By Demian
This week, Sue Sylvester gets a bad reputation (see: episode title) when Finn uploads to YouTube a stolen video of her grooving to internationally renowned animal rights activist Olivia Newton-John's "Physical." Of course, the clip goes viral by lunchtime, thereby instantly transforming Sue Sylvester into the laughingstock of the teachers' lounge. Meanwhile, Will gets a bad reputation (see: episode title, again) when Sue decides to convince "Ella" to stand up for herself in the latter's on-again, off-again relationship with Mr. Schue. Of course, Emma takes Sue's advice to heart and calls Will a slut in front of all of their colleagues, thereby instantly transforming him into The Manwhore Of McKinley High. And to top it all off, the entire Glee Club gets a bad reputation (see: episode title, again, some more) when a certain anonymous and knocked-up someone papers the school's halls with a "GList," which uses some complicated algebraic formula to factor the relative tramposity of each member of the group. Of course, the adults freak the hell out about the GList's suggestion of wanton teenaged promiscuity, thereby instantly transforming the entire Glee Club into the victims of an hysterical witch hunt launched by the freaking adults.
Sue, mortified and utterly humiliated, visits her handicapable sister out at The Home for a little pep talk and returns to McKinley dangerously close to mending her wicked, evil ways. Fortunately, Miss Olivia Newton-John gives Sue a ring to suggest they shoot an updated version of her 30-year-old "Physical" video, and Sue immediately becomes an internationally renowned top-700 recording artist, thereby restoring herself to her rightful place atop the teachers' lounge pecking order.
Will, mortified and utterly humiliated, ignores Emma for most of the episode, then shows up at her office with a lovely floral arrangement by way of apology. Even though it almost kills her, Emma politely says, "Thanks, but no thanks," because she's in therapy now for her obsessive-compulsive disorder, and she thinks she and Will need to start all over from the beginning, the better to learn who each other really is, rather than who each wants the other to be. Or, you know, some such bullshit psychobabbling therapyspeak she just five seconds ago picked up from her analyst.
The entire Glee Club, neither mortified nor utterly humiliated, gets yelled at for some stupid reason by Mr. Schue and Maharishi Figgins over the GList with which a certain anonymous and knocked-up Quinn papered the school's halls, then winds up with an assignment to "rehabilitate" songs whose reputations have fallen upon hard times. Songs like "Ice, Ice Baby," "U Can't Touch This," "Run Joey Run," and "Total Eclipse Of The Heart."
Wait a minute. Who hates "Total Eclipse Of The Heart"? Go to hell, Ryan Murphy. And LTG and I agree: You can take Jonathan Groff's goddamned yoga pants with you.
Previously on Pee-Wee's Playhouse: "Home."
Frankenteen, Rachel, and Jesse St. James arrive in the music room to find Artie, Kurt, Mercedes, and Single-T Tina practically vomiting with laughter over a clip they're watching on Kurt's laptop. "You guys aren't watching the video of me falling off stage at my first Tiny Tots beauty pageant, are you?" Rachel frets. "That was Carrot Top funny compared to this comedic tour de force," Kurt assures her as we finally get a glimpse what's responsible for all this hilarity: A certain Miss Sue Sylvester sweatin' to the oldies in the supposed privacy of her trophy-lined lair. And the oldie in question? Nothing less than that seminal early-'80s classic "Physical" by Miss Olivia Newton-John. Jesse St. James, ever the erudite expert on all things musically inclined, approvingly notes of the song's original video, "It was pretty groundbreaking subject matter at the time, considering its depiction of fluid sexuality." No comment. Though I still want to make out with his hair. Call me, Jesse's Hair! Anyway, Kurt facetiously assures everyone present that, as far as the current video's provenance is concerned, he himself "certainly did not steal it" from Sue's locked file cabinet when Sue sent Kurt to her office to fetch her "hormone replacement injection" during Cheerios practice yesterday. "I'm posting this on YouTube," Frankenteen grins, lurching for the laptop despite Rachel's immediate and loud objections. "Do you think that's a good idea?" Rachel wonders, and Rachel, honey, no one who's sporting the sorts of Reichsmädchen braids you've got twined around your head should be questioning Finn on what is and is not a good idea. Jesse St. James seems to agree with me, especially after Mercedes suggests that a YouTube posting would allow Sue Sylvester to "get a taste of some of the humiliation" Sue put the Glee Club through since the series began. "You guys need to stop being such asses," Jesse St. James contends, "and start being bad-asses." That's enough for Frankenteen, who snatches up the laptop while smiling, "Ten bucks it goes viral by lunch."
Minutes later, Sue's striding through the McKinley High halls in a slimming black track suit featuring lime-green stripes, utterly oblivious to the various underclassmen openly laughing at her as she passes their lockers. A large-framed jock pops a finger gun in her direction and smarms, "Hey, Miss Sylvester! Let's get physical!" "Not really my type, but I like that attitude!" Sue spiritedly retorts, not getting it at all until an even larger-framed jock calls out in mocking singsong, "Hey, Sue -- let's get an-i-mal!" A sudden, horrifying realization passes across Sue's face as the bell rings, and then we're off to...
Minutes later, Sue's striding through the McKinley High halls in a slimming black track suit featuring lime-green stripes, utterly oblivious to the various underclassmen openly laughing at her as she passes their lockers. A large-framed jock pops a finger gun in her direction and smarms, "Hey, Miss Sylvester! Let's get physical!" "Not really my type, but I like that attitude!" Sue spiritedly retorts, not getting it at all until an even larger-framed jock calls out in mocking singsong, "Hey, Sue -- let's get an-i-mal!" A sudden, horrifying realization passes across Sue's face as the bell rings, and then we're off to...
...Maharishi Figgins's office, where Sue's seething, "That Glee Club stole my private property and posted it online, and as soon as I figure out the difference between slander and libel, I'm filing a lawsuit!" Hee. "Don't you think you might be overstating this a little?" Will interrupts from his bored slouch in one of the office chairs. Sue pauses her rant long enough to acknowledge her nemesis's presence like so: "Will, I may buy a small diaper for your chin, because it looks like a baby's ass." And with her nemesis so tersely dispatched for the moment, Sue returns her attention to her maharishi to continue, "That video has received over a hundred and seventy thousand comments, and I took the liberty of printing out a few." Of course she did, and of course she now flips a binder-clipped stack of paper onto Figgins's desk, from which he reads, "'The man in this video looks like the champion cheerleading coach Sue Sylvester.'" "That was particularly hurtful!" Sue glowers. Will, however, has to stifle a snicker before he insists, "My kids don't do stuff like this." "That so?" Sue eyebrows, whipping out "Exhibit B" from her folder. It's a photocopied "Glist" with the headline "Who's Hot -- Who's Not!" in big letters above a ranking of -- in Glist order -- Quinn, Santana Lopez, Puckzilla, Brit-Brit, Jesse St. James, Frankenteen, Gaylord Weiner, Butt Lunch, and Rachel. Will, because he is somewhat dim, wonders what the hell a "Glist" is. "It's a plot device, William!" Sue heatedly explains, going on to clarify, "It's a weekly ranking of your Glee Club based on a hotness quotient of sexual promiscuity." The Plot Device evidently appeared "all over the school an hour ago," and those listed "get a point for each act of perpetuated depravity," though I'm pretty sure Sue Sylvester meant to say "perpetrated depravity," but I'm sure as hell not about to correct her, because Sue Sylvester could kick my ass. Maharishi Figgins confirms that The Plot Device was generated on a computer in the school's library using the Glee Club's password -- "gleeclub" -- before he insists, "I cannot have an environment that sexualizes children and damages their self-esteem!"
Smear to Rachel's self-esteem taking a deadly blow when she discovers the Glist has effectively desexualized her by granting her a grand total of minus 5 points. HA!
"You know," Sue muses back in Maharishi Figgins's office, "a week ago, had I found a list that so degraded the Glee Club, I would have been embarrassed I was beaten to the punch. But now that I know the white-hot shame of public rebuke?" She pauses for the briefest of moments, then sighs dramatically, "That pain is indescribable!" Oh, Sue. Go meet Molly Shannon first, and then you can talk to us about pain. Meanwhile, Maharishi Figgins hilariously reveals he's especially exercised about The Plot Device because of an incident last year at West Dayton High, in which a photo of the school superintendent riding a pony while attired in lady's lingerie circulated throughout the district, resulting in the expulsion of the entire student body. Loath to see a repeat of that particular travesty at McKinley, Figgins orders Will to ferret out and suspend the person responsible for The Plot Device by the end of the episode, or the entire Glee Club will get the boot. "Are you serious?" Will squeals. "Deadly serious!" the maharishi bays. "I cannot have these shenanigans at this school!" "He cannot have these shenanigans at this school!" Sue repeats for emphasis, jabbing her now-empty folder at the tiny rear end on Will's chin. Suddenly beleaguered, Will slides his eyes from Sue to Figgins and back again. Title card.
Music Room. The supposedly suspenseful Mystery Theme that's replaced the typical incidental underscoring for this episode tick-tick-ticks away on the soundtrack as Mr. Schue waves The Plot Device around while demanding, "Who did it?" Santana Lopez studiously files her nails. Hmmm. Nah, she's still too minor a character to be responsible for a Plot Device of this magnitude. Maybe season. And after that particular bit of ultimately pointless misdirection, Mr. Schue warns, "This is serious -- Principal Figgins is threatening to disband the club!" Santana Lopez sets her emery board aside and eye-rolls, "Why are we playing this game? We all know it was Puck." "I didn't do squat!" Puck protests. "Then why is your girlfriend first on the Glist?" Single-T Tina sneers. "And why am I last," Rachel adds, "aside from the fact that I refused to put out for you?" "Enough!" Mr. Schue shouts before he completely loses control of the situation. "No one is accusing anyone of anything!" he insists. Pause. "Puck, seriously: Did you do it?" Hee. "I said no!" Puck asserts. "I'm a delinquent, sure," he concedes. "I like setting stuff on fire and beating up people I don't know -- I own that -- but I'm not a liar!" Mr. Schue all but throws his hands in the air at that and awkwardly segues into this week's central theme like so: "Here's the important point: Between this and posting Coach Sylvester's personal video on YouTube, you guys are getting a pretty bad reputation." Artie pipes up to wonder what would be so awful about that. "Maybe if we seem more dangerous," he hopes, "people would stop flushing my glasses down the toilet." Aw. Poor Artie. Though that's a hell of a lot better than getting locked in a soon-to-be-flipped Port-A-Potty, so maybe he should knock it off with the bellyaching already.
Mr. Schue blows past the wheelchair kid's melancholy plaint to pass out a set of sheet music while babbling about how he understands that the Glee kids are "under a lot of pressure with Regionals coming up," and how he knows that "winning Sectionals hasn't had the positive effect" on their popularity that many of the more delusional club members thought it would, Rachel, but, he adds, "Becoming what you despise is not the answer." And just what is the answer, I hear you all ask? Why, the kids are holding it right there in their hot little hands: "A terrific song on a long list of top hits," as Mr. Schue puts it, "that because of time or some bad press has become a joke." Oh, Christ. It's Milli Vanilli, isn't it? I mean, given Mr. Schue's horrible taste in music, what else could it be? (Yeah, yeah, I know: "Rico Suave." Or Starship. Expect all three by November Sweeps season.) "And," Mr. Schue continues, ignoring me, "like you guys, it's time to start rehabilitating its bad reputation." The kids' assignment of the week is to find other tunes like the underappreciated gem they have in their hands, mine those songs for what works, and make them great again, with the ultimate goal of applying the attendant musical lesson to their own lives. "This song is whack!" Mercedes complains, finally getting to the point. "This song should be arrested for the crime of sucking," Jesse St. James agrees, all but daring Mr. Schue to show them how it's done. "You wanna bet?" Mr. Schue eyebrows, rising to the implied challenge, and he crosses to the conveniently pre-assembled McKinley Jazz Ensemble over on the far side of the room to tell them to hit it, and...the song is even worse than I feared: "Ice, Ice Baby." By, you know. That guy. That guy who's apparently making a comeback thanks to this abomination. And while I must admit certain aspects of the choreography are fantastically fun to watch, especially Brittany, Gaylord Weiner, and Jesse St. James nailing various superfly early-'90s spins and kicks, I gotta tell you, every time I hear this horrible song's opening riff, all I want to do is listen to said riff's far-superior source and try to forget that a person named Bobby Van Winkle ever sullied the Billboard Hot 100 with his unspeakable presence, and look at that! It's over. "This song is officially paroled!" Mr. Schue crows. I'll be the judge of that, moron.
Teacher's Lounge. Sue confidently struts in from the hall, as is her wont, only to be smacked in the face by a series of garish, slow-motion, fish-eye lens close-ups of each and every one of her colleagues howling with laughter -- at her! "This is not happening!" Sue voiceovers to herself in a desperate panic. "The cruel, slow-motion laughter is just your imagination," the little voice inside her head continues. "You're Sue Sylvester -- legend! They're not laughing at you because of your 'Physical' video. Just calmly pour yourself a cup of joe and focus." But what's this? That smell! It's... it's coffee! An odor that's "usually masked by the smell of fear"! And as one of her especially big-boned coworkers mockingly grinds his rhythmically gelatinous way towards her, Sue realizes, "Sweet merciful Lord, this is happening! You're being laughed at in slow-motion by a roomful of inferiors whom you used to terrify!" Speaking of inferiors... Molly Shannon, who'd been off to the side examining the contents of the lounge refrigerator, slams shut the door to sidle on over and say hello, much to Sue's obvious disgust, which is about the only tolerable part of the introduction that follows. Long story short, Molly Shannon's playing "Brenda Castle," a teacher who just transferred from Fort Wayne because Indiana kicked her out of the state over a drug problem that somehow ended up involving her students. "I saw your video," Molly Shannon confides before bursting into a fit of giggles, "and you, my friend, are an embarrassment!" "And that's me talking!" Molly Shannon adds to emphasize Sue's brutal humiliation before joining the others in the lounge in yet another round of garish, slow-motion, fish-eye lens close-ups that by now are all but demanding an appropriately hysterical Piper Laurie voiceover to accompany them. Sue flees.
Hall. Citing "today's culture" of "bad-boy athletes and celebrity sex tapes," Rachel enlists Artie's aid in securing the services of his friends at The AV Club, as she intends to create a music video that will prove to the world she's "musically promiscuous." Only she's a lot more maniacally psychotic about the whole thing than I am at the moment. Commercials.
Music Room. Tonight's Mystery Theme tick-tick-ticks away on the soundtrack as Kurt -- swathed in an especially fuzzy cowl-neck button-down cardigan -- calls to order the meeting he's arranged with Artie, Mercedes, and Single-T Tina to discuss their "free-falling reps," which have reached "terminal velocity" ever since their pointed exclusion from this evening's Plot Device. "What does a C-Lister do when their tiny star is about to fall off Perez Hilton's radar screen?" Kurt asks the group. "They cause a scandal so extreme, they can no longer be ignored," he continues, answering his own question. Artie apologetically interrupts Kurt's scheming at this juncture to wonder why Brittany's slumped over in a chair on the risers. "I've been here since first period?" Brit-Brit listlessly replies, explaining, "I had a cold? And I took all my antibiotics at the same time? And now I can't remember how to leave?" Hee. However, it's a good thing she stayed, because she's a bit miffed regarding her relatively low placement on the Glist. After all, she's made out with everyone in the school -- "girls, boys, Mr. Kinney the janitor" -- so why is she only fourth? Kurt allows her to join in on their ultimately ridiculous plot to gain notoriety by -- get this -- behaving in a disruptive manner on the newly constructed school library set. This should be dumb.
Meanwhile, over at The Home, Sue's fled to her sister's side to process through her recent abject humiliation in a relatively muted navy track suit with dark orange stripes, and she apologizes to Jean for not protecting her more from the vicious taunts Jean was no doubt subjected to during their childhood. Jean serenely absorbs all of that, then reminds Sue of what they used to do whenever Jean was feeling depressed: Help at the animal shelter "to give back," "because there's always someone who's got it worse than you do."
"I'm a little confused," Emma warily admits over in her office. Heh. Yep, Sue's decided that everyone's favorite downtrodden, obsessive-compulsive bush baby would be the perfect pet project to pull her out of her funk. Doesn't stop Sue from addressing her as "Ella," though. Hee. There's a lot of funny dialogue and one or two priceless throw-away asides in this scene -- most of them coming from Jane Lynch, of course -- so I'll just try to summarize it as best I can: Sue's taken it upon herself to act as Emma's therapist, and to that end, she bribed Will's landlord to slip baby monitors under his sofa and bed, so she therefore knows of Will's "make-out sessions with the coach from Vocal Adrenaline" and his "sleepovers with that world-class banana magnet," Orange April. "You need to make a bold move," she counsels, rising from her chair to loom over a shocked and shaken Emma. "You suck!" she taunts, obviously trying to force Emma into defending herself. "You take weird little strides when you walk," Sue snarlingly continues, "as if you were raised in Imperial Japan and someone bound your feet!" "You make a valid point," Emma meekly whispers, leading Sue to howl, "Grow a pair! I'm insulting you! You refuse to stand up for yourself, you're so afraid of confrontation!" Point to Sue, which Emma willingly concedes, so Sue instructs Emma to be honest with Will about her feelings "in a public setting," where he can neither escape from nor manipulate her. "Trust me," Sue finishes, "you need to let him have it." And in stark contrast to the impending wacky library hijinks, this oughta be good.
Rachel's bedroom later that evening, where Rachel's unloading some utter bullshit involving some hateful couples' nickname I'll not be transcribing while Puck looks unreasonably hot modeling The Phantom Of The Opera's half mask. Yowza. Anyway, long story short, she's just buttering him up to costar in her "musically promiscuous" cover of "David Geddes's fantastically terrible '70s top-ten hit 'Run Joey Run,'" and Jesus Christ. "Run Joey Run" peaked at number four on the Billboard Hot 100 in 1975? What the hell was wrong with those people? Then again, people today just put that scab Ke$ha on the top of the chart as recently as February 27th, so maybe I should keep my mouth shut as far as the musical taste of Boomers in the mid-'70s goes. Anyway, Rachel explains the horrible song's wretched excuse for a plot before the two perch on her canopied bed to discuss this evening's Plot Device for a bit, and then they make out. Well, almost. Puck tries to seduce her into letting him cop a feel by ruefully admitting to his failings -- "I go to school and I say, 'Be cool, Puck! Be nice!' but by second period I've got a fire extinguisher in my hands and I'm spraying some dweeb with it and I don't know how I got there!" -- and noting that cheating on Jesse could only improve her placement on tonight's Plot Device before finally arguing that "Jesse will never fully understand what it means to be a Jew." And while Rachel's as tempted as any (relatively) sane human being would be by Puck's charm offensive -- or, you know, his offensive charm -- she ultimately restrains herself and convinces him simply to rehearse. Wow, she's an idiot. Commercials.
Over on the newly constructed school library set, Kurt, Artie, Tina, Mercedes, and Brittany slink in from the hall clad in Hammer pants, and there is no way this will not end in a raft of bitter recriminations borne upon a flood of hysterical tears -- not to mention about four or five freshly slaughtered egos splattered about that newly constructed school library set -- so let's be brief: Artie presses Play on the boombox he's got perched on his lap, and the five launch themselves into their version of MC Hammer's "U Can't Touch This," and while the song remains an utter embarrassment, I must say this: God. DAMN, but this dance routine is unreal. The four who can just hurl themselves into it, and while Heather Morris of course stands out as the best among them -- it looks like she's flying at times -- the other three seem to be keeping up with her which, you know: Wow. And then it's done, and the ancient librarian pushes herself up from her chair to toddle on over from behind her desk with a stern look on her face. "Here it comes!" Artie pants, as eager as the rest of them are to be branded McKinley's Quintet Of Horror. Unfortunately, the ancient librarian's stern expression dissolves into a delighted smile, and she cheerfully tells them, "That was very cute -- I'm gonna talk to my pastor and see if I can't get you kids to perform that for our Sunday service!" Cue the bitter recriminations and hysterical tears. Also: Commercials.
Tonight's Mystery Theme tick-tick-ticks away on the soundtrack as the camera goes all jittery and hand-held while the lighting shifts to harsh white overhead spots, all of which can only mean one thing, kids: Interrogation Montage! Mr. Schue's playing bad cop to absolutely no one's good cop, and most of the Glee kids get their turn in the hot seat during what follows. Finn's first up and pretty much unmemorable, so let's move ahead to Mercedes, who gets in a somewhat amusing line with, "Why does everybody assume I'm angry all the time? It's called 'being sassy,' Mr. Schue!" Meanwhile, Artie cogently argues that he couldn't be behind this week's Plot Device, because there's no way his wheelchair-bound self could post the Glist at everyone else's eye level, which is where it was found. Single-T Tina again accuses Puck, Puck again defends himself against Single-T Tina's scurrilous accusations, Brittany doesn't know how to turn on a computer, and Quinn points the finger at Rachel, so Will slams his hands down on his desk to shout, "Look, I know you know something, so we're not leaving here until I get some answers!" The camera slides back to the hot seat, where it finds Kurt pulling a Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct, by which I mean that he's carefully arranged himself on the chair with his legs firmly crossed to one side, not that he's going commando in a miniskirt. "Mr. Schuester, may I be blunt?" Kurt delicately opens. "Shoot," Mr. Schue sighs. "Ever since you separated from your wife," Kurt guesses, "you've spent a lot of late nights watching reruns of Law & Order, haven't you?" Mr. Schue remains silent, but his amateurish Bad Cop façade clearly collapses under the weight of Kurt's impeccable insight. Heh.
Once all that's over with, Kurt meets with the other dejected Hammer Pants out in the hall, where they quickly decide that if they want to be seen as badasses, they'll "have to do something more terrifying than Rachel's personality": Admit to posting Sue's "Physical" video to YouTube. DUN!
Sue's Office. Tension mounts, not only on the soundtrack, where the strings are going all Bernard Herrmann on our collective ass, but also in Sue's voiceover, as it narrates the following most distressing journal entry: "I don't know how much longer I can take the humiliation. The video has just surpassed three million hits -- is my misery some kind of karmic retribution for the way I've treated people?" Dun-dun-DUN! The phone rings. "You're go for Sue," Sue hesitantly answers. The oddly accented voice on the other end of the line asks, "Hello?" right before the shot cuts over to reveal... Miss Olivia Newton-John! Wearing sunglasses at night. Shut up, Miss Olivia Newton-John. International recording artists like her don't listen to the likes of little old me, though, and she instead carries on to introduce herself like so: "It's Olivia Newton-John, star of Grease, the most successful movie musical of all time?" Liar. "Nice try," Sue snaps, "and that's a ridiculous accent." SLAM! Sue returns to her distressing journal entry to confess, "I've learned my lesson: Sue Sylvester's gotta start playing nice full time." "NOOOOOOOOO!" screams the audience as one. Fortunately, the phone rings again. "Hi, we must have got cut off?" Miss Olivia Newton-John begins without even waiting for Sue to speak. "It's Olivia Newton-John -- I released a record seven consecutive number-one singles?" On the Adult Contemporary chart, maybe. Liar. "Sing something!" Sue challenges, so Miss Olivia Newton-John warbles out a couple of bars of "Physical," and Sue's so shocked, she bobbles her phone. Internationally renowned animal rights activist Miss Olivia Newton-John explains she's on her way to a ribbon-cutting ceremony for a koala sanctuary, but she just had to ring, because she saw Sue's video on YouTube, and long story short, because internationally renowned environmental rights activist Miss Olivia Newton-John "botched" the first video for "Physical" by filling it with too many fat white guys in Spandex, she'd like to meet tomorrow morning after chairing a Save The Rainforest benefit at Kings Island to chat. Would Sue be free, by any chance?
The day, Mr. Schue's roaming the McKinley halls and receiving quite a lot of unwanted attention thanks to Emma's psychotic break in the teacher's lounge. "Hey, manwhore!" Sue casually greets him as they pass in opposite directions, and then Molly Shannon's back to introduce herself to him as the new alcoholic, pill-popping astronomy teacher-slash-badminton coach, and after she tries to yank him into the janitor's closet to "pork," she thankfully vanishes so Maharishi Figgins might assure Mr. Schue, "I'm praying for you, William -- we've all heard about your gallivanting!" Heh. And then a noticeably larger Ken Tanaka pops up to chide him for playing fast and loose with Psychotic Emma's feelings, and while it's nice to see him for the first time in what feels like forever, far more amusing are the two letter-jacketed jocks in the background who bow down to Will all, "We're not worthy! We're not worthy!" Hee! Finally, just to add yet another insult to Will's injury, Sue breezes past Mr. Schue once more with a quick and chipper, "Slut!" HA!
Back from the break, Artie offers Kurt a few last-minute instructions like so: "Remember, if Sylvester hits you in the face after you cop to posting the video, don't scream like a woman." "Thank you!" Kurt peeps, his face frozen in terror. Heh. And then it's time for the much-feared confrontation. Kurt, excessively polite: "Coach Sylvester, could I have just a minute of your time?" Sue, curt: "What do you want, Lady Face?" Tina, Artie, Mercedes, and Brittany involuntarily lean forward, breathless. Kurt, babbling his obviously rehearsed speech so as to get it over with as quickly as possible: "You're aware a tape was leaked onto the Internet causing you to become a national laughingstock? We stole the tape from your syringe-and-pill drawer, we posted it online, and we'll accept whatever punishment you see fit." Sue, vaguely menacing: "So it was you." Pause. "I can't thank you enough!" Sue smiles and continues on her way, leaving shell-shocked Kurt looking like he's about to pass out right there in the middle of the hall.
Moments later in the music room, the five still-shocked would-be badasses search YouTube for clues as to Sue's unexpectedly sunny demeanor and find...
...a complete revamp of the 1981 "Physical" video starring both Miss Olivia Newton-John and Sue Sylvester! Well, it's not a complete revamp, as they've replicated the original's set, but there's nary a pasty obese fat man in sight, and as none of the exceptionally well-toned nipple ponies on display bears the slightest resemblance to this lovely late-'70s lothario, I'm inclined to call this remake a smashing success. Especially when the nipple ponies pull this absolutely unbelievable stunt where they, like, leap four feet into the air from a standard push-up position on the ground. How the Christ did they do that? By the way, these boys also know how to move -- you know, in the dancing sense -- which is another vast improvement over the 1981 version, which featured gentlemen of the stand-and-pose variety who, while era-appropriate, are boring as all crap to watch. And while some have complained that Sue's lines have been vocoded to hell and back, the results are reminding me of a ton of early-'80s synth pop, so I'm not having a problem with that, either. Brava, ladies! (Yes, I'm including the nipple ponies in the "Brava," as well.)
Later, there are some more dire words about this episode's Plot Device in the music room, and then it's time for Rachel's video, which she excitedly introduces like this: "Though I understand that a motion picture should stand on its own, I do realize that some of you are not well-versed in the complex vocabulary of the filmic arts. I expect that this video will go over the heads of some of our less-cultured teammates, so let me just say I hope you enjoy my bad reputation!" Yeah, we're about to realize that Rachel's not terribly well-versed in the complex vocabulary of the filmic arts herself, but I'm probably getting ahead of myself. Rachel commands the lights to dim, then takes her seat to Jesse St. James for the premiere of "Run Joey Run." And oh, my holy God, it's three full minutes of unadulterated, seemingly endless cheese, and it is hilarious. The song remains horrendous despite the excellent vocals by everyone involved, and that was a given, but the visuals are so awful -- so intentionally, hysterically awful -- that you just sort of sit there open-mouthed as it plays out, not able to laugh at any one thing because too many absolutely ridiculous things are flying by at the same time. It opens with Santana Lopez and Brittany as a pair of slyly knowing angels floating through dry-ice clouds in the school's main hall, and after that image bounces backwards to shatter into 81 identical copies of itself, it leaps forward again so the angels might part to reveal Rachel, over-the-top desperate, as the song's ill-fated Julie, dashing through those same dry-ice clouds as the fluorescents flicker ominously overhead. And it goes downhill from there. With split screens featuring one person singing the song while another blatantly mouths along to the lyrics. With disembodied lips kaleidoscopically bursting outwards before collapsing back in on each other as they relate certain important plot points. With star-shaped wipes opening up to reveal Rachel. With Sandy Ryerson cameoing as Julie's Dad. With ketchup for bloodstains. With Puck in a white beater, for Christ's sake! Oh, wait -- my bad. That last is the one stunningly gorgeous visual that makes up for all of the crap ones.
Yes, it's all very amusing -- and I mean that most sincerely -- but a straight-up recitation of the video's many gruesome details would ignore what's actually happening during this scene. You see, Rachel sneakily triple-cast Joey using Puck, Jesse, and Finn, with Puck carrying the first fourth of the video, Jesse the second, Finn the third, and all three trading off during the final, delightfully melodramatic Run-Joey-Runs that lead into the song's finale. And each of the guys is just finding out now that she's been dicking them all over. Ooops. So when it ends and the lights come back up, Finn's first reaction, naturally, is "This is garbage!" "He's right!" Puck agrees, though it quickly becomes clear Puck's more concerned about the video's quality -- or, more correctly, lack thereof -- than he is with the tangled interpersonal relationships Rachel's just fucked up. "First of all," Puck gripes, "I need to trust my instincts more, because I had a feeling when we were shooting that, that it was not gonna be good!" "Why didn't you tell me that they were in this too?" Jesse St. James peeves from his seat, leaping into the delicious pile-on currently in progress. "I thought you and I were going out!" he protests. "Being triple cast with two other guys to play opposite your boyfriend? It's mortifying!" And yeah, Jesse St. James isn't exactly acting like he's all that mortified at the moment, but his eyebrows are starting to make me think some very naughty thoughts, so who cares? "I-I-It was an artistic statement!" Rachel bleats, attempting to explain herself. "No, it wasn't!" Finn blares. "It was you trying to look like you had a bunch of guys fighting over you so you could stop looking like some kind of outcast and be seen as some hot, slutty girl-singer!" And... point to Frankenteen. First one in a while, I believe. After a few more choice words, Finn flounces out, followed shortly by Jesse St. James. And Jesse? If you really want to look mortified, study your supposed girlfriend at this moment, because she's got that shit down. Commercials.
The Home. What follows is a scene between Jean and Sue that threatens to become a little too sweet for my taste until Sue smears back to her latest moment of glory in the teacher's lounge. Armed with various charts and graphs, Sue wonders with great amounts of false surprise, "Oh, what's that?" before hitting them all with, "Oh, look! Sue Sylvester's a Top-700 Recording Artist, people! WHO'S LAUGHING NOW, HUH?" Sniff. That was beautiful. Once she's smeared back to the present, Sue tells Jean that since Miss Olivia Newton-John's forwarding her share of the remake's proceeds to injured manatees, Sue's decided to give all of her profits to The Home. And...that's about that. !
McKinley High. Will totes a lovely bouquet of mixed flowers into Emma's office and offers it to her by way of apology. Emma visibly flinches at the offering, possibly due to the fact that she's not quite ready yet to settle things with him, but far more probably due to the fact that that ungodly tangle of roses, daffodils, tiger lilies, daisies, and chrysanthemums is threatening to smack her upside the brain with a massive OCD-triggered stroke. And long story short, he begs for forgiveness, but she tells him they need to start seeing each other for who they really are, rather than who they want each other to be. And that's... one to grow on. Loving her cute little Eiffel Tower sweater, though.
And as Will retreats, heartbroken, into the hallway, tonight's Mystery Theme starts tick-tick-ticking away on the soundtrack when Mr. Schue spots obviously-pregnant-again Quinn struggling to force her now-invisible way through the crowded hall, and long story short, she's responsible for tonight's nefarious Plot Device, because she lost her status, her popularity, her home, her body, her likely future, and God knows what else once she got herself knocked up, and she just wanted some sort of recognition -- any kind of recognition, even the worst -- from her peers. Mr. Schue issues an efficient and effective Buck Up, Little Camper speech that I will not be bothering to transcribe because he's clearly attempting to parallel his situation to hers through the thing -- which: Shut up, Manwhore -- and when it's all over, Maharishi Figgins arrives in the music room to see if Mr. Schue's managed to capture the ruffians responsible for tonight's nefarious Plot Device. Mr. Schue lies that he hasn't, and suggests that, given the fact the Glists have stopped appearing, they consider this one a win, anyway, and move on. To his immense credit, the wise maharishi takes one look at Quinn's miserable face and understands that Will's feeding him a gigantic line of unbelievable bullshit, yet he amiably agrees to Will's plan and exits. But not before sternly reminding Mr. Schue, "I'm still praying for you, Will." Heh.
Hall. Jesse St. James appears at Rachel's locker to upbraid her yet again for her "Run Joey Run" shenanigans, and as his lust-worthy eyebrows have now veered firmly into some very dangerous territory, I'll do my best to transcribe the rather amusing speech he delivers: "You know, before I transferred here to make you my girlfriend, I asked around about you -- found out your rep, what kind of girl you were. Most of them had no idea who you were. The ones that did said you were kind of sneaky-hot, but that quality was cancelled out by a compulsive need to be right and a strange affinity for sweaters with animals on them. The most interesting part was that, even though no one particularly liked you, they all said you were a person who could be trusted." It's difficult to tell which detail in that has injured Rachel most: Her perpetual near-anonymity at McKinley despite everything she's done to draw attention both favorable and unfavorable to herself, or the fact that Jesse St. James just implied she has bad taste in sweaters. And, you know, is also untrustworthy. "As the guy who gave up everything to be your one and only," Jesse continues, "I just can't see past this -- I should have been enough for you!" Rachel, her face the very picture of misery, whimpers, "I knew you'd break my heart." "That's the funny thing about reputations," Jesse and His Extremely Dangerous Eyebrows reply, "everyone thinks I'm the big heartbreaker, but the fact of the matter is, you broke mine first." Aw. He's lying, of course, but still: Aw. "Do me a favor," he concludes, straightening up a bit after leaning in to deliver that last devastating blow, "if we end up to each other on the barre in Ballet Club this week, just do your arabesques and piqués in silence? Don't talk to me." HA!
Barely has Jesse St. James faded into the distance down the hall when the vamp begins, and you know which vamp I'm talking about, because there isn't a single person on this entire planet who hasn't heard this song at least once in the last thirty years -- not only has the original been around the world and back several (hundred million) times, but with all of the covers from dance divas and boybands and foul-mouthed fratboys and avant-garde drag queens and German vampires and Norwegian hipsters and Bjork wannabes and literal-minded Internet geeks and insane Cuban ladies who somehow invent Spanish-language versions even creepier than the original, I am convinced there is no one -- no one -- who does not recognize these opening eight notes. So I'm sure you're all singing along with Finn, then, when the camera ducks into the music room and he opens this episode's final fantasy sequence with a breathily heartfelt "Turn around!" Oh, shut up. You know you joined him on those first two words. It's Pavlovian by this point in the song's pop-culture career.
Anyway, I did type "fantasy sequence" on purpose, because I really do believe these final three minutes are all happening in Rachel's miserable little head, what with the three guys she supposedly screwed over as part of her "Run Joey Run" debacle trading off on the male vocals in the music room before everything switches over to Ballet Club (let me repeat that, by the way: Ballet Club. Hee!) for a scorching pas de deux between Rachel and Jesse St. James, the latter of whom unfortunately performs the entirety of the routine clad in depressingly concealing yoga pants. Damn you, Murphy! As usual, they've hacked the crap out of the song to smash it into the time period's constraints -- though, you know, given how often fucking Idol runs over, you'd think FOX could spare Glee a few of those extra minutes every once in a while -- and it's a shame, because everyone's in fine vocal form on it (even Frankenteen, but especially Groff and Michele), and it would have been nice to see them go balls-out performing the entire epic masterpiece. Oh, well. Maybe it'll be an extra on the DVD.
In any event, as the song draws to a close, the Glee kids slowly rise from their seats to abandon miserable little Rachel, who's still singing her bleeding and battered heart out in the center of the music room. And the last to go is Jesse St. James, who walks away from her with the final "Turn around, bright eyes!" even though he callously does not turn around himself. Meanwhile, The McKinley Jazz Ensemble's all, "The fuck just happened?" Fin. Wink!
week, Puck loses his mojo along with his mohawk, Rachel loses her voice, and Kurt loses his goddamned fucking mind. Thank God I don't have to recap that shit. See you on the 18th!
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