Shout-out to Liz, one of the posters from my site, who's an extra in this episode, and told me all kinds of neat inside stuff I'm not at liberty to share with you, and to all the people who offered to help me get a tape when my VCR decided to play an April Fool's joke on me. Y'all rock. Also props to Jennifer of the Cogeco Cable call centre, who got me a time-shifting package that allowed me another crack at taping the show.
A note about the grade: It's a lot higher than it would be if the acting on this show weren't so damn good. I've been down this road before, a steep and winding road called When Stellar Acting Offsets Substandard Writing, and I'm still having to explain A & B grades I gave shoddy (and worse) episodes of The West Wing years ago. But I don't believe in just grading on the writing alone. So there you have it. I would give the writing for this episode a D, and the acting an A to A+, so here we are at B-. I'm disappointed in how a show this promising has turned into such a mess, but I'm too worn out to work up much of a head of steam about it most of the time.
The episode begins with Will being mobbed by the media as he escorts a distraught woman named Mrs. Hoyt out of a building, which looks like it could be a hospital or coroner's office or something. It doesn't look like Arcadia PD to me. As the reporters badger the woman, we gather that her daughter was abducted and murdered. She makes a plea for anyone who has information to come forward and help catch the murderer. The camera drifts back to her daughter's smiling school picture on a TV monitor in a nearby van.
Joan and Adam walk down the stairs at school, followed by Luke and Grace, as Joan beams, "It's our anniversary. April 2. One year." Adam's dumsquizzled: "You're kidding." Joan: "No! We kissed on my porch." Frink rolls his eyes. "What a girl." He thinks it's extremely abnormal that women in general, and I in particular, can remember not only every significant date in our relationships but details like the weather, what we were wearing, et cetera. The thing is, I just happen to have a very good memory; it's not something I really have to work at. Well, that's less true with each passing year, but I used to have a frighteningly good memory. Anyway. Joan seems like the type to write it on her calendar and enclose it in a heart. Luke volunteers: "They kissed at the science fair before that." Ha! I get to give Frink a triumphant look. Grace wonders, "Why would you retain that?" Well, only because it was the best episode ever? We don't get to find out, because Joan interjects, "Yeah, it's not the same thing…we were all 'should we, shouldn't we' for the longest time, and then, that night on the porch…we definitely took the plunge." What does it say about this season that I can't even recall that scene anymore? Seriously, I had to go look up the relevant recap. ["I didn't recall it either." -- Sars] And even if I watched that scene and "Jump" until the end of time, I don't think it would erase the icky taste left in my mouth by this episode. Anyway, Adam looks pretty poker-faced about it all, despite Joan saying, "We should celebrate." He agrees: "Sure." Grace: "Stop talking like this in public!" Luke: "What, are you saying you don't remember when we first became official?" Well, given that there's a notarized document to that effect lying around somewhere, she can probably look up the date. Talk about official. Wait, she ripped that up, didn't she? Grace puts in her earphones and says, "Bye-bye." Joan puts her head on Adam's shoulder and snuggles. Adam: "I can't believe you remember the day and everything." Frink: "Get used to it, kid." Joan simpers, "My lips are an alarm clock. Brrrriiinnggg! One year." She makes her alarm noise just as the bell goes. "My lips are an alarm clock"? Uh-huh. If she talks like that much, I can almost understand Adam turning out to be such a dick. Almost. Luke announces, "History. French Revolution." He tries to kiss Grace as he says, "Au revoir, baby." She gets all prickly and says, "Don't mark me, dude." Does Luke wear lipstick or something? But she puts her hand on his chest and says quietly, "Biology closet, 2:15." She grabs Adam, who's smooching with Joan, and says, "Come on, lover boy, we're late for Spanish."
Joan hustles off and bumps right into one of the janitorial Gods, and I don't even care which one anymore. Way too many janitorial Gods. In fact, too many Gods and not enough God, and that's just one of the many things that have gone wrong with this show. They argue a bit, each claiming to be the one at fault, but God claims he's the one responsible. Joan: "God feels guilt?" He calls that an interesting question: "Of all the life on earth, only humans experience guilt." Hmm. I'm no Dian Fossey but it wouldn't surprise me to learn that primates can feel guilt. And I've known some dogs in my time that definitely seemed capable of guilt. Cats…not so much familiarity with the guilt. Sars can likely speak to this. ["Not a lot of feline guilt happening over here, no." -- Sars] He continues, "Or innocence, for that matter. Dogs don't, birds don't, fish don't…" Joan's bored: "Okay, got it." He says humans are the only creatures with a conscience: "The only ones able to distinguish between right and wrong." And most days, not even that much, it seems. "Recognizing it is the real problem, though, isn't it? Don't you love exploring such a complex issue?" No verbal response from Joan. He tells her she should join Mock Trial: "They love talking about these things, too." Joan: "Mock Trial?" He tells her, "The legal system affords you so many ways to look at guilt and innocence." As he walks off, he points out a few papers she missed when she was picking up everything that dropped when they bumped into each other earlier. She calls out, "How about one day I get to ask you to do something?" God just waves his bolt cutters. Joan is suddenly seized by a minor pee-pee dance frenzy and dashes into the girl's washroom. That was…strange.
Lily's at a crowded counter in a coffee shop. The customer beside her is a cute guy in a toque. Normally, I might not notice, but now I'm in the market for a replacement. Anyway, he takes off as Helen arrives in her bright red coat (not that one) and Lily remarks on her surprise that Helen showed up at all: "I never thought I'd see you again." So either Kevin's keeping her a state secret, or they're not dating anymore. Could be either. Helen says she needed some time to think things over, and orders some green tea. Lily smirks: "So, uh…God's looking good to you again?" Helen smiles: "It's not that. I just have things to deal with at home…you know that." Lily: "So you just needed some time away from the Ever-Present One. How'd that go?" Hee. Can we just have a show with Lily and Grace? Just about everyone else makes me want to scream at this point. Helen wonders, "Is all the gloating really necessary?" Lily replies, "No. Just one of the perks. You know, teaching the catechism can get a little dull." The Pope died the day after she said that, by the way. I'm just saying. They move to a table and establish that they were working on the sacrament of Confession when Helen took a powder. Frink's suddenly all excited to see Armin Shimerman's name on the credits, because he was in Star Trek or something. Lily laughs: "The sacrament of reconciliation, conversion, repentance…" Helen: "Whoa…first day back and already I'm feeling like a bad person." Helen only seems to be able to deal with religion so long as it allows her to feel like a "good person." That seems really stunted and foolish to me. Lily says it's not about feeling bad: "Confession is a sacrament that's used to celebrate God's limitless capacity to forgive. He knew we'd feel guilty all the time, so he gave us a way to deal with it." Helen thinks that's beautiful. Lily uses that as a segue: "And, um, in the spirit of confession, I should probably tell you that Kevin and I are dating. He's been too freaked out to tell you." That is definitely news to Helen. Man, she seems really short of mother's intuition sometimes. Helen: "Oh." Lily tries to get back to the catechism, but Helen's kind of gaping at her and Lily asks, "Is this weird for you? This is weird for you." Aw, Helen, just think how cute your grandkids are gonna be. Helen totally lies through her smiling teeth, saying it's not, and claiming it's terrific. Lily uncharacteristically gushes: "Because he -- he's so cute…and sensitive…and he listens…" "Sensitive"? "He listens"? Which Kevin Girardi are we talking about here? Helen tries to cut off that avenue of discussion and suggests they get back to the catechism. Lily: "Well, I'm not gonna tell you any details, if that's what you mean." She chuckles, but Helen just hides her disapproving expression behind a giant mug of tea.
Joan wanders into the Mock Trial Club room and sits down in front of Glynis and to Grace, who says, "Shut up…why are you here?" Joan says, "Well, because we're creatures of conscience…but you…?" Grace: "Victim of the ruling class." The teacher, the aforementioned Armin Shimerman, a total HITG!, announces cheerfully, "Hear ye, hear ye. Mock Trial is now in session. I'm Mr. Harbison, civics teacher and legal enthusiast!" He taps his gavel on his desk for emphasis. Glynis beams, "He even has his own gavel!" I think she might wet herself. Joan mutters, "Oh, this is gonna be ugly." Grace: "If he pulls out one of those wigs, I'm outta here." Mr. Harbison's attention lands on her: "You're…Polk. Miss Hoder sent you because you're failing history." Grace: "Not failing. Refusing to answer questions about our so-called justice system, which everyone knows is a corrupt capitalist farce." He decides she should be the defense attorney. Grace pleads that she just wants to do her time and leave. Joan's smirking like crazy. Mr. Harbison cautions Grace: "Not without a fair trial!" He laughs at his own joke, but doesn't get much love from the peanut gallery. He wanders around the classroom expositing, "Mock Trial was created by the American Bar Association to teach youngsters how the court system works." As he walks around the room, two guys are eating sandwiches. I guess this is a lunchtime thing. Probably relatives of Chewy's. Frink: "Where's that obnoxious yearbook kid? Wouldn't he be in this club?" Harbison informs the club that they're going to try a case based on a fairy tale: Jack and the Beanstalk. Joan's confused; she thinks it's obvious that Jack murdered the giant. Grace takes umbrage: "It was self-defense, dude. The giant was trying to eat him." Joan sneers, "Jack broke in and stole stuff. That's…breaking and entering and murder one." Aw, Pops would be so proud. Mr. Harbison asks if he's hearing the sound of a prosecutor. Joan apologizes and says her dad's a cop. But the teacher's mind is made up: Joan and Grace are opposing counsel, and he hands them pamphlets called "A Basic Approach to Law." Joan says she really doesn't want to, but he just welcomes her to Mock Trial and bangs his little gavel again.
Arcadia PD. I've lost all patience with the police plots. Dump them. This one is neither particularly interesting nor credible, and it does little other than make the overall theme of confession even more heavy-handed, so we're just going to breeze through it. On top of it, I've got all kinds of Adam-related fish to fry, and I'm not spending twenty-seven hours writing this recap. Some slightly troubled-looking guy comes in, introduces himself as James Karon, and confesses to the murder of the Hoyt girl. Much more interesting than this storyline is this article on false confessions. Read that during these scenes. (Thanks to PrincessADM for the link.)
Adam and Grace are walking through the hall, as Adam asks, "I don't get it…I mean, why would I kill a giant?" Grace: "He had food…you were oppressed, poor…" Doesn't sound like a big acting stretch for Adam, actually. They stop at the lockers, where Joan asks, "She roped you in? You're going to be Jack?" Adam looks at Grace: "I don't think I said yes." Joan rubs her hands: "You are so guilty." You don't know the half of it, Janey. Adam: "She says I'm not responsible for my actions." Joan: "Right." Grace: "My client was a working man, exploited by the interests of the wealthy, i.e. one Mr. Giant." (TWoP shout-out?) Joan: "Huh. You're actually getting into this." Grace says she's going to prove that law doesn't apply to the common man: "And Hoder is going to regret the day she sent me to Mock Trial." She ambles off saying she'll see Joan in court. Joan looks down the hall where Bonnie is leaning against a wall, and some guy's in front of her with his arms planted on the wall on either side of her, chatting her up. Frink: "Does everyone in Arcadia go to this one high school?" Joan says, "Hey look…Bonnie's got herself a new boyfriend." Boy, you don't know the half of it. Bonnie throws them a sly glance. Joan: "Ew…how weird does he have to be?" Adam agrees indifferently. Joan slips her arm through his and they start walking together. Joan asks, "So, you're not going to mind if I tear you apart on the stand, are you, my little felon?" Adam claims he's a victim. Joan suddenly remembers another place they could go for their anniversary: "The UnUrban? Remember that coffee shop where they exhibited your stuff?" Adam says they can go wherever she wants. He says he has to be at work at four. Joan, with a slight look of doubt in her eyes: "I hope Michael's been paying you overtime. You've been working like crazy." Adam smiles: "I have to pay my defense attorney." He gives her a quick peck and takes off. She calls after him: "You're going down, Jack. Going down." Wow, I'm not even at the first commercial break and I'm already tired of telling Joan she doesn't know the half of it.
Joan's trying to feed a bill into a vending machine at school with no success, when suddenly a red-headed guy appears around the side of the machine to tell her: "You'd better prepare. This trial could get personal, Joan." (Interesting factoid: the actor playing this God, Adam Wylie, played Jack -- of Jack and the Beanstalk -- in the Broadway musical Into the Woods. Thanks to Krista for this tidbit.) She thinks God should be able to remember that it's a fake trial about a fairy tale. He takes the bill from her, saying, "Symbols and metaphors can stir up a lot of passion." He feeds the bill in, and of course the machine takes it. (Frink says she had it oriented the wrong way, but I don't know how he could tell that.) Red-headed God: "You know wars have been waged over what a flag represents." Joan asks, "Is this about Grace? Because she doesn't even believe in the legal system." She wonders if she's supposed to let Grace win, to impress upon her the importance of law. God asks: "Would it be right to let a guilty person go free?" Joan thinks, then asks, "So I should wipe her out?" Red-headed God seems like he's going to try to explain something, and then decides it's pointless. He walks off without another word, and a really slow, exaggerated, prolonged Godwave.
Will and Chewy question the perp about the details of the murder. He seems to be giving all the right answers, from the looks the cops are giving each other. The perp's an okay actor, but I wasn't buying this storyline from the first second he walked into the station, and neither were most of you, so let's move on.
Luke's in the kitchen making a big-ass sandwich while Joan bones up on law. "Did you know that if you admit that you did something, it's less of a crime than if you deny it?" Luke mutters, "I didn't know it was the last piece of cheese. Kill me." Joan: "Interesting. A guilty conscience always rises to the surface. I was actually talking about Mock Trial." Luke enthusiastically slaps layers of bread and meat together and squirts mustard around. She asks, "What is that?" He tells her it's a Dagwood, and then, for the benefit of all the viewers under the age of fifty, I suppose, explains its origins. He blathers on as Joan says dismissively, "Grace was right. Some things just should not be remembered." Luke studies the contents of the fridge for a food group not already represented in his sandwich. Joan: "When you're done inhaling the entire deli section, I'm gonna need your geek services in compiling some data." He tells her he's serving as legal advisor to the defense. Joan: "You're helping Grace? What happened to 'blood is thicker than water'?" Luke: "Got trumped by make-out sessions in the biology closet." Those two really need to branch out and find some new sites. Joan scoffs that he'll be on the losing team: "Jack is totally guilty. The only question is, can I up the charges? Murder in the commission of a felony carries LWoP -- life without parole." LWoP? Shout-out, of sorts? I'll tell you, it's starting to feel like Television Without Parole over here. Luke sits down to Joan with his giant sandwich and inquires, "Don't you think it's weird that you're prosecuting your boyfriend?" Joan: "Can it, Sigmund." Luke thinks it sounds like a "classic case of playing out feelings of resentment and aggression." Joan snaps, "Things are fine! It's our anniversary." Luke: "Yeah, but…I know how weird it was when you two…went away for the night." Really? How does he know about that, exactly? She replies, "I don't think you should be the one hosting Loveline. Your love life consists of making out to jars of pickled frogs! Adam and I are fine." Luke picks up his sandwich and attempts to bite into it, managing perhaps the middle third. Joan grabs the top piece of bread, licks the underside, and slaps it back on his sandwich, smushing it down for good measure. Luke doesn't react much as she marches upstairs.
The camera drifts along to…Bonnie? In her bra, with her back to the camera, pulling her shirt on. A naked, hairless male torso walks past her, pulling his shirt on as he does. Feel sick yet? She says, "You don't have to go." She looks gloomy and kind of needy, but then, she always does. She adds, "My parents won't be home for a long time." She sits down on the couch to him, and then arranges herself so she's lying in his lap. The camera still doesn't show us his face. But you recognize the necklace, don't you? Frink's incredulous: "Dude..." Bonnie says, "I think it'd be nice sometime to talk." Talk ain't what he's here for, girlie. He's got a girlfriend who'll talk until they're both blue in the face for that. The camera pulls out as Adam says softly, "You know about Joan." Note that he's not touching her at all, anywhere that he can help it -- both his arms are spread wide. Charming. He adds, "I didn't lie about anything, okay?" Well, maybe not to Bonnie. He starts to get up and she quickly moves so he can. As he grabs his bag, she claims, "Yeah, I know. It's cool." Clearly. He walks out without another word.
Out in the hall, Adam leans against the wall and grinds his forehead into it a bit, as his conscience writhes. I hope you at least had the sense to have safe sex, you…you…So-Not-My-Boyfriend-Anymore Guy That I Barely Recognize.
Frink and I spend the commercial break staring at each other, trying to will our eyebrows to return to their natural resting places. Frink asks me if I think it's the first time he's done it. Me: "No way. Didn't you hear the wistful way she said, 'It'd be nice sometime to talk'? No way is that their first time." Frink gets distracted by a Desperate Housewives commercial: "Oh, Susan. Haven't you learned yet not to date the utility men?"
At school, Adam and Joan are walking along as she bores him senseless, yattering about how "Jack" has to pay for his fairy-tale crimes. Adam tells her, "You and Grace have to get a grip. It's not real." Joan makes a lot of noise about teaching Grace that laws have a purpose. Adam: "Good luck. She's going at this like she's bringing down Enron." I think Grace could kick Kenneth Lay's ass. Joan: "Oh, she's just justifying immoral behaviour because of a past injustice." Isn't that what makes the world go 'round? Wait, that's love. Sorry, my mistake. Joan: "That's a society based on revenge, like before the Magna Carta." Before the Magna Carta? Because we've evolved so much since then. She starts to pull some book out of her bag for reference, when some jerk zooms past her and knocks her a bit. Adam shouts, "Hey, watch it, moron!" Joan's taken aback by his outburst and asks if he's okay. He claims he's fine. Other than being eaten alive by his conscience, which makes a guy a bit moody. Joan bends down to pick up her bag and leaves behind a black gift box, which had gotten knocked out. Of course they both notice it, and Adam bends down to pick it up. He studies the logo on top and then says, "Jane…an airbrush?" Joan's bummed that it's no longer a surprise, but smiles anyway: "Yeah…anniversary present!" Adam opens it slowly as he says he's been saving up for one for months. She says she didn't want to have to watch him "drool in the art supply store anymore." Adam looks slightly pained. She asks, "What's wrong? You look like you're gonna hurl." Adam cites some agreement not to get each other big presents. Joan: "I know, but you've been working so hard, and I wanted you to have it." Heh. I know where she's coming from. Frink's always all, "Let's set a limit on gifts" and I'm all, "Um…okay…" knowing I'll never ever be able to adhere to it, and by now he knows it's hopeless and that my mad rationalization skillz will always overpower his good common sense. She simpers a bit: "Don't I get a hug?" Weakly, Adam says, "Yeah," and pulls her into his arms. She smiles over his shoulder, and he looks troubled as he strokes her hair.
Mrs. Hoyt comes into the police station, where Will and Chewy tell her they've got the guy who killed her daughter. She's never seen him before. He's being arraigned tomorrow. They beat us over the head for a while with her relief that the perp's been caught and how now she can let her other child out of the house. Tears, whatever. Please, God, no police plots in Season Three. If there is a Season Three. Right now, I'm not sure I even care one way or another.
Joan's at work reading or studying when Mrs. LandingGod appears and startles her a bit. Why does Kathryn Joosten look so lumpy? I remember her being pretty trim on that other tedious show I used to recap. (Er, which one, now? They're all tedious -- at best -- after a while.) She asks Joan if she's preparing for the case. Joan says she can't believe opposing counsel is going for self-defense. Well, I'm not a lawyer, and probably all the recappers who are lawyers are too busy to play Dial-a-Lawyer with me, but what else have they got? Not guilty by reason of insanity? Joan: "He so killed that guy." Mrs. LandingGod: "Well, everyone has their rationale for why things happen." Joan counters with, "Sometimes things are either wrong or right. You said so yourself." Mrs. LandingGod: "Yes. But figuring it out can be a real trial." Oh, man. I really think the Lord of all the Worlds should have better material. Joan: "Cute." Mrs. LandingGod chuckles: "Thanks. You see, a trial is just an outward representation of what goes on inside people all the time. The moral debate: am I good or bad? How do I behave in this or that situation? It's a state of examination where, hopefully, you find the truth." Joan: "Have I done something I don't know about?" Mrs. LandingGod decides Joan is busy and she shouldn't bother her anymore. Joan: "No, see, if you answer the question, then you're not bothering me." Mrs. LandingGod: "Knock 'em dead, Matlock." Joan: "Matlock? What are you, like, a million?" Her response is to wiggle the fingers of both her hands in the air in a sort of Godwave.
Helen slides open the little…slidey door-thing in a confessional and says, "Bless me Father, for I have sinned…" She laughs nervously and adds, "That sounds so old-school." Hey, at least you don't have to say it in Latin. A familiar voice asks, "How long has it been since your last confession?" Helen looks through the lattice: "Father Ken, is that you?" Frink: "Man, how weird must that be?" He starts asking me a bunch of questions about confession, and about whether people can see the priest or whether they know the priest and how that all works. Because in this house, I am the go-to person for questions about Christianity, even though I was brought up Protestant (Baptist) and am no expert on Catholicism, which is probably the Christian religion he is most curious/confused about. Still, I know more than he does about it (plus, I have kind of an obsession with saints and anchorites, and more than a passing interest in nuns and medieval Christianity) so I end up fielding a lot of questions. I also end up sending him to Google a lot of the time, as I simply am not in a position to explain (let alone justify) a lot of Catholic doctrine. For him there is just not a lot of difference between Catholicism and Protestantism -- it's all one big Jesus-y glob to him -- so when he first met my parents, he was a little concerned that their house would be full of crucifixes and rosaries and stuff. Which still makes me laugh my ass off, almost a decade later, not least because…even if my family were Catholic, they're about as religious as Fred Flintstone. But he honestly had no idea what to expect, and I had my own worries about his parents' religious tendencies, so I guess I shouldn't laugh. (Except I mostly turned out to be right.)
Anyway. Father Ken asks, "Helen? Is that you? Is everything okay?" Helen says she's back in catechism class and they're covering Confession: "So I thought I'd do a field trip." I'll bet the Church loves spiritual tourists. Father Ken thinks it's wonderful, and then gets back to business: "So, how long's it been?" Helen muses: "I'm not sure of the exact date, but Ford had just pardoned Nixon, so I felt inspired." Going to confession isn't the impulse that that event inspired in me, but then, I wasn't Catholic, either. Let's just say I was feeling a little more Travis Bickle and a little less Thomas Merton. And yeah, I was nine…you want to make something of it? Even then I knew it was bullshit. Father Ken chuckles and welcomes her back: "Let's skip the Reagan and the Clinton years and we'll start with something more recent." Could we skip the Bush years, too? All of them? Please? Helen confesses that she sometimes naps through planning period at school. Heavens, she'll be doing Hail Marys until the cows come home. Father Ken is sure God understands: "What else?" Helen: "And…sometimes I give students As when they only deserve Bs." Helen, you are Evil Incarnate. I can't believe Lucyfer thought she could take you on. Oh, and I can't wait to see Adam's grade. And Bonnie's. Bye-bye, art school. She says breezily, "That's about it…thanks!" Father Ken says, "Helen…" Helen wants special treatment: "Okay, but…can we do this somewhere else? I feel like I'm in The Exorcist." Nice.
Grace and Adam are sitting outside on the stairs. She's rehearsing her client, who's mighty morose. She asks him to state his name. He does, and asks, "My last name isn't Beanstalk, is it?" Grace says no. She keeps asking her polite little questions but Adam quickly gets up and says he can't do this right now. He takes off, and she chases after him, asking, "Hey! Did your girlfriend get to you?" He says, "No. It's just…" Grace: "What?" Without stopping or breaking stride, he says, "I cheated on Joan." Grace stops short, but Adam keeps going for a moment, and then stops, and turns. He keeps his eyes down, though, afraid to meet Grace's expression, whatever it is. She looks sad and troubled and surprised. He finally looks at her. She sighs, at a loss for words. Adam: "Say something." How about "You dick"? Grace: "What? What do you want from me?" He marches over to her and says, "It was just sex, a couple of times. It didn't mean anything." Uh…huh. I guess he thought he'd see how that went over with Grace before he unloads it on Joan. I also take this opportunity to gloat to Frink about being right that it wasn't their first time. Grace: "And you had to tell me this…why?" Frink: "Lawyer-client privilege." Adam doesn't know: "But I had to tell someone. I figured you'd understand." Not too selfish…or misguided. So often confession is about making the confessor feel better without regard for how it makes the confessee feel. And here I can see the use of priests. They're professionals. Get yourself to a confessional, Adam. He elaborates, "I mean, you're the one with the whole view on relationships not being possessive and everything." Grace: "So I'm supposed to tell you it's okay?" Adam shrugs a bit: "Yeah…yeah -- no…" Grace tells him not to drag her into this, although it's a little late for that. Even if I bought this unconvincing turn in his character -- which I don't -- I would have a lot of trouble buying his casual attitude about it, and this confession to Grace, with an expectation of support riding on its coattails. I could believe he'd admit to her what he'd done, but only because he found it unbearable to keep to himself and had no one else to tell, not because he almost blithely assumed her support. Come on -- he's madly in love with clingy-clingy Joan, and he's a virgin (or was, anyway), and he's pretty sensitive to boot. This is not the Adam they've been writing for two seasons, no matter how many "horny seventeen-year-old boy" explanations people offer up. The only possible explanation I'm entertaining is a self-sabotaging impulse driven by depression secondary to being in a suffocating and unfulfilling relationship. Still, even that just doesn't sit right with me, because the writers are making it about the sex. And I just don't believe that's the greatest driving force in Adam's personality.
Adam: "So you think people are supposed to own each other?" Oh, come on. That's not what this is about. Don't go trying to peddle some non-monogamy ideology all of a sudden, because ain't nobody buying it. Grace: "It doesn't matter what I think. It matters what you think and what Girardi thinks, and I think you know what that's gonna be." Adam: "I'm sorry, okay? But it's over. It was Bonnie, and --" Grace definitely doesn't want the details. He asks if she's going to say anything. She says she's not: "But thanks for putting me in the middle of this. I've missed this in my life." I don't really have much evidence for this, but I suspect that remark is about her relationship with her parents, as much as it refers to any of the hassles between Adam and Joan. Grace goes off to write a letter to The Vine. "Dear Sars: My idiot horndog best friend couldn't keep it in his pants and screwed around on his clingy girlfriend who is my other best friend and then told me about it and besides, everyone knows that relationships don't work…"
Back at the church, which is a very lovely church indeed, Helen and Father Ken climb up to the balcony as she confesses that she's harbouring a lot of angry and negative feelings about Lily. Father Ken comments helpfully, "Anger can be very destructive." Helen whines, "What am I supposed to feel? She's dating my son! And it's weird, and it feels awful, and I hate it, and I want them to stop." Lady, just keep your shirt on. Your prince of a son will probably screw up the relationship in due course. He doesn't have the world's greatest track record. Or have you carefully avoided noticing that? Father Ken: "So…you want to put your happiness before theirs?" She claims she wants them both to be happy: "Just not with each other." Father Ken tries to guess why: "Because…your son could get hurt." Helen: "No, because…" She sighs heavily: "I could lose…Lily…and she's more than a teacher…she's a friend. A nasty, abrasive…honest friend, and I need that. And when their relationship ends -- and it will --" She sighs with exaggerated exasperation, and continues, "I have to take Kevin's side. So what's that gonna do to our friendship? Oh God, I am such a horrible person." I'm having trouble disagreeing with you, here, Helen. I mean, the way I see it, you could simply be supportive, and hope for the best for the two of them -- certainly your expectations and attitude aren't enhancing their chances, and even though I too am doubtful it will work out, if for no other reason than that some other TV show saw fit to snap Constance Zimmer up, never mind Kevin's aforementioned lousy record -- and if it doesn't work out, don't take sides at all. Just stay the hell out of it as much as you can. Yeah, mind your own business. Helen talks about how guilty she feels. Father Ken: "Guilt is the spiritual equivalent of physical pain, and like pain, things go horribly wrong when we ignore it." Helen snaps, "I'm not ignoring it! I confessed! So why don't I feel better?" Father Ken explains patiently, "It's not enough to just say it, Helen. Confession only works if it's accompanied by change." Helen: "How about a few Hail Marys?" Father Ken: "Sorry." Helen: "I'll do a lot of them! A hundred!" I'm endlessly fascinated by how people will almost always pick intense short-term suffering over the minor daily effort of change. Like how more people will choose to half-starve themselves on a ridiculous diet of only grapefruit or eggs or juice for weeks at a time, instead of just eating properly in moderation every day. Sure, it's boring. It also works. Father Ken generously refrains from rolling his eyes.
Joan's still at work when Adam comes by. He pauses outside for a moment, and of course we wonder if he's screwing up his nerve (har) to tell Joan where he's been planting his beanstalk. She's pleasantly surprised to see him: "I thought you were 'special project-ing.'" He says he's not doing that anymore. She asks if something happened with Michael. He says he's just finished. She says that's great. He agrees, saying they can spend more time with each other. He kisses her as enthusiastically as he can, and she says, "Wow, you should finish special projects more often." He kisses her again, and then pulls her into a tight embrace. He buries his face in her neck, but we can see him squeezing his eyes in pain.
Joan comes into the kitchen for breakfast, grabbing a box out of the cupboard. Will says, "Pop-Tarts? Not exactly brain food. Let me make you some eggs." Joan: "No time. I have to be in court this afternoon. Oh, that sounds so cool, doesn't it?" Will: "As long as it's not juvie." Joan: "No. Mock Trial. Jack is going down." Will comments that it's tough going up against the claim of self-defense. They argue the case a bit, and Joan says, "Jack's family is starving so he trades their only cow in for five crummy beans? Give me a break." Will: "Stupidity's not a crime." Frink and me in perfect unison: "It should be." Joan: "Maybe he's not stupid. Maybe he knows those beans will take him to the giant's magic castle." Will: "You're arguing it was premeditated?" Joan: "If he was starving, why didn't he harvest the beans? I mean, why did he have to climb the stalk instead?" Will: "Textbook breaking and entering." Joan: "Exactly. He takes what he wants, kills the giant, pleads self-defense. Sweet young Jack is a stone cold killer." Will beams: "Nice job, counsellor." Joan advises him, "You can't take anything at face value. There's always something else going on. That's Mock Trial handout 3F. Bye, Dad." The camera lingers on Will so we can see the gears grinding in his head about his perp in the Hoyt case.
Adam and Joan are entering the classroom where the Mock Trial will take place. He tells her, "So I called Spumoni and they don't take reservations, but, I, uh, told the guy in the back that I'd pay him ten bucks if he didn't bus the corner table for us." Joan kids that that will cost more than the whole dinner. She waves at Glynis, who's sitting there rehearsing…something. Adam says he wants to remember it exactly how it was: "…like we were." Grace comes in as Joan's giving him a hug, and says, "Stop fraternizing with the enemy, Rove." Joan: "I hope you're ready. Because the prosecution is locked and loaded." Grace: "You don't know the real Jack. Save it for the trial." Luke comes in with another legal precedent for the defense: "If other fairy tales are admissible." Joan says to Adam, "Good luck, dead man!" She kisses him and sits down at her table, when suddenly Red-headed God comes up with her ID badge, which reads, "Prosecuting Attorney." Joan: "I don't even get a name?" He fastens it to her sweater, saying, "You know who you are. Please hang onto that." I completely missed that line the first time around, but now it seems like ominously good advice.
She reads his ID badge, which says "Bailiff." Joan comments, "Bailiff God. I figured you would be the judge or something." I guess I should call this avatar Bailiff God now. It's shorter than "Red-headed God." He claims to prefer to stick to the sidelines and maintain a sense of order. Joan says that if she's supposed to pull her punches for Grace's sake, he'd better tell her now: "Otherwise, she's going down." Bailiff God tells her, "I would never ask you to compromise what you believe to be right." Joan: "Sounds like there's a 'but' in there." Bailiff God: "These proceedings are about justice. You know, it's a powerful force. It has the power to reveal the true nature of things…as well as the value of innocence." No offense, God, but you're boring me senseless. Could you at least be a little more ineffable than Mock Trial handout 3F? Joan: "But he's guilty, right?" Before Bailiff God can answer, Mr. Harbison comes in, accompanied by a distinguished-looking woman. Bailiff God announces, "Hear ye, hear ye: Mock Trial is now in session." Mr. Harbison welcomes the woman with him as a "real superior court judge, the Honourable Patricia Claymore." There's weak applause as it's announced that she'll be presiding over the proceedings.
Chewy's at the cop shop snarfing a piece from a huge blue ice cream cake. Honestly, Arcadia's a big town. Isn't there a program somewhere for compulsive eaters he could get into? Will wonders if the Good Humour man was robbed. Chewy says he got it for his nephew's birthday, forgetting that his nephew was lactose-intolerant. And if you buy that "forgetting" excuse, you might just buy a whole lot of other things in this season, too. Will talks about how all the evidence in the case adds up, except for the perp himself. He eventually rags on Chewy, asking him to stop eating. Chewy: "Sorry. Was I eating?" Are you ever not? Will wants to send the evidence back to the lab for another go-round.
Joan begins his questioning with Mrs. Giant, played by…Glynis. Ha! (Aside to Velcrometer fans: Trash will be so honoured.) Joan asks Glynis to tell her what happened when Jack came to her house. Glynis worries a Kleenex as she relates, "I let him in. He said he was hungry, so I gave him breakfast: eggs, bacon, toast, some juice." Joan: "Big meal. Then what happened?" Glynis: "After my husband came home and went to take his nap, Jack grabbed our golden goose and ran out of the house. My husband chased after him. He loved that goose! He just wanted it back." Glynis gasps and puts her face into her Kleenex.
Grace's turn. She paces around, declaring, "This is about more than a pet goose. This is about oppression. History has shown that the rapacious ruling class will always exploit the poor, unless someone rises up…" Joan objects: "She's making a speech, right?" The judge sustains her objection: "Get off the soapbox and ask a question, Counsellor." Grace: "When Mr. Giant came home, what did you ask Jack to do?" Glynis: "I…I told him to hide in the cupboard!" Grace asks why. Glynis: "My husband was a jealous man. He had a temper!" She covers her mouth with her hands. Grace: "So you were afraid that he would kill Jack, if he saw him." Grace struts back to her table, satisfied. Judge Claymore: "Rebuttal, Ms. Girardi?" Joan says she just has one thing: "Mrs. Giant, you said your husband was napping when Jack snuck out of the cupboard. So when did Mr. Giant wake up?" Glynis: "When Jack was running out with our golden goose. It squawked!" Glynis makes a funny but not especially anserine noise, eliciting titters from the audience. Joan: "So, if Jack hadn't stolen the goose, he would have escaped without ever waking up Mr. Giant, and none of us would be here today…is that correct?" Grace objects: "Leading the witness." The judge overrules her and orders Glynis to answer the question, which she does: "Absolutely. Yes." Joan turns and gives Grace a superior look.
Out in the hallway during the break, the misfit posse wanders up to a refreshment table. Hey! There's Liz, the poster from my site, walking past the table and down the hall, in the tan coat. She's also sitting behind Grace in the courtroom scenes, but you can barely see her there. She's cute, huh? No, I don't know if she's available. Joan says, "Nice job, Counsellor, but wait until my cross-examination. You're toast, Bean Boy." Adam: "I don't know. Grace is on fire." Grace declares, "The law is such a joke. You can manipulate it however you want. Well, I can." Joan: "There are still absolutes. There's such a thing as innocence and guilt." Grace: "Says who?" Joan: "Says…very important people." Bonnie suddenly comes down the hall and says to Adam in a pretty annoyed way, "Can we talk?" Adam replies, "I'm kinda busy." Grace has a panicky look in her eyes. Joan, oblivious, says, "Hi, Bonnie." Bonnie just completely ignores Joan and takes a step closer to Adam. Joan: "Are you okay?" Bonnie snipes, "You can give me two minutes. I think I deserve that." Adam gives her the coldest look he's probably capable of. She stares back at him with hurt in her eyes. Joan looks at Adam, and then back at Bonnie: "What's going on?" Nobody says anything. Frink: "Don't tell me she's pregnant." I look at him, aghast, because that never even occurred to me. I figured she was just screwing him over as payback. Or maybe she wants to talk about where their relationship is going. But the mention of pregnancy makes me think of STDs, and…oh, good lord. Adam looks down at the table, Grace tries to make her expression neutral when Joan glances at her, and eventually Bonnie just leaves. Joan stares at Grace for a while, obviously gleaning more than she wants to from her brief glimpse of Grace's expression. In fact, I think it's Grace's obvious discomfort that makes Joan really suspicious. Adam might have gotten away with it -- for the moment -- if Grace hadn't been there complicating things. Joan asks Adam, "What was that all about?" Adam: "Nothing. Um, I, uh…lost some of her art supplies." Is that what the kids are calling it these days? Joan looks like she'd like to buy that, but is fresh out of three-dollar bills. Adam tries again: "She's a freak." Joan glances again at Grace, who's really having trouble knowing what to do with her facial expression. As Joan says, "Adam…" Bailiff God calls them back into the courtroom. Adam grabs this excuse to leave Joan standing there, looking like someone just smacked her in the face. Bailiff God watches her. She finally lets out a small breath, but it's not one of relief.
After the commercials, Joan begins questioning "Jack." How come he gets his name on his tag? Why isn't he "Defendant"? She has a little trouble getting started, discombobulated as she is. She begins by asking, "Jack, I understand you sold your cow. Why?" Adam replies, "Wasn't making milk anymore." Wow, the "why buy the cow" jokes just make themselves. She asks what he got for it. He answers: "Some magic beans. I was hungry." She avoids looking at him, preferring to focus on her notes, as she asks, "Is that why you…climbed up to the giant's house?" Barely audible, he says, "Yeah. I was hungry." At this Joan looks up at him: "Hungry?" He confirms his answer, weakly. She gets up and says, "So maybe it was your hunger that diminished your mental capacity. You weren't thinking clearly." Adam agrees. She continues: "That would explain why you…stole the goose from the giant, because if you were thinking clearly you would have realized how much you were risking by going over there. Right." Adam: "I guess." Joan: "But you needed to satisfy your hunger. It's all you were thinking about, right?" She looks at him intently. He agrees. Luke asks Grace, "Isn't she leading the witness?" Grace makes a gesture with her head, to the effect of, "I know, but leave it alone, because…I can't explain why." Joan stares at Adam, who says, "It wasn't like that." Joan: "Mrs. Giant had just given you a huge breakfast. Isn't that right?" He admits this. "So you weren't really hungry when you stole the giant's goose, were you? You just took it, because you wanted it. That's the only reason, isn't it?" Frink: "At least the goose will lay things." Adam says inaudibly, "Yeah." Joan raises her voice: "I'll rephrase the question: Do you believe that just because you want something, that that means it is okay for you to take it, no matter what the consequences are?" He doesn't respond. Joan: "Answer the question!" Again, in a tiny voice, he says, "I didn't think that far ahead." She asks, "Did you need to steal the goose to survive? Or did you just want it?" She quickly wipes away a tear. I don't know how anyone else in the courtroom can hear Adam, but they're all spellbound nonetheless, seeing as how Mock Trial has turned into Cock Trial. Not that they understand what the hell is transpiring here, but it's all very dramatic, so they're riveted. Adam says, "I felt like I needed it." She states, "You stole the goose and you didn't care who you hurt in the process, did you?" Now he's welling up, and he says, "Jane…it wasn't like that." Tears run from her left eye as she demands, "Then what was it like?" He swallows and doesn't speak. Joan: "What?" Finally Grace can take it no longer, and says, in the softest tone she can manage: "Objection…badgering the witness." Joan tells the judge, "I'm done. The prosecution rests." Man. Not that this is news, but Chris and Amber and Becky really can blow the doors off a place.
Will and Chewy confront the perp, James, with the results of their further testing on the murder weapon. It turns out he manufactured the evidence, to which he had access as a janitor for a temp agency…which just happened to be contracted to clean the coroner's office the night the Hoyt girl's body was brought in. Confronted with all this, he finally admits that he isn't the real murderer, but he lost his three-year-old daughter years ago to some mysterious illness and he couldn't bear the fact that he had no explanation for it, no answer. So he left his family and never amounted to anything. He just wanted to give the Hoyts an answer. Well, I guess that's sweet, but…how dumb is that? Yay, someone innocent is in custody, giving the parents a false sense of closure and justice, and the real murderer's roaming the streets, all too likely to kill someone else's child. Way to help the cause of law and order, nutbar. !
The case is over, and everyone streams out of the doors. Adam's sitting back at the defense table, with his head down on his desk, miserable. Luke, who still doesn't know what the hell happened, gloats, "See? The law is precise, Grace. It has a mathematical construct into which the moral variables must be placed. I mean, your idealism has no part in this…" Oh, shut it, Rocket Boy. Grace feels likewise: "Zip it, dude." Mr. Harbison comes over to Joan's table, where she's sitting with her elbows on the table and her hands folded together, propping up her head, to congratulate her on winning: "Quite an achievement for a novice." Joan, indifferently: "Thanks. Feels good." Eventually she stands up; Grace and Luke are still standing there, and she throws her hands up in the air, remarking, "Well…seems like everybody knows something but me." Luke says quietly, "I'm definitely out of the loop here." Grace says, "I think we should leave you two alone." Joan agrees. Luke and Grace walk out. Adam rearranges his head on his arms slightly.
Joan begins, "I always trusted you." I just about fall off the couch snorting over this: "Yeah, except for Iris…and Judith…and Stevie…" But, you know, other than all those times… Adam's crying, and I'm kind of surprised he isn't actually banging his head against the table. He looks up at her finally, in tears, and says, "I am so sorry. It didn't mean anything. It was just a hookup and I thought that's the way it would be, and I just kept thinking it could stay like that, that it could just be about sex." Joan leans back on the table slightly for support: "Sex? You had sex with Bonnie?" I don't know exactly what she was thinking happened up until this point, but clearly, in her mind, it hadn't gone that far. Adam nods without looking at her. Joan looks like she's going to throw up. In a small voice, she asks, "Because I wouldn't?" Adam: "No…I don't know. I -- it kinda just happened, I mean…I love you, Jane, I love you so much. Nobody will ever be what you are to me, and if I could take it back -- I understand why you don't want to have sex, okay? But I just thought that with Bonnie --" Joan: "Shut up. I don't want to hear it. I don't want to hear you try to convince yourself that what you did was okay." Adam's standing now, but she's moved away from him. He puts his arms over his head and squeezes them together, along with his face. She asks, "How long have you been lying to me?" He sniffles, "I wanted to tell you. And I just wanna get over this." Oh God, Adam. Even you can't be that naïve. Joan: "You don't understand. We're not going to get over this. You gave her a…a part of yourself…because I wouldn't sleep with you?" Adam looks like he gets how ugly it is when it's spelled out that way. She continues, "But you had my heart, Adam. And that's what you took with you when you went to…hook up with her." He winces in pain and says, "Jane…" Shut up with that. You lost the right to call her that, buddy. She shakes her head gently, tears in her eyes: "No…we're done. It's over." She walks out, and Adam stays there, crying and letting it sink in. Frink: "Well, that solves the 'going to college together' problem."
Night shot. Joan gets on a bus, and I'm dead sure she's going to see Cute Guy God, but it's Mrs. LandingGod. She sits down to her, stares straight ahead, and says, "You knew and you didn't tell me. That's your idea of justice." She claims, "I don't interfere. You know that." Oh, please. What a crock. Like when you framed Joan for the egging of Price's car? Just to name the most recent incident. I don't care if God isn't perfectly consistent, but at least don't make God an out-and-out liar, thanks. Joan: "Yeah, well, maybe free will wasn't such a great idea." Then she adds, "I believed in him." Mrs. LandingGod: "I know. That's what makes it hurt so much." Well, that and fifty other things I can think of. Joan sighs, and wells up a little, asking, "What did I do to deserve this?" Mrs. LandingGod: "Nothing. This isn't punishment, Joan. It's simply part of being alive. Of being involved. Of loving." I guess it'll do until actual punishment comes along, though. Joan crosses her arms: "I'm not doing that anymore. I'm never doing that again." Spoken like a true romantic. Mrs. LandingGod says, "I know how painful this is." Joan snorts. "But what you and Adam had was beautiful, too. And that was every bit as real as the pain you're feeling now. You experienced how deeply two people can be connected." Joan asks, "So what do I learn when someone that I trust destroys all that, huh?" Well, not to trust anybody ever again, for starters. And also, eventually, how much therapists charge per hour in your area. Joan rants through her tears: "Maybe it was never real. Maybe you're not even real…this whole…morality thing…right and wrong…it's all just junk. We're all just animals, taking what we want." Mrs. LandingGod asks her, "Do you know what innocence is, Joan?" She snaps, "You know, I don't want Mock Trial right now!" Mrs. LandingGod explains, "It's more than an absence of guilt. It's having faith that there's goodness in the face of cruelty and pain." Joan's face crumples up some more as Mrs. LandingGod puts her arm around her, saying, "Someplace, you still feel that way." Joan lets her head fall on God's shoulder, as Mrs. LandingGod continues, "And that's me. And I'll always be there. Oh, honey." She pats Joan's shoulder as the camera switches to an angle outside the bus, and we watch the bus drive off down the street, as a song called "Where Were You" by Kathrin Shorr plays. "Where were you / When I needed you most?"