interrupt, but Joey won't have it: "Pacey, why are you trying so hard to impress these people?" Pacey, beginning to get annoyed: "Are you done yet?" Joey, on the point of frustrated tears: "Look, I don't even know who you are right now!" Well, he's someone who's a bit more adroit than you socially, Joey, so why don't you just admit that that's what bothers you, and follow that admission by sucking it up? Pacey tries to defend himself, but Mr. K interrupts, saying that he'd love for Pacey to meet the dean, and does Joey mind? Joey recovers with a frazzled "of course not," but the minute she says it, her face falls into a mega-sulk. Mr. K and Pacey walk off together, Pacey with an arm slung around Mr. K's shoulder, and they banter; Pacey throws a look over his shoulder at Joey, and she seethes back. Then she slumps over to the edge of the boardwalk and leans on the railing and makes melted-wax face, and the shot goes on forever while Joey sighs and bites her lip and closes her eyes melodramatically and pouts so hard that we can see a blood vessel pounding in her forehead, and at long last we go to commercial break.
I love that Dandy Warhols song in the new "decorate yourself" Gap commercial.
A brief slo-mo montage of holiday decorations overlaid with an ovarian version of "The Little Drummer Boy," my least favorite Christmas song ever, before we fade to Jack at the Leery party. Jen storms up to him, and he greets her with a big happy smile, but she's set to chew him out: "Did I not make myself perfectly clear to you?" Jack, smile fading: "What?" "Did I or did I not ask you to just mind your own business?" Well, no, you didn't, not in those words. Anyway, when Jack attempts to explain, Jen hisses that he had no right to do what he did. "He had every right -- as did I," Grams says, appearing at Jack's shoulder. Jen snaps that she doesn't need saving, she doesn't want to go to college, and they should both stay out of it. Grams says that Jen does too want to go to college, she knows that for a fact, and she knows why Jen hasn't applied. Jen says Grams doesn't, but Grams insists that she does; it's because Jen refuses to ask her parents for help. Well, if that's the case, I don't blame Jen one bit. Jen says tearfully that she can't just keep putting herself out there again and again, and she won't. Grams says that she won't let Jen (put herself out there, I guess she means), and she apologizes for making Jen feel like she couldn't talk to her lately, but Jen has to understand something, and Jen avoids Grams's eyes as Grams tells her, "You must understand that, no matter how angry, or upset, or disappointed I may be in you, I will always be there, for you. You are going to college, young lady -- if I have to beg, borrow, or steal, I will get you there." Snif. Jen finally meets Grams's gaze as Grams adds, "You are the most important thing in my life, Jennifah, and -- and I love you!" Snif! Jen's lip quivers. From behind Grams, Jack pipes up that he "kinda" loves Jen too. Jen looks back and forth between them, then mock rolls her eyes and says "ahhh" and hugs Jack, and Grams and Jack hug her back.
Meanwhile, back at the Poutback Steakhouse, Joey sobs into her hand. Mr. K, wearing a concerned look, comes out to find her: "Hi, Joey." She jerks up and quickly wipes her face and says she's sorry, and she thinks she needs to apologize. Mr. K: "Really -- whatever for?" Joey mugs and stutters and says she thinks she "blew it tonight," it's a "whole new world for" her, she doesn't know what to do or what to say, she knows she doesn't fit in very well…fortunately, Mr. K crashes the pity party and interrupts to tell her that she didn't "blow" anything (yeah, no kidding), and that her academic record stands on its own: "And no one is grading you on your social skills." Good thing, too. Mr. K goes on to say that Joey couldn't "ask for a better character witness than that boyfriend of [hers]," who apparently talked the dean's ear off about Joey, how she's helped him and changed him, "how he couldn't imagine a better life than one with you by his side." I send Symbolism out to the drugstore to pick me up some insulin. Mr. K notes that it's a "rare gift" to have someone say things like that about her. Joey looks miserable and guilty, but she has the grace to smile and try to appear flattered.
Jack and Jen sit on the stairs at Reconciliation Ranch. Jen wonders where she applied. Jack tells her: Bard, Brown, Columbia, Emerson, and Sarah Lawrence. Jack says that he had to rummage through her computer, but her paper on the women's suffrage movement "made a really good essay" after some "pruning." "Cool," Jen says, smiling. Jack says in a too-casual teasing tone that he "stumbled across [her] journal," and as Jen tries to play it off with a shocked "oh," Jack says, deadpan, "I didn't realize you still had those kind of dreams about me. Jen gets up: "More 'nog?" She grabs his cup and books as Jack says drolly, "Sure -- love some more 'nog." Tee hee!
The piano, where Mr. Brooks is tickling the ivories. He and Grams share a bit of mock-hostile banter, and Mr. Brooks remembers Grams putting him in his place: "I admire that in a woman." Grams gives him guff for "getting on in years." Mr. Brooks admits to harshing on Dawson, "but that was before I got to know him." Just you wait, Brooksy -- juuuuuuuust you wait. Grams advises him to get to know people in the future before dismissing them. Mr. Brooks suggests that she do the same. They exchange A Meaningful Look. Grams, shaking her head and smiling, walks away. Enter Dawson, who accuses Mr. Brooks of "flirting with Grams." "Nonsense," Mr. Brooks scoffs good-naturedly. "That looked like flirting to me," Dawson smirks. Mr. Brooks tells him, "You'd know if I was flirting. Matter of fact, you could pull up a seat and take a lesson or two." Dawson grins, then makes a crack about Mr. Brooks having the "massive ego" of a movie director. Yeah, look who's talking, George Luc-Ass. Mr. Brooks remarks that, just because they "had a moment" earlier, doesn't mean they have to get "all chummy." "Point taken," Dawson says -- as if -- and clears his throat and says with great portent that he wants Mr. Brooks to know something: "I think I'm ready to make a movie again." Oh, thank God. If by "thank God" we mean "fucking kill me now." Dawson, why don't you climb up on that cherry-picker they use for dolly-cam aerial shots and get over yourself? And shut up. Shut up a lot. Mr. Brooks snarks that the crisis of faith seems to have ended, so he'll "alert the media." "Go ahead, laugh all you want," Dawson says smugly, and Mr. Brooks tells him that he intends to and asks what Dawson's "picture" is about. "You," Dawson says, radiating self-satisfaction. Mr. Brooks rises from the piano bench and asks Dawson to repeat that into his "good ear." Dawson smiles that it's Mr. Brooks's life story, and they'll "talk later." Yuck. Dawson walks off. Mr. Brooks sighs, resigned to the fact that into every life some Dawson must fall.
Worthington party aftermath. Joey slouches up to Pacey, and they hug. Pacey whispers, "Apology accepted." Wow, he's easy -- I'd have made her work for it. Joey draws away from him: "I didn't apologize, Pace." "Yeah, but you were going to," Pacey murmurs. "I was?" Joey says, bristling slightly. Pacey prompts her, "Yeah, you were gonna apologize for bitching me out earlier." Joey not only doesn't apologize, because evidently she doesn't think she has to, but she expects an apology from Pacey: "And what about you? You're the one who lied." Well, yes, he did -- but he did it to put you at ease, and you thanked him by pitching a diva fit and leaving him to talk you up to the people from Worthington while you acted like an infant outside, wearing only a strappy dress and a wrap, on Cape Cod, IN DECEMBER, so WHATEVER. Pacey asks, with infinitely more patience than I'd have or than Joey merits, if it's occurred to Joey that he did it for her. Joey snottily asks how exactly she benefits from his "distortion of the truth," and instead of throwing his hands in the air and stomping off with an angry "see if I escort your bony ass anywhere again, ingrate," Pacey says that he wanted people to see her through his eyes that night, "to see this girl, this…woman, who has more class and intelligence and beauty and grace than anyone else who's walking the face of the planet." Oh, ick. Dial it back, Pacey -- you haven't even had sex yet! And Joey exhibited neither class nor grace with that tantrum she threw, so you might want to buy a dictionary. He blabbers on about these things coming out of his mouth because he's head-over-heels in love with her, but "the really scary thing is…[he thinks] that they're true." Blecch. Pass the toothpaste, I think I've got sixteen cavities all of a sudden. Joey smiles, gratified, and leans her forehead into his face, and he kisses her chunky bangs, and Joey finally apologizes, saying that she just wanted to impress these people "so bad," and to fit in, and she just "completely froze." Pacey tells her that it doesn't matter, but she protests that it does matter, that she's never wanted anything so badly before, and Pacey just fit right in with no effort at all. Pacey says that it's because he's got nothing "at stake here" and nothing to prove to the Worthington folk, and as Joey pouts all melted-wax face some more, Pacey tells her that that world is opening its doors to her, and when she steps through, she'll "be such an amazing part of" it, and she's doing Worthington a favor, not the other way around. More forehead touching. Joey says that Mrs. Witter should get a medal for raising "the perfect boy," and things like that come out of her mouth because she's head-over-heels in love with him and blah blah schmoopy blah "the scary thing is," she thinks it's true. Cut the cord, both of you. Kissing. NLNC barges in with the Jaws Of Life and pries them apart. I wake up. Pacey proposes that they go to the Leerys'.
Ranch. Dawson leans on a doorjamb and watches his parents while an ovary mangles "Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas" in the background. Gretchen comes up to him, and Dawson very nicely tells her that she "did a very good thing," and as Gale and The Flash hug, Dawson adds that, years from now, he won't remember what he got for Christmas, but he will remember how it felt to see his parents so happy. He thanks her. Gretchen says that it's "total selfishness" on her part; the party takes her back to a time "before everything got so complicated," blah bling blah. Mr. Brooks happens by and tells Dawson, "Why dontcha quit flirtin' and kiss her?" and ruffles the mistletoe over their heads with his fingers. Dawson and Gretchen both laugh. Gretchen: "You've gotta be kidding me." Dawson: "I had nothing to do with this." Sars: "Just get on with it already." Dawson parries nervously; Gretchen reminds him once again that "it's tradition, Dawson, and you don't monkey with tradition." He leers at her. They lean in towards each other.
Cut to Pacey and Joey entering the party. Joey tucks her hair diffidently behind her ear and clings to Pacey's arm; Pacey looks at her proudly. They greet some never-before-seen friends.
Back to Dawson and Gretchen, who, far from observing the polite just-friends peck the situation might seem to have called for, have begun macking in earnest. The camera circles around them to show Pacey and Joey in the background, and focus-zooms out to show both of their faces falling as they catch sight of the Dawson-Gretchen lip-lock.
Back to Dawson and Gretchen again, no longer kissing but tenderly gazing into each other's eyes.
week: a rerun of “True Love" means a night off for yours truly, and not a moment too soon.