I didn't like this episode. I realize I'm in the minority, and that even people who hate what Mark Greene has become were caught tearing up as he inched toward death in this hour. I didn't hate the episode because I'm heartless, nor because I'm predisposed to dislike Mark; rather, I thought it was overdone, tried too hard to shove Rachel down our throats, and was generally an ill-fitting tribute to a character that was once an ER pivot. Mark had to beg for affection all season from his wife and daughter, and in the end, he still never got it. In trying to be wise and strong with Rachel, Mark ended up looking pathetic. He never got any dignity back. Instead, he got two uneven episodes, one of which further weakened and demeaned his character, and the other of which offered a few moving moments between his former colleagues, but mostly served the purpose of proving that both ER and the ER can replace him. Tossing him two Emmy scenes amid a morass of junk -- spit-shined and packaged as a Very Special Episode From the Pen of John Wells -- is a shoddy way to thank Anthony Edwards for eight years of work.
Previously on ER: Mark rifled through Rachel's backpack in search of drugs, but found cigarettes; when he confronted her, she seethed. Ella overdosed on Rachel's Ecstasy, and an enraged Elizabeth moved out because Mark wouldn't boot Rachel. Mark's tumor returned, he quit the chemo, and Carter announced Mark's death. So much for suspense. But maybe this episode will be like the movie Clue, and have a different ending wherein the tumor jumps out Mark's ear and into Rachel.
The episode picks up with the very end of "Orion in the Sky." You know, just in case the chronology hadn't already been julienned like so many helpless carrots. Dr. John "Hair" Carter and Dr. Mark "Nair" Greene are standing in the ambulance bay. "You set the tone, Carter," Mark tells him, turning to leave. Carter is as confused as he was the first time. Mark walks away and never looks back.
On the El Train, Mark sits placidly and stares at the teeming life all around him. He notices a young girl asleep on her father's lap, her head nestled on the man's shoulder; Mark smiles slightly. One assumes he's envying their closeness, but it's conceivable that he's snickering about the painful crick she'll have in her neck when she wakes up.
Mark arrives home and removes his coat, strolling through his shadowy and silent house. He grabs a glass of milk to do his body good, then pushes open the door to Rachel's room. It's decked out in posters for the band Disturb, which is appropriate. Rachel is already asleep, having been able to reach that state without the aid of her father's shoulder. Mark stares at her, wondering how the child of a brunette Vulcan and a prematurely bald man got such a thick head of hair. Mark switches off her blaring Walkman. So far, Mark hasn't uttered a single line that wasn't already in a episode, and we're already honing in on the credits.
Elizabeth shuffles downstairs in her pajamas and finds Mark sitting at the kitchen island. "What are you doing?" she asks sleepily. "I'm feeling sorry for myself," he answers. She pats his shoulder and offers him soup. After last week, during which I ate soup six nights out of seven and occasionally twice a day, I can absolutely confirm that liquid food will do nothing positive for his mental state. Mark declines. He explains that he's listing all the things he's wanted to do with his life, but hasn't. Elizabeth squirms. "Too morbid?" he asks. "A bit," she sighs. But she offers her ear anyway. Mark warns her that he got a bit carried away. "Sail around the world," he begins. "Climb Mount Kilimanjaro." Seriously, what is the point of making that list if he's going to make it completely asinine? Perhaps the item should be "Grow an afro." Elizabeth listens politely. "Play third base for the Cubs and hit a sacrifice fly to drive in the winning run in the seventh game of the World Series," Mark reads. That's so perfect -- his fantasy isn't even to win it all with a home run. It's got to be a sacrifice fly. Emphasis on sacrifice. Elizabeth fails to suppress a snicker. "They get better," Mark grins. He also apparently wants to get on the cover of Rolling Stone with his own garage band. "Do you even play an instrument?" Elizabeth asks. "No, but I've always wanted to trash a hotel room," he giggles. I can just see it: gripped by tepid yellow irritation, Mark sips a light beer, tears a piece of Hilton stationery in half, lightly knocks the remote control to the floor, and wantonly leaves a ring around the bathtub. Pure havoc. on Mark's list is to skydive, followed by the nausea-inducing "have noisy sex in a public place." Elizabeth has the nerve to say, "Oooh, I can help you with that one," as if incest isn't illegal in most states. And A Hero's Last Orgasm? Not in this lifetime.
As Elizabeth pours herself some milk, Mark reads off his item. "Smoke a hand-rolled Cuban cigar while drinking dark Caribbean rum in a sidewalk café overlooking the Havana seawall," he drawls dreamily. Elizabeth moans in delight, for what might be the first time in their entire marriage. "That's a really good one," she sighs with a euphoric smile. Mark, you stud. Take her to bed or lose her forever. : surf a giant wave at a place called Maverick's, which is apparently legendary for its mammoth waves. The writers had to work in a Maverick reference. Now, if only a completely unexplained goose would stroll across the screen, we'd have magic. Mark also wants to find Jerry Walker from high school and beat him to a bloody pulp. Sure. "Take the kids to Disney World," Mark reads. "Teach Ella how to ice skate at Rockefeller Center at Christmastime. Teach Rachel to drive." Elizabeth stares at Mark as his voice begins to break. "Be there to give them both away at their weddings," he finishes. Elizabeth tries to lighten the subject by suggesting that they all go to Disney World. Mark would prefer to wallow in the disaster of his life. He blurts that he's been a terrible father. "I wasn't there when [Rachel] needed me," he mourns. "I was four hundred miles away." As if it's his fault Vulcan Jen is a shrew. Mark ruefully points out the last item on A Hero's Last Documented Attempt at Futility: Fix Rachel. We hit the credits wondering if he'll have to go back in time and "fix" all the Rachels so that the seed won't be propagated.
Putting Michael Michele and Eriq La Salle in the credits sort of removes any mystery about who might turn out to visit A Hero's Last Resting Place. It detracts from the effect of seeing them later, especially when ELS is out there pumping his fist and demanding to be acknowledged.
Mark pulls up outside Rachel's school and spies her wrapped around some young hooligan. She's smoking. Hallee Hirsh clearly doesn't, though, because she's holding the damn thing like a pencil. Mark gets out of the car and hails her, so she indiscreetly hands off the cigarette to her friend and trots obediently toward her father. He nonchalantly offers her a breath mint. "I was holding it for a friend," she lies. "In your mouth?" he asks pleasantly. Rachel smartly refrains from exacerbating the lie by announcing her mouth as a storage place for all sorts of oblong objects. She lets herself be shepherded into the vehicle as Mark hurriedly makes sure she doesn't have anything in her locker that's vital to her existence. "Where are we going?" she asks, confused. "Honestly, Rachel, I don't know," Mark shrugs. Rachel watches him with amusement.
Cut to Mark inside a small prop plane. He's wearing goggles and a yellow helmet, and is properly decked out to skydive. When his turn comes, he leaps out of the plane and luxuriates in soaring over rolling mountains and a cerulean ocean. It does appear to be Anthony Edwards doing the jumping, as if A Hero Will Fall Several Thousand Feet And Land In Our Hearts. Rachel, on the ground, stares up at Mark; she's sporting a very small bikini top. A native brat asks if it's her dad up there, and if this is a mid-life crisis plunge. "Something like that," brats Rachel. Bitch. It's an end-of-life crisis. Show some emotion. It's okay; Mark can't see you from up there.
Later, Mark strolls out to the pool in swim trunks and a t-shirt. He jauntily grabs a towel from a cabana boy and heads for the beach. He stops, then peels off his shirt for the cameras and pauses for a second in all his fleshy glory. This scene exists for no reason other than the exposure of Anthony Edwards's Jell-O pudding six-pack, and behind the camera, John Wells is swelling with pride. And badly concealed desire. Mark skips off to the ocean to live, live, live. He loves to run and skip, and live.
Inside, Rachel snuggles up to her pillow, asleep. Mark stirs her and offers her breakfast because it's almost 8 AM. Wait, so this isn't the same day as the skydiving? What happened? I guess we skipped a night. Or maybe nighttime skipped us. Maybe John Wells flogged Nighttime in a dark alley so it wouldn't interfere with his pretty "Mark skydiving and beach stripping" sequence. Rachel groans and rolls back over, and Mark cheerfully announces that time is passing and that they've got a lot to accomplish. Rachel's all, piss off; take your good mood, and hump it blue. Mark shouts out that he's got a history lesson on tap for her. Groggily, Rachel lifts her head. "What?" she moans. "My history," he clarifies.
Mark drives his beat-up red rental Jeep over a bridge. The closed-captioners announce that the song playing is Todd Rundgren's "Hello, it's Me," which is sort of nauseatingly cute since this is Mark's "Welcome to Me!" farewell tour. Mark's clad in a green plaid shirt, and his condom of choice is a red cloth baseball cap. Rachel bitches about the music, and sullenly wants to change the station. "No, I like this," Mark says, honoring whatever spine fragments he has left. Rachel chews on this. "This is where everything blew up?" she asks. How very simplistic of you, Rachel. Mark nods and points out the U.S.S. Arizona memorial, and reminisces that when he was young, the bridge didn't exist yet and they had to take ferries back and forth. Rachel pretty much ignores this little segment of Way Back In The Day.
The duo walk in a quiet suburban neighborhood, slightly ramshackle in appearance. Mark waxes rhapsodic about living in Hawaii, and how his mother kept gorgeous flower gardens. Rachel is too busy looking idiotic to listen. Seriously -- she's poured into these too-tight denim capris, which are too short and therefore look more like knee-length shorts burped up by Esprit in the 1980s. She gazes distractedly at the tan clapboard one-storey house in which Mark's family allegedly lived. "The last ferry was at 11, so Navy kids mostly stayed on the base," he says. "The golf course, the pool, the bowling alley, youth center..." Rachel snickers. "You were a bowler?" she asks. Mark nods. "Mostly, we just rode our bikes around, went to the beach, got in trouble trying to sneak into restricted areas..." This draws the merest smile from Rachel's bitchy face. Mark reveals that he lived here for three years, "the longest [time his family] spent in one place."
, Mark and Rachel peer through a chain-link fence at a lap pool. "All the good kids were JROTC [Junior Reserve Officer Training Corps; ROTC is the collegiate level] and hoping to get into Annapolis," Mark remembers. "I hung out with the troublemakers." Oh, you bad seed, you. Mark shares that his first job was as a janitor at this very pool for a dollar and a quarter per hour. "That's slave wages," snorts Rachel. "It was enough to keep me in new records and good weed," shrugs Mark, but you can tell he's looking at Rachel out of the corner of his eye to see if she's impressed by the young hellion he once was. Mark's all proud of himself for being a rebel, except someone in the forums pointed out that, in past seasons, Mark has more or less confessed to being a pretty tame kid. I think the writers here just watched Fast Times at Ridgemont High and were like, "Hey, look, that's Mark!" Rachel does a double take when Mark mentions "weed," and Mark smiles mischievously at her. "What? You know records," he says, oh-so-cleverly pretending not to get her amazement. "LPs, vinyls, those funny big black things that your hip-hop heroes are always ripping off for their songs..." Rachel's struck dumb. Mark grabs her arm to take her somewhere else, and it's gross that you can see a spark of newfound respect on Rachel's face. If only Mark had "accidentally" put away his old bong in the glasses cupboard one night. They could've bonded long ago.
Now, they're at the Missouri memorial, where Mark walks Rachel past the sixteen-inch guns that he claims "could lob a two-thousand-pound shell twenty-three miles." Rachel has the good grace to look awed, especially when he drops the tidbit that when the Pearl Harbor bombardment began, the sound could be heard up to forty miles away. He then reminisces about visiting the bridge of an old ship on which his father was second-in-command. "[It was] 'take your kid to work' day, only Dad's office was a warship," smiles Mark. "He introduced me to the sailors on watch, stuck a hat on me..." "One of those white Gilligan's Island things?" she asks. Like the one you're wearing, idiot? Rachel notices the fondness with which Mark remembers his time on the ship with his father, and wonders why Mark didn't join the Navy himself. "I was mad at my dad," Mark says. "[About him] never being around. We used to fight all the time." Mark shakes his head sadly and stares at the ground, but again, all his words are cutely pointed directly at Rachel, and it makes me wonder if he just made up the lot of it in a last-ditch attempt to prove to her they're the same person. If they are the same person, then Rachel has a long, bald adulthood ahead of her. Mark laughs sadly that he and his father argued about everything -- "Music, clothes, friends, the length of my hair," he lists. Rachel snickers. "Don't laugh," he smiles. "I used to have hair. Lots of it. Down to my shoulders." Rachel doesn't buy it. Mark returns to the subject at hand and recalls trying to provoke his father just for the hell of it. "I hated everything that he stood for, and I made sure that he knew it," Mark says. "What did he stand for?" Rachel asks. "Patriotism," Mark intones. "Responsibility. Authority. Honor." And Mark stood for joking, smoking, and midnight toking. And anarchy? Please. If Mark was an anarchist, then I'm Russell Crowe. Mark muses that he'd undo all the friction if he could, but it's too late, because his father is deeply and irrevocably dead. "He rode me hard when he was around," Mark sighs. "I think he was worried about me, worried about the choices I was making." Rachel not only doesn't care, but doesn't get it, which is amazing because she's actually been buried alive by anvils. There's a brief reveal that Mark was a surfer, which piques Rachel's interest more than any of the other drivel. "Surfing?" she gapes.
Cut to a father-daughter surfing lesson. He coaches her as she prepares to catch a wave; when she stands shakily on the board and yelps in delight, Mark throws his arms up in the air. "YES!" he screams.
Night. Heartbreak Hotel. Rachel sits on the floor between two beds, crying and wiping her eyes. Then she rises and crosses into Mark's room, peeking out on the balcony. "Dad?" she says loudly. Mark doesn't stir. Because he's dead! Or sleeping. Either suits Rachel's purpose -- she wants to steal his pills and feed them to local babies. Furtively, she tips one into her hand and then skips to the mini-bar, which is really just a small tray of liquor bottles sitting on the dresser. Oh, as if. Rachel snags some gin and swills down the pill, then takes another sip for good measure, without so much as a grimace -- or, indeed, any reaction to the booze she's just chugged. It's as if she was drinking -- gasp -- prop water. Way to act, Hallee. Rachel then trots elsewhere, presumably to fill up the bottle with water, and we notice that Mark is alive, awake, and watching from the balcony. He enters the room and stares sadly at his medicine table. His whole "I Was Down With The Chronic Back When I Hated My Dad" allegory was, it seems, not obvious enough. We fade to commercial wondering if a frying pan to the head might make things clearer to Rachel.
Red Jeep. "Imagine," by John Lennon, plays on the radio as Mark drives down a long, tree-lined driveway and up to a gorgeous, sprawling house. "You know this [song], right?" Mark smirks. Rachel glares daggers through his glasses and petulantly puts on her headphones. They pull up and park in front of a retreat house Mark rented for the week. Rachel freaks out at the idea of all Mark, all the time, at some strange haven of calm. "Relax," Mark says. "You're going to love it." The Hawaii Chamber of Commerce is having spasms of ecstasy right now.
Naturally, Rachel finds fault with these accommodations. She's in Hawaii, she's in a huge house on the beach, she's getting out of school for an unexplained period of time, and she's got her own room. But there's no television set, and so Princess Entitlement flounces off to confront the evil King Tumor. "There's no TV in my room," she complains. Mark calmly unpacks and doesn't miss a beat. "Right," he says. "There isn't one." Rachel's jaw falls. "Is there a pool?" she quizzes. "The ocean," Mark answers. "The hotel was getting too expensive. The mini-bar charges alone were starting to add up." He fires a very pointed look at Rachel, whose ungrateful little tongue is rendered speechless just in time to save it from being cut out. By me. Mark tells her to unpack so that she's free to help with dinner. "Is there a phone?" Rachel sputters. Mark shrugs. "What are we supposed to do?" she panics. "Swim, walk on the beach, surf..." Mark lists serenely. Rachel is boiling over, and stalks out of the room. What a complete crazy asshole. Who could be that fucking crabby in an island paradise with no Elizabeth in sight? Man. She deserves a trip to Hawaii about as much as O.J. Simpson deserves to breathe the sweet air of freedom. Mark watches her leave and smiles slightly, as if her tantrum counts as a step forward in their relationship.
Dinner. Mark and Rachel eat in total silence. Mark gazes at Rachel as if to start conversation, but she looks away poutily. Mark is silent. Mark is a whipped man. Say something, idiot. Tell her you're selling her to some unclean and deeply horny pirates. Better yet, go ahead and actually sell her. I'm sure you could get beer money out of it.
The morning, Mark tries to teach Rachel how to drive a stick-shift car. This could be an allegorical sex talk, too, for all we know. She gingerly follows his instructions, shifting into first, easing onto the accelerator, and easing off of the clutch. The camera keeps flashing to her feet. The car sputters forward, then stops. "What did I do?" she panics. Mark laughs that it's just a matter of finding the right speed at which to release the clutch and pin the gas. He tells her to try again, so she does; this time, the car lurches forward violently before coming to a halt. There's also a ton more shots of Hallee Hirsh's ugly, dirty toes. I feel like I'm in hell -- nasty feet plus crusty thong flip-flops equal a queasy Heathen. Rachel starts getting pissed off, whining that she wants to learn to drive on an automatic. Sing it, girl. Mark adamantly insists that it's better to do it this way, and uses the "get on the horse" adage to make her try one more time. Rachel looks as if she'd rather shoot the horse. Instead, though, she fires up the engine and manages to get the car rolling forward. "Woo!" cheers Mark, throwing his arms up in the air as if to announce a touchdown. Rachel totally wigs out when Mark tells her to shift into second gear, but he guides her hand and she's off and driving.
Later, Rachel creeps up to Mark's bedroom door and peers through the shutters. He's lying in semi-darkness with his eyes closed. She tip-toes in and asks if he's okay. "Is your headache back?" she wonders. Mark sits up, his back to Rachel, and we see he's got a weird reflective thing taped to the eye that won't close. It's a cross between a monocle, an eyepatch, and half a pair of sunglasses. I expect him to smoke a pipe, speak with a heavy German accent, and keep a parrot on his shoulder. Mark gently takes off his pirate monocle and lies that he's just fine. Rachel uncomfortably invites him down to the beach with her. "I'll be there in a minute," he says weakly, covertly putting eyedrops into his right peeper. As she leaves, Mark stares at the wall in dread and exhales shakily so that we know he's drawing one of his last breaths of good health.
Rachel is lying on her towel in a really skimpy string bikini, the likes of which I wouldn't even wear around my boyfriend, much less my father. Mark stares at her for a second, then joins her on the sand. Music blares from her headphones; it's the song "One Step Closer" by Linkin Park, which contains the lyric "I'm about to break," which is just so precious. What a little cherub. Mark figures it's a waste of his time to beat around the bush. "When did you start getting high?" he asks. Rachel denies that she's ever gotten high. I was going to criticize her for treating him like he's stupid, but then I remembered that he kind of is. "I was loaded most of eighth grade," he reminds her. "I'm no fool. Stop treating me like one." Rachel still insists that she doesn't get high. "I'm missing three Vicodin," Mark reveals. "Maybe you took them, and forgot," Rachel offers blithely. What a bitch. Seriously. She would throw his disease back in his face just to cover her own ass, then she'd bare said ass in a really ugly bathing suit? For shame. Mark presses her, citing the list of drugs she or her cohorts have been caught with and demanding to know what's on her hit list. "Nothing!" she screeches. "If you don't believe me, FINE." She storms away in a right rage. Mark watches, then decides to follow his daughter despite the fact that the entire audience is begging him to let her walk back to Chicago and out of our lives. He pushes himself off the sand with his right forearm. Nice touch, actually, because it teases Mark's growing inability to work that arm. Yeah, I know, I just complimented Anthony Edwards. But Satan's not putting on sweatpants quite yet.
As Mark chases Rachel, her bikini bottoms practically drop off her ass. It's scary and embarrassing. "You're only fourteen," Mark yells, catching her and blocking her path. "What the hell are you going to be putting in your body when you're sixteen?" Or on your body? Rachel pouts. "I love you, please don't do this. I don't...I don't know what to do," Mark implores. "I don't have time to work this through. I'm not going to be here in a year to help." Rachel's face remains expressionless. "You got a bastard of a father who was never around, and then went off and had a new baby," he shouts, as if it's completely his fault that Jen boffed someone else and divorced him. Mark lurches toward her for emphasis. "Your mom got remarried to a creep. She works too much," he continues. "You got a raw deal, all right? Why not get high? No one gives a damn about you, anyway." Rachel's face twitches into an expression that's supposed to be one of recognition, I think, but appears more like Hallee Hirsh needs to sneeze. Mark rails about how well he knows the tune of the I'm Fourteen And I Hate My Father blues. "But what are you going to do when I'm not here, Rachel? Who's going to keep you from killing yourself?" he whines desperately. "I'm scared. Scared about what's going to happen to you." Rachel's eyes bug out and then get narrow, which I believe is her version of "He's so wrong...but so right that it hurts." I really wish John Wells would stop cutting to her, because she can't act and it's causing me physical pain. Mark finally yells that he knows the situation sucks, but that he's powerless to stop it. "I'm your father, and I'm going to die. You know what? I think it sucks, too," he insists. Rachel considers this, but her ass cleavage takes control and decides it wants to scamper away across the field. So it does.
In a dark corner of the retreat house, Mark's located a phone and is using it to call Elizabeth. It's a one-sided scene, though, so that they don't have to pay Alex Kingston too much. Mark asks benign questions about Ella and lies about his health. There's a pause as Elizabeth obviously asks about Rachel. "She's fine," Mark lies again. "You know. [She's] fourteen."
Guitar music. Mark is on a surfboard. He catches a wave and rides it competently, and again, Wells goes to great pains to make sure we can tell that Anthony Edwards really does know how to surf and does all his own stunts in these dangerous salt-infested waters. Mark glistens with water and flexes every muscle he can find. It's A Hero's Last Dylan McKay Impression, and A Director's Last Money Shot. Rachel watches with a glimmer of pride on her face.
As they walk home, Rachel stays a few steps ahead of Mark. He tries to make dinner plans, but she throws over her shoulder that she'd prefer to eat pizza. This triggers something in his brain. Marinara, doughy crust, cheese...it's enough to make a tumor throb with longing. Mark's right hand quivers, and the convulsions extend up his arm and through his entire body; he collapses onto the grass in a full seizure. Rachel whirls around and runs to her father's side, sliding to her knees to his body and wailing, "Dad? God, Dad?" She impotently touches his arm and makes no attempt to save his tongue from becoming dinner. We fade to commercial wondering if Mark was really seizing, or just trying to breakdance in another ill-fated attempt at bonding.
Tumor Island. The Chrysler Chariot of Product Placement pulls up at Death's door. Death is at the Tiki bar drinking daiquiris, but thankfully Mark's around to answer phones and run the fax machine. Elizabeth gets out of the CCPP with Ella in her arms and roams the retreat home, calling her husband's name. She takes in the gorgeous views, all of which are a fantastic advertisement for Hawaii and a stunning endorsement of my earlier urges to kick Rachel's ungrateful, bony ass-cleavage. Elizabeth carries Ella upstairs and into Mark's bedroom, where they find Mark stretched out on the bed and DEAD. No, wait, he stirs when they sit down. Baron von Yellowbeard's face lights up when he sees the two of them. Ella scrunches up her face and shoulders and lets out a gleeful giggle. She is so adorable. She is so clearly not Mark's child.
In the kitchen, Ella conveniently absent, Mark shares that "they" happened to drive by and see the sign advertising this house for rent. His judicious use of "they" indicates that he's still sticking up for Rachel in front of Elizabeth. Because Rachel really deserves Mark's loyalty at this point. Mark exposits that a phantom woman named Janet -- who either owns the place or lives nearby -- has volunteered quite happily to take care of Ella occasionally. And since Ella hasn't been through much this year -- certainly no severe health crises -- Elizabeth is clearly only too happy to hand over the kid in order to cherish the last moments of her loveless marriage. Elizabeth finds a container of Janet's herbs that Mark says he's using; Mark also reveals that he's having acupuncture because he's the new poster child for homeopathic remedies. How long have they been there? "Where's Rachel?" Elizabeth asks, looking around. "Out surfing," Mark answers. Elizabeth gives him a knowing and reproachful glare. "[Rachel] found you in a grand mal seizure," she says quietly. Mark shrugs that it was no big deal. "She was scared to death when she called me," Elizabeth continues, picking up steam. She busts Mark on the fact that he never went to see a neurologist after his collapse, and she tries to insist that he do so. "No, thanks," Mark breezes. Elizabeth faces him and makes him grasp her hands; at first, I thought this was going to be a romantic or even loving moment between them, during which one or both would express love. But then I remembered that this is Mark and Elizabeth, and they aren't any more in love than Mark and I are. Mark's failed attempt to squeeze her fingers on command proves the uselessness of his right hand. "Your wrist?" Elizabeth asks. Mark shakes his head. "Elbow?" she asks. And Mark moves it. Or not; we don't actually see, because the shot is only on his face, and his face is saying, "Emmy clip, incoming." Elizabeth tenses and briskly insists that they're going home for treatment. "I don't want to go back home," Mark states simply. Elizabeth stares into his eyes, slowly recognizing her defeat even as she wills herself to fight him. Mark gazes back, wondering if this is the wrong time to ask about fulfilling his "noisy public sex" wish. Perhaps as a lead-in, Mark gently offers to show her the beauty of the beach; the scene ends with a shot of Elizabeth coming to terms with the fact that Mark will die in Hawaii. No loving words, no hugs, nothing. At the very least, they could've let Mark have a nubile local wench.
Surf shop. Ella is still with the mythical Janet, getting fed whatever herbs the woman is pimping, while her parents pay attention to the evil child. Rachel trails somberly behind her parents. "What's she going to do with a surfboard in St. Louis?" Elizabeth hisses. Alex Kingston looks great, by the way -- she's in an orange tank top that's a flattering color on her, and some khaki pants that show off how well she's shed her pregnancy weight. Mark figures Rachel can let the surfboard gather dust in the garage; apparently, he just wants to do this for her, perhaps so that she can talk to the surfboard when she needs advice, and pretend it's Mark. This would never work, obviously, given that the surfboard is by far too animated to play the role of Mark. Elizabeth notices Rachel's glum and rude attitude, and nudges Mark. "Has she been like that the whole time?" she asks. Mark confirms this. "Lucky you," Elizabeth mutters. They enter the surf shop.
Mark half-heartedly inquires about purchasing a board, while Rachel drifts over to a cute Hawaiian guy and starts chatting him up. Eagle-eyed Elizabeth spots this. "It's okay," Mark whispers. Apparently, Rachel's been inventing excuses to go to the shop so that she and the guy can flirt. Mark's totally juiced to see his daughter turning some heads, which is creepy. He's practically salivating and shouting, "Come on, boy! Nail that!" The boy's name is Kai, which elicits an amused snort from Elizabeth that I don't fully understand or appreciate. "He looks sixteen," Elizabeth whispers nervously. "Maybe seventeen!" Mark's completely unconcerned that Rachel's hitting on a guy who's at his sexual peak. So he goes about his business of pretending to shop for a surfboard, leaving Rachel alone with Kai. Elizabeth follows him skeptically. This episode is just plodding along. Can we please have a pace change? Anything? A Diet Coke?
Rachel follows the sound of her father's voice up to Ella's room, where Mark rocks Ella gently and croons "Somewhere Over the Rainbow." Judy Garland sobs in her cold grave. The little tyke is fast asleep. Rachel watches Mark finish the song, which takes eons, and responds quickly when Mark asks her for help. Mark's right side, increasingly paralyzed, can't sustain Ella's weight if he stands. So Rachel grabs his arm and supports him as he shuffles toward Ella's crib. "Remember when I used to sing you to sleep?" he reminisces. "No," Rachel answers rudely. Based on what we just heard, she must've blocked it out. Mark waxes nostalgic about how she used to watch The Wizard of Oz and The Little Mermaid over and over; as Rachel stomps impudently down the stairs, Mark chases her with memories of their old apartment and the neighbor's dog. The onslaught continues until Rachel's downstairs in the living room. "I don't remember, okay?" she spits. "I don't remember any of that stuff. It's not important, and you just keep talking and talking about it." Elizabeth, sitting in the kitchen, pricks up her ears to listen but keeps her expression impassive. Mark drags himself around to the couch. "It is important," he insists. "No, it's not," scowls Rachel, her tone escalating as she checks off all the memories she doesn't care to hear. Elizabeth warns her to keep her voice down so that Ella can sleep. Mark eases himself onto the couch to try reaching out to Rachel. "I'm trying to tell you about us, our family," he whispers. Rachel calls it stupid, boring, useless crap, and that pretty much sums up my feeling about what we've seen so far. "I don't care about those things," rants Rachel. "I don't want to hear this stuff, so just stop talking to me about it!" And with that, she bolts outside and slams the door. Ella begins to cry. Mark and Elizabeth exchange glances, and hers says, "Hey, baldie, you started it." So Mark volunteers to tend to Ella, and toddles upstairs.
Rachel stares angrily at the ocean, arms crossed tightly across her chest. Elizabeth strolls casually across the beach to speak with her. "How long are you planning on keeping this up?" she asks. Rachel is silent. "He's not perfect. Far from it," Elizabeth allows. "But he's trying." Still Rachel says nothing, because her misery is all that counts. "You've got to grow up faster than you should have to," Elizabeth tries again. "You don't get to be a child any more. Your father's dying." He is? Rachel snarls, "I know that." Elizabeth warns Rachel that she'll live to regret wasting this time on being petty and snotty, since it's the only time Mark has left. Still getting nothing from Rachel one way or another, Elizabeth repositions herself and ducks around to try to force eye contact. "Rachel, this is your last chance," Elizabeth levels. "And if you blow it, you're going to end up hating yourself for the rest of your life." At first, I was irritated that Elizabeth didn't try hugging Rachel or even remind her kindly that Rachel's not the only person losing Mark. But actually, I think it would've been weirder if they had embraced, because their relationship just isn't that way, and never was. With a frustrated sigh, Elizabeth returns to the house. Rachel stands on the beach and makes wailing and sniffling noises, except it's kind of obvious that Hallee Hirsh isn't crying. I guess they're out of Tiger Balm on the set.
Ceiling fan. Baron von Yellowbeard lies on the bed and stares up at the rotating fan, gulping. More fan shots. It's Mark's one and only fan. Slowly, he struggles onto his right side and grips the mattress tightly with his left hand. Using that as leverage, Mark scoots himself to the edge of the bed and eases himself into a seated position, using his left hand to put his right leg where he wants it to be. Mark massages his limp right hand, then tensely and gingerly puts weight on his left leg. With difficulty, he stands; when he tries to take a step with his useless right leg, though, Mark collapses against the floor and bed. It's a nasty position, and it makes a noisy thud on the wood floor. Nobody comes running. Wincing and panting, Mark slides fully onto the floor and tries to swallow his frustration. He can't. "Shit!" he finally screams, banging the floor with his good hand. That screeching sound you hear is the network censor speeding away in a brand-new Jag. Shoving himself upright, Mark moves his right leg so that it's parallel to his left, and he sits against the bed trying to regain composure. Anthony Edwards does a pretty good job in this scene. And yes, at this point, Satan's nipples are officially hard as steel. We fade to black still a bit startled at the expletive, and wondering if Stephen Bochco would be jealous.
Elizabeth helps a coughing Mark down to a chair in the garden, from which he can gaze at the beach. "I'm a bit worried about that cough," she begins, pressing him to visit a hospital. Mark cracks that pneumonia isn't such a bad way to go. He's the master of gallows humor, that one. Elizabeth feigns amusement and plops down to him in a chair. "Where's Rachel?" pants Mark, and we notice that his right eyeglass lens is covered with gauze. Elizabeth reveals that Rachel is with Kai. "They're spending a great deal of time together," she observes. Mark calls Kai a nice kid. "So you're not worried...about what they might be doing with all that time?" Elizabeth asks, eyebrows cocked. Mark, far from worrying, actually thinks it's marvelous, because Rachel has shown so much good judgment about what she puts in her mouth.
Awkwardly, Mark turns to his wife and quietly asks her to do him a difficult favor. "I want to write letters to Rachel and Ella," he explains. "I tried to do it myself, but I can't read my own writing now." That explains the identical penmanship between his portion of The Letter and Elizabeth's. She looks sad as Mark lists the occasions he'll miss -- weddings, graduations -- and grieves for her right hand, which will soon be a cramped claw from writing out cliché upon cliché for every conceivable occasion. "You think that's cruel?" Mark wonders. "Reaching out from beyond the grave on days that they should be happy?" Elizabeth swallows tears. "I think they'll cherish every single word," she chokes. Mark gazes at her apologetically. "I told you it might be hard," he says gently. "I'm okay," Elizabeth swears, her eyes moist but her voice resolute. She stares at the ocean while Mark smiles wanly at her. Interestingly, they sliced out Ella taking her first steps for Mark, and Mark telling Elizabeth he wants her to remarry after his death. Those two scenes were either teased or listed in the Spoilers thread on the forums, and frankly, I'm sort of glad they spared us the awkwardness of Mark asking Elizabeth to move on and not mourn him forever, and Elizabeth laughing and laughing, and laughing some more, and then starting to laugh.
Elizabeth washes the dishes in the kitchen. It's dark. Rachel appears in the doorway. "Is he asleep?" she asks. Elizabeth curtly confirms that he is. "He sleeps a lot now," Rachel observes emptily. "Yeah," Elizabeth says, still not looking at her stepdaughter. She acts pissed off. No wonder they're not close. Elizabeth can hold a grudge more tightly than she holds her own daughter. Rachel speculates that Mark's in a lot of pain. "It won't be long now," Elizabeth says, still the picture of businesslike efficiency, mentally counting down the seconds. Rachel notices the chill from Elizabeth's corner -- the icicle on her nose tipped her off first. She peers nervously at the ceiling, then trudges upstairs.
Rachel peeks into Mark's room, which is dark. For some reason, he's now got mountains of tape on the Patchacle. Half his head is wrapped. He's a pirate mummy. He's Long John von Tut. Rachel's eyes widen. As she stares in horror, Mark's good eye flickers open and he drawls, "Hiiiiiiii," in a very weak and slurry tone. "I was just dreaming about you." Rachel is surprised. "Remember how much you loved balloons?" he breathes thinly. "I used to buy them for you, and right when I handed them to you, you let them go." No reaction from Rachel. I can't tell if that's by design, or bad acting. Mark begs her to sit with him, so she shuffles toward the bed and softly plops down to her father. This is so pathetic. She's done nothing but freeze him out, and he's done nothing but forgive her. I guess that's parenthood for you, but I'd still hoped for something a little more firm from him so that he wouldn't die as ineffectually as he's lived.
"I was trying to figure out what I should've already told you, but I never have," Mark begins earnestly. "Something important, something every father should impart to his daughter." And then he dies. Please? No? Oh. Well, fear not, everyone: he's hit upon the answer, and he's going to share it. "Generosity," slurs Mark, nodding proudly at his epiphany. "Beeeee...Generous. With...Your time...Your love...With your life." Somebody's been studying his Yoda. In about two seconds Mark is going to say, "There is. Another...Skywalker." Rachel drinks all this in, lets it penetrate her soul, marinates in her dying father's last gasp of wisdom, and coughs up the following profundity: "Okay." Mark closes his eyes and weakly apologizes to Rachel. "I'm so tired," he whimpers. "That's okay," she says quickly. "Don't...cry for me," Mark husks. Oh, that won't be a problem. No worries there. "Be...generous," Mark hisses again. "Be excellent to each other. And, party on, dudes." Rachel, pleased, skips off to pop some more Vicodin and wash it down with some fine Old English malt liquor from a fresh brown bag. But before she goes off to be very generous with her body to Kai, she offers Mark this last concession: "I remember the lullaby," she admits. "I remember you used to sing it to me every night." She carefully puts her headphones on his ears. "I remember," she promises him again. I'm assuming she didn't magically procure a copy of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," which means A Hero's Last Song is going to be something by Disturb or Limp Bizkit, which is appropriate given the lifelong limpness of Mark's biscuit.
We hear the lilting strains of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," sung by Hawaiian artist Israel Kamikawiwo'ole, who himself died in his late thirties. This song was used in an eToys jingle. Maybe this is foreshadowing the sale of a Mark Greene Oppressed Hero Action Figure, with abuse absorption, an attachable cloud of misery and a removable inflatable tumor. Time passes. We go from night to day, and Mark lies alone in his bed. He's probably in and out of consciousness, because we go into a montage of things floating through his mind. We see shots of Elizabeth playing outside with Ella, then a look at a County General corridor, clean and sparkling and totally empty. We see Trauma Yellow; amusingly, in Greene's trauma, he doesn't look fondly back at Trauma Green. Maybe his patients' survival rate was better in the yellow room because it made him feel sunnier. To remind us that this is A Hero's Last Daydream, we cut again to Mark lying limply on the bed, wind blowing gently through the open window. Then, he's strolling through County General, walking right up to the front desk and standing behind it. He's at the Giant Reception Desk in the Sky. Then Rachel and Kai play in the ocean as Elizabeth watches with a hollow smile. Mark sleeps. In his mind, he's standing at the end of an ER hallway, looking a bit lost, staring around the empty room as if committing it to memory. Then Mark imagines Rachel leaning against a tree, giggling with Kai and holding hands. Wow, she is a homely girl. Eek. Kai's way too cute for her. She stares straight at a healthy specter of Mark, who smiles back at her, warmed to have seen his daughter finally content and possibly in love. Mark's last vision of Rachel is that she's grinning and laughing, not that he'd actually know what that looks like. That's why this is clearly a fantasy. Back in reality, the camera pulls back from Mark's body on the bed so that all we can see is his arm and foot. I count this as the last time Anthony Edwards is on the clock. Enter his stunt limbs. Mark envisions Elizabeth tossing Ella into the air, then turning toward Mark with a wide and lovely smile the likes of which she hasn't delivered all year. It's so wide, her face might actually split in two from ill use. Stunt Foot. Stunt Arm.
Elizabeth enters the room with a cup of water for Mark. She touches him lightly, then urgently puts the cup on the ground so that she can check his pulse. The music fades away as she realizes his heart isn't beating; slowly, she sits on the bed and stares at him, then grabs his hand and brings it to her lips. Aw. It's A Hero's Last Finger-Job, and he's too dead to feel it.
Funeral. The captioners have transcribed a whole speech by the minister, which John Wells chose not to use, and actually, I think that was a good decision. Instead, all we see are people's faces. First are Carter and Benton, each stoically impassive. Tears stream freely down Weaver's face. Where is Sandy? Can't you bring dates to funerals these days? Abby, looking beautiful, doesn't register anything on her face at all. It's as if she's burying a pair of last season's clogs. Luka stares stone-faced at the coffin. Susan is also stony and way too heavily made up. She looks like an angry tart. Chen is there, too, and Haleh, dressed in normal clothes that unfortunately make her look like a flight attendant. Gallant dressed in his Army uniform, complete with beret, and he's so adorable. It's nice to see that they let everyone leave so that Pratt could run the ER by himself, since he's so trustworthy and sensible. Rachel doesn't cry; Elizabeth does. Cleo does nothing, because tears would short out her circuitry. Drs. Anspaugh, Swift, and Romano are there, and Frank is, too, looking surprisingly distraught. I'm actually kind of touched by that. Jerry frowns. Vulcan Jen comtemplates the illogic of human emotion. Carter -- the only one besides Benton to get a second shot -- starts to tear up, and Elizabeth's tears snake down her cheeks as the funeral comes to a close. Much has been made of the absence of Doug and Carol, but that's one thing I wouldn't blame TPTB for, because there's no way they didn't try and get at least one of them. But is anyone really surprised? Clooney is probably expensive, and Margulies wanted out so badly that she turned down a ridiculously rich contract with the show. There was never any way those two were returning for this funeral. Personally, I think they should've used really bad recasts wearing prominent and obnoxious name tags.
Elizabeth stares vacantly out the window of her limo. Rachel gingerly asks if she can still see Ella, perhaps during summers or at Christmas. "Of course," Elizabeth answers robotically. "She's your sister." No smile, no attempt at warmth. Cow. Gushy stuff would've been totally out of character, but she could have at least tried to deviate from being a horrible wench. Vulcan Jen even looks amused, and we all know she's against having any facial expressions at all. Suddenly, Rachel spies something and begs the driver to pull over. Running outside, Rachel unties a blue balloon from someone's driveway fence. Looks like Little Joey's party guests won't be able to find the house with the blue balloons tied to the fence. Elizabeth and Vulcan Jen tumble out of the car, the former completely confused while the latter smiles in recognition. Rachel stares at the balloon -- an inflated blue ball that's neatly descriptive of her father's sex life during the last year of his life. Rachel releases it and watches it float away, the merest hint of a smile on her lips. Elizabeth senses that this is A Moment, and has the grace to look touched; Vulcan Jen is actually enjoying herself. Go figure. Our last shot is of Rachel staring up at the sky. Bye bye, Mark.