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So here's what I've been able to piece together after the first jaw-droppingly impenetrable hour of John From Cincinnati, HBO's attempt to keep all you Sopranos viewers from shuffling off to Showtime...uh...
I'm going to need a minute here. Sorry.
OK, so there's a surfing clan called the Yosts living in the border-hugging city of Imperial Beach. Head of the family Mitch was a big deal in surfing back in the day (back in the day being the 1960s, apparently) until a knee injury ended his pro career. He thinks he has brain cancer, which is an understandable diagnosis given his propensity to inexplicably levitate every now and again. No, I did not just invent that sentence to see if you are paying attention.
Mitch is married to Cissy, who at this early stage in the show appears to be a bit of a shrill nag. Their son is Butchie, who became a big, big star on the surfing scene and an even bigger heroin addict. That's why Butchie's son, Shaun, now lives with Grandma and Grandpa. Cissy is pushing to have Shaun enter surfing competitions; Mitch is opposed on account of his smack-addled son and all. Cissy accedes to Mitch's wishes, but only until he leaves the room; then she bundles Shaun off to a neighbor's to drive him to the competition. And she would have gotten away with it, too, if it hadn't been for that flat tire and her arrest at the local bulk warehouse store.
That leaves us with John -- mysterious, annoying John. He shows up at the beach one day, saying "The end is near," and then spends the rest of the episode repeating whatever anyone else says back to them. Oh, and he can pull things magically out of his pockets if you ask him -- money, credit cards, and so forth. Maybe someone should ask him for a comprehensible narrative.
All that plus a surfing lawyer, a gun-toting lottery winner, Al Bundy as an addled ex-cop, and Dylan McKay as an oily agent. Weird show you're on there, bro. Want more? The full recap starts right below!
Our show begins with Andy Travis, hotshot programming director, walking into the studios of WKRP where Johnny Sunshine is busy broadcasting easy-listening standards. Ah, but Travis -- that magnificent, wavy-haired bastard -- has a plan: change the station's format to rock 'n' roll, bring in Venus Flytrap to handle the nighttime DJ duties, and sweet-talk Mr. Carlson into... hmmmm? What do you mean? Well, I better check that assignment letter from Wing Chun a little bit more closely, huh? Let's see here...ah, here it is, clear as day: Cincinnati. Who from Cincinnati, now? Oh. I see. Well, that's an entirely different show.
Y'all please excuse me while I head over to HBO On Demand.
Our show begins with blue ocean, grainy surfer footage, and the strains of Joe Strummer. Oh, and there's some shots of the border. Maybe I've TiVo'd Lou Dobbs's show on CNN by mistake.
Nope, this is definitely an HBO show. Know how I can tell? The foul-mouthed cowboys? The unsatisfying series wrap-ups? The smug "It's not TV; it's HBO!" tagline? Good guesses all. But it's the fact that a Lincoln Despoiler just pulled up to a beach somewhere, and Luke Perry jumped out. Luke Perry -- your former teen-soap actor of choice for HBO dramas since 2001. Who'd have thought when Beverly Hills first roamed the airwaves like a mighty thunder lizard that Dylan McKay would grow up to be a respected ensemble player in critically acclaimed pay-cable shows and that Steve Sanders would win America's hearts and minds on a competitive reality show? Okay, I guess that second thing was fairly predictable. But still, Dylan should be very proud of himself. Prouder than you, Gabrielle Carteris!
So anyhow, Dylan's at the beach, watching with a mixture of admiration and resignation while some guy -- as yet unknown -- catches a wave. All of a sudden, Morrissey strolls up behind him. Well, not Morrissey, exactly -- he seems a little bit too happy to be Morrissey. But he certainly looks like Morrissey. Maybe he's in some sort of upbeat Smiths tribute band -- if he breaks into a swingin' version of "How Soon Is Now?" we'll know for sure. But he doesn't; instead, he says, "The end is near." "Amen, my brother," Dylan McKay responds, only in a slightly patronizing way, while noting the illegal immigrants scurrying to do the jobs that the rest of us won't in the background. So I guess this is near San Diego, then, since the surfing around Ciudad Juarez is not particularly choice.
By now, the mysterious surfing stranger has finished riding his wave and is walking up the beach; Upbeat Morrissey goes to greet him. "You know Mitch Yost?" Dylan McKay asks incredulously. "Mitch Yost should get back in the game," Upbeat Morrissey responds. David Milch's dialogue should start making a lick of fucking sense, Mr. Sobell observes. "You should get back in the game, Mitch Yost," Upbeat Morrissey tells the mysterious surfing stranger, who we'll assume is Mitch Yost from the point forward. Anyhow, Mitch Yost tells Upbeat Morrissey to mind his own business and Dylan McKay to go fuck himself -- not a very polite fellow, this Mitch Yost. Dylan McKay is not very polite either -- he tells Upbeat Morrissey that he's known the Yost family for twenty years and "the deal with the kid is in the works, so stay away. Or whoever's paying you better have a good health plan." Upbeat Morrissey looks confused. That's two of us, at least.
Elsewhere on the Pacific Ocean, Rebecca De Mornay is watching either an adolescent or a very wiry adult surf -- the way this show is going, I'm not ruling out either option. She tells one of the local youngsters to inform Shaun -- that's the name of the adolescent or the very wiry adult -- that "he needs to stop by the shop." She seals the deal with the promise of a free bar of wax and a half-hearted shaka and then heads off. A not-unpleasant-looking woman in her late twenties or early thirties watches Rebecca De Mornay leave and then strolls over to the other side of the boardwalk to watch Shaun, the Adolescent or Very Wiry Adult Surfer do his surfing business. I already miss the verbal interplay between Dylan McKay and Upbeat Morrissey.
Speaking of the former part of that duo, Dylan McKay is following Mitch Yost away from the beach, disavowing any responsibility for Upbeat Morrissey's odd behavior. Mitch is more concerned with the syringe he just stepped on -- "Maybe it's one of Butchie's," he says acidly to Dylan. And at the risk of getting ahead of ourselves here, I realize that Mitch is being all accusatory toward Dylan about turning his son into a junkie and all, but I think that if you or I stepped on a syringe, our reaction would be less "This gives me the chance to say something pissy to Luke Perry" and more "OH MY GOD! OH MY SWEET HEAVENLY GOD! I JUST INFECTED MYSELF! DRIVE ME TO A GODDAMN CLINIC, DYLAN!" But points for being so Zen about your introduction to Hepatitis C, Mitch. Anyhow, Dylan is all, yeah, your junkie kid tears me up inside, but bygones, and hey, did you know I'm thinking about signing your grandson to a surfing contract since he'll be competing up in Huntington Beach later today? Mitch was not aware of that last bit, or of the fact that Shaun -- the aforementioned adolescent from the scene -- has asked Dylan McKay to sponsor him. Mitch's glower as Dylan drives off in the Lincoln ResourceHogger suggests that he does not approve.
Meanwhile, at the sort of motel that usually winds up in news stories featuring the words "multiple victims," "police standoff," and "hail of gunfire," two gentlemen are expositing like crazy. The first is Ramon (played by Luis Guzman, who used to be one of the Steven Soderbergh Players), who appears to be the caretaker of this hellhole; the other is Mr. Dickstein (played by Willie Garson, who has probably seen a Steven Soderbergh film), an attorney who presided over the sale of the motel, apparently to a team of eccentric microbiologists looking for a new place to study infectious disease. Anyhow, to the expositing: the hotel's been sold, which means its lone squatter -- the aforementioned drug-addled Butchie -- will need to be expelled posthaste. Dickstein, it appears, has something of a surfer-groupie man-crush on Butchie, on account of Butchie revolutionizing surfing way back when; Ramon would just like Butchie to leave and take his six months' worth of accumulated filth with him. He goes to tell the just-arrived Butchie that the motel's been sold. "I have to take a horrendous dump, Ramon," Butchie says, beating a path to his motel room. "And after that, I want to hear every fucking detail." Ah, Milch -- you melodious wordsmith. Anyhow, once Butchie goes off to take his horrendous dump, Ramon and Dickstein negotiate the terms of his departure. Dickstein offers $200, noting that Butchie's injury claim with the city for being run over by a beach-sweep while passed out has been settled for $2,300. Ramon notes that the settlement was paid out yesterday, meaning it's probably been turned into a down payment on some off-label heroin. Dickstein says he's good for the $200 for Ramon's trouble; fine and dandy, Ramon says, but you're helping me load up all this motel flotsam and jetsam onto a truck. I believe that's a course for second-year law students, by the way.
Hey, did you know that "I have to take a horrendous dump" is a euphemism for "I need to shoot up with this $2,300 worth of heroin I just purchased?" Because that's what Butchie's doing right now. Score one for Ramon and his canny understanding of human nature.
Back at the beach, Mitch is loading up his board onto his woody -- not a euphemism. He's doing your typical post-surf routine: you know...rinsing off the salt water, drinking in the beach air, levitating off the ground. Yup, just floating up there about a foot over terra firma. To his credit, he seems as troubled by this as the audience at home.
In another section of the brushy growth near the beach, Upbeat Morrissey is wandering around, doubtlessly looking for the other Smiths. But before he can break into a rousing solo version of "Meat is Murder," a voice snarls at him, "Hey, frat boy! Drove down to TJ to see the donkey show, did you?" As a fellow who attended college in San Diego, let me state for the record that my one and only trip to Tijuana was to place a bet on the San Diego Chargers beating a seventeen-and-a-half-point spread in Super Bowl XXIX; in retrospect, I probably would have been better off attending this mythical donkey show. Anyhow, the snarly voice belongs to the guy who played Mr. Ellsworth on Deadwood; since getting gunned down by Major Dad, he's apparently staked out a living helping illegal immigrants sneak across the border and annoy AM radio talk-show hosts. The Late Mr. Ellsworth -- whom we will now refer to as Vietnam Joe, as that is his righteously cool character name -- has mistaken Upbeat Morrissey for a stoned-out-of-his-gourd college student. Upbeat Morrissey is doing little to combat that perception, since he's staring stupidly and wordlessly at Vietnam Joe. For $50, Vietnam Joe offers to drop Upbeat Morrissey anywhere in Imperial Beach and orders the goofy '90s alternative rocker to turn out his pockets. Wouldn't you know, there's exactly $50 in there. That's convenient...or is it? "Some things I know, and some things I don't," Upbeat Morrissey says, apropos of nothing. "Spare me the babe in the woods routine," Vietnam Joe snarls. "You just paid to see a donkey fuck a woman." You know, the hell with this John From Cincinnati business. You want a real worthwhile successor to the Sopranos, HBO -- give me an hour of Vietnam Joe From Vietnam every Sunday and I'll never, ever contemplate canceling my subscription.
Back at the No-Telling-When-They-Cleaned-Last Motel, Butchie is having the buyer's remorse about that heroin purchase, largely because it appears that he was cheated. While he airs his grievances with his heroin supplier, doubtlessly the final step before composing a sternly-worded letter to the Better Business Bureau, an adolescent or very wiry adult rolls up to the motel on a skateboard. We'll have Dickstein exposit as he does so well: it's Shaun, who is Butchie's kid, and something of a surf prodigy in his own right. He currently lives under the custody of Grandpa and Grandma Yost, on account of Butchie's crippling smack addiction. Thanks, Dickstein -- at least someone is trying to keep us abreast of what's going on here. Anyhow, Shaun knocks on the door of the Motel California, and, in a nice detail, Butchie ditches the vein-producing tie around his arm before opening the door. Father Of The Year stuff, right there. "Sorry about the fucking mess," Butchie says. It is unclear whether he is apologizing to Shaun, the viewers, or God. After the requisite father-son small-talk -- "How's sixth grade?" "It was good." -- Shaun lets it slip that he's going to participate in that Huntington competition Mitch and Dylan McKay were arguing about earlier. Butchie pauses when he hears this, expressing surprise that Grandpa Yost gave his OK. It was actually Grandma's idea, Shaun says. "That sounds more like it," Butchie says, with only a detectable trace of bitterness. Shaun wants to know if his dad wants to come and watch; "No, fuck, not if you want them to let you on the water," Butchie says. As parental brush-offs go, I suppose that's better than "I'd love to, champ, but I'm going on a business trip." Shaun presses, causing Butchie to explode: "What the fuck would I want to go up there for, Shaunie, OK? Those things are fucking bullshit." He quickly adds "Not for you," after Shaun's face registers disappointment. Smooth save there, Smackie. As a disappointed Shaun leaves the Fetid Presidential Suite, Butchie offers this last bit of fatherly advice about surfing competitions: "Just don't pull your left nut out...it tends to get you DQ'd." My father said the same thing to me the night I graduated from high school.
Speaking of Shaun's surfing aspirations, we cut to the Yosts' surf shop, where Mitch is watching his grandson's "Sponsor Me" video and trying to determine just how heavily involved Rebecca De Mornay (Grandma Yost, or Cissy to you and me) was in this whole project. In particular, Mitch is a bit aghast that a tape was sent to Dylan McKay -- his character is named Linc, apparently -- who is "the bastard who helped turn Butchie into the ditch-sleeping doper shitbird he is today." "Shaun doesn't have to be Butchie," Cissy offers, which, as far as rebuttals go, sounds an awful lot like, "It's possible this punch to the gonads might not hurt nearly so much this time." Into this scene of domestic bliss comes the subject of the argument, Shaun himself, who's just in time to watch his grandparents seethe wordlessly at one another. Soon, a dirty-blonde surf-shop employee named Kai strolls in, and after a brief exchange of pleasantries, we're back to the wordless seething. Finally, Mitch shoos Shaun and Kai out of the room -- he apparently prefers to seethe in a more verbal manner. Mitch says that Shaun won't be entering any competitions today, and if that means Mitch has to personally drive up to Huntington Beach and tear up the permission slip, that's what he'll do. "What happened to Butchie is not happening to Shaun," Mitch declares. "I understand," Cissy sneers. "The kahuna has spoken." Well, issue solved then, right? Anything else on anyone's mind? "Also, I've got fucking cancer," Mitch declares. "Right here in my brain." And then he strolls out of the surf shop. Well, he's taking that diagnosis fairly well.
With Mitch gone, Cissy springs into action. She goes to the back room where Shaun and Kai are playing checkers and dispatches Shaun to a neighbor's house, with instructions to pretend Cissy hopes that the neighbor can drive him up to the surfing competition. There's an elaborate set of instructions about making sure that the neighbor turns in the accident and liability waiver for the competition, which leads me to conclude that Cissy was not the least bit serious about agreeing to Mitch's declaration. That seems like a mean thing to do to a guy who's just discovered he's got brain cancer.
Because we haven't had any scenes with repetitive, meandering dialogue for a while, let's cut back to Vietnam Joe's van as it speeds down the back roads of San Diego County. Upbeat Morrissey is sticking his head out the window like a very contented Labrador. "Some things I know, and some things I don't," Upbeat Morrissey repeats in that increasingly sing-songy way of his. "Tell me something you know," Vietnam Joe says with a lot more patience than I'm feeling at this precise moment. "The end is near," Upbeat Morrissey says. Ah, yes -- the other thing he keeps repeating. And "Mitch Yost should get back in the game." So now we've covered the hat trick of lines for Upbeat Morrissey in this scene. Anyhow, the long and the short of it is that Vietnam Joe may not know who Mitch Yost is, but he's sure familiar with Butchie Yost -- he'll drop off Upbeat Morrissey there. And that's all you need to know about this scene, apparently. Oh, and also that there are some things Upbeat Morrissey knows and some things he doesn't. Also, the end is near. Thought you'd be interested in hearing that.
The neighbor to whom Shaun has been dispatched is Bill, and he's none other than Al Bundy his own bad self. Bill is enjoying himself a morning of televised lucha libre. "I tell you one thing," Bill says. "They're over-exposing these masked midgets." Well, of course -- that's one of the hot-button issues at lucha libre arenas around the North American continent right now: just how much exposure should the masked little-person wrestlers get? Ask any group of fans, and you're likely to hear hours of passionate debate. Or it's possible that I just made all that up. Anyhow, Bill agrees to drive Shaun up to Huntington, although he doesn't answer when Shaun asks him not to tell Mitch about it. Instead, we're treated to a brief discourse on Bill's bout with fibromylagia. Just so that you know, fibromylagia is a chronic syndrome characterized by widespread pain and moderate to severe fatigue; another symptom includes something called "brain fog," which involves impaired concentration and short-term memory problems. Sometimes, though not always, fibromylagia can start as the result of a trauma like an accident. I mention this because if any of this proves to be true of Bill further down the road, you can always say that you were spoiled by Wikipedia.
Anyhow, Bill's got a lot of birds. (That's not a symptom of fibromylagia.) Or more to the point, he's about to have one less bird than he did -- one named Zippy appears to be pining for the fjords, if you get my meaning. He's lying on the bottom of the cage, stone dead. "This is something you learn to expect," Bill chokes out, deciding that it would be unseemly to cry in front of a teenager over an ex-parrot. "When you're older, you'll understand." Bill tries to lighten the mood by offering Shaun a Twinkie before he goes to give Zippy what I can only assume is the bird equivalent of a decent Christian burial. Shaun gives the bird a few loving strokes of his finger -- and soon, Zippy has sprung back to life as good as new. "Well this is..." Bill begins. "This is something." I'll say -- if I didn't know any better, I'd say that long-haired surfer kid might be some sort of messianic figure. I just hope it works out better for him than it did that filthy Oakie.
Back at the surf shop, Cissy is still stewing over her verbal throwdown with Mitch. "Why does what happened to Butchie make it fucked up to help Shaunie do what any thirteen-year-old would want to?" she demands of Kai. Because you probably share some culpability in what happened to Butchie and don't seem like the type to learn from your mistakes? That's just a guess on my part, incidentally -- Kai is wisely keeping her lip buttoned. Cissy is also fuming over Mitch's brain tumor diagnosis, though she seems more irritated by it than concerned. "Wouldn't put it past him, either, fucking jerk," she mutters under he breath, as she storms out of the surf shop, leaving a moderately befuddled Kai to carry on with her inventory.
At the motel, Butchie is still leaving angry messages with his drug connection, demanding satisfaction or, at the very least, store credit. Outside, Ramon and Dickstein have made short work of loading up the truck with pile upon pile of discarded crap. See how much work you can get done, fellas, when you're not filling the air with expository dialogue? Just then, Vietnam Joe pulls up -- he seems to share a familiarity with Ramon and Dickstein. "The Three Stooges," Vietnam Joe snorts, ignoring the fact that he's only staring at two of them. "I could eat a bowl of soup off the top of either of your heads." While I don't remember that particular Stooges installment -- "Moe enjoys a nice potato-leek soup and then beats Curly mercilessly with the ladle" -- it hardly seems a compliment. Vietnam Joe confirms that Butchie is, in fact, a deadbeat-in-residence at the motel, instructs Upbeat Morrissey on the proper door-knocking technique, and then sends him on his way. "Ramon wants to talk to you, Joe," Dickstein begins. Vietnam Joe does not share that desire -- he speeds off before Ramon can tell him that his days of stashing illegals at the motel have come to an end, what with the new owner.
Upbeat Morrissey puts his door-knocking lesson to good use, rapping on Butchie's door and asking, "What do you want, Butchie Yost?" In a case of mistaken identity not seen on American television since the latter days of Three's Company, Butchie assumes that Upbeat Morrissey is a duly appointed customer-service representative sent by his drug dealer. "I want to see some dope come out of your pockets, or my $2,300," Butchie shouts through the door. $2,300 it is, then -- man, those are some very handy pockets. Upbeat Morrissey flashes the wad of cash in front of the peephole. After furtively looking around to make sure there's not an accomplice waiting to whack him upside the head and counting the money to make sure it's all there, Butchie's all, "Hello, friend!" He also expresses remorse over the angry message he left for the drug dealer not a few moments earlier. "Let's go call the ice cream man, tell him I'm sorry," Butchie says. Oh, this is going to be almost exactly like that time Mr. Furley bursts in on Jack Tripper while he's on a date. Only with more horse.
In all this time, Cissy has only now stormed her way to the clubhouse, which is where Mitch apparently retreats, cursing all the while about his inner sanctum. It is hard not to sympathize with Mitch, whose only mistake here appears to be building his hideaway where Cissy could find it, rather than in a more obscure location, like maybe Mars. "Why would you think you've got brain cancer?" Cissy demands, once she's through cursing at Mitch. Yeah. Was it some sort of diagnosis from your physician? Did you look it up on WebMD? Nah -- it's that whole levitation thing. Mitch chalks up it up to a hallucination brought on by a brain tumor. Cissy posits that it could have been brought on by an ear infection. I'm pretty sure that levitating isn't actually a symptom of swimmer's ear. Are, like, trained medical professionals with reputable backgrounds the mortal enemies of surfers or something? Because this seems like a thing you'd see a doctor about. Anyhow, there's a lot more cursing and carrying on and arguing about Shaun competing in the surfing competition, and it's all very tiresome twenty-five minutes into this show's run. Let's just bottom-line it here and say that Cissy thinks Mitch is holding Shaun back because of a knee injury he suffered back when he was young and immortal, and that Mitch counters that his leg nearly got amputated, thank you very much. And then they have sex. Angry sex. Probably punctuated by a lot of cursing.
Back at the motel, Butchie is hanging up the phone. It appears that he has just learned that Upbeat Morrissey is not a drug mule or, if he is, he does not happen to be employed by the drug cartel that supplies Butchie with his Sweet Lady H. That $2,300? Just a harmless coincidence -- or is it? Anyhow, Butchie wants answers; boy, is he talking to the wrong character for that. "Empty your pockets, bra, so we don't start not getting along," Butchie orders. "All right, show me something with your name on it." The magic pockets happily oblige -- this time, Upbeat Morrissey produces a platinum card. Apparently, his name is John, since that's what Butchie starts calling him, though I was sort of getting used to calling him Upbeat Morrissey. Ah, well. I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that he's also from Cincinnati, though it probably doesn't say that on the credit card.
Butchie wants to know what John was doing before paying a visit to the Motel Hell and whether mind-altering drugs were involved in any way. John repeats the questions as well as the hand gestures. Forget parrots being raised from the dead or $2,300 cash being pulled from a magic pocket -- the greatest miracle we've seen thus far on John From Cincinnati is that the title character has not been mercilessly beaten by anyone attempting to engage him in conversation. Butchie is too busy putting his considerable cognitive powers to work, concluding that John has come here to get a surfing lesson from Butchie "The Beast" Yost. Since John merely repeats the last thing that was said to him, that is indeed what he is here to do. After determining that this all isn't some elaborate setup on the part of his parents or doctors or the crew of Punk'd, Butchie consents to take John out surfing. All that plastic and cash John is carrying around probably made a convincing argument as well.
Back in the angry world of seething post-coital resentment, Mitch wants to know if Shaun was disappointed when Cissy told him that he couldn't go to the surfing competition. "He never shows what he's feeling," Cissy replies. That may be because he's actually on his way to the surfing competition, which would certainly cut down on those visible displays of disappointment. That matter settled, Mitch proposes investing in a camera. To record their embittered, hateful love-making? No, pervo -- Mitch wants a camera handy just in case he gets that unique sensation of levitating a foot or two off the ground again; that way, he can have photographic proof one way or the other. Cissy offers to pick him up one at the local big-box retailer, and with that, she leaves the inner sanctum. Mitch sits on the mattress, holding his feet suspended over the floor to see if there's any more unexplained levitating to be done today. Probably not so soon after sex, I'd guess.
Down in the surf shop, Butchie and John have arrived to find out just what kind of credit limit mysterious strangers from the Planet Weirdo have on their platinum cards. I'm guessing from the way the too-aggressive-to-be-entirely-playful banter flows between Butchie and Kai that they know each other; I'm also guessing from the especially emotive way that John says hello to Kai when instructed to by Butchie that he thinks she's purty. Butchie proposes a big shopping list -- wetsuit, surfboards by the multitude. Kai spoils the party by suggesting that maybe they should just start off by buying one; Butchie shoots her a look that seems to scream, "Don't mess up what I've got going on here." While John sorts through the merchandise, Butchie recounts his day for Kai -- injury settlement, heroin buy that turned out to be quinine. "Too bad you don't got malaria," Kai says archly. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" Butchie asks. It means that quinine is a treatment for malaria. Do try and keep up, Butchie -- you're the one with the background in pharmacology, however amateur it may be. It is here that we learn John's full name -- John Monad. Monad, of course, has several different philosophical connotations, not the least of which is the view that everything is of one essence called the monad. Important insight into an intriguing character or pretentious wankery from a show that's trying too hard to be deep? I'm sure the debate will be spirited. The scene ends abruptly when Butchie and Kai get into an argument over Shaun -- Butchie is miffed that Kai didn't mention to him that Shaun was entering the surfing contest; Kai suggests that maybe if Butchie took a more active interest in parenting, he wouldn't need to hear about such things third-hand. Much cursing and storming out ensues. You've got that sequence down to a science, Milch.
Outside the surf shop, an agitated Butchie is still fuming over his argument with Kai and trying to get his mitts on his cell phone. John is doing his "some things I know, and some things I don't" act, so he's of very little help. His magic pocket, on the other hand, is very helpful, since Butchie reaches in it and pulls out a phone. Time for a phone call to Mitch to have it out about this whole Shaun-entering-the-world-of-competitive-surfing thing -- I'm sure the discussion will be measured and temperate. "Congratulation on being a fucking gutless cunt," Butchie screams when Mitch answers the phone. Or not. Surprisingly, Mitch is able to immediately determine who is calling him, even without the assistance of Caller ID. Anyhow, allow me to summarize their conversation, only with the cuss words removed. A few more profanities, and I think my copy of Microsoft Word will shut down in self-defense.
Butchie: I am displeased that you have allowed Shaun to compete up in Huntington.
Mitch: I have allowed no such thing. Shaun is not going.
Butchie: I believe you are mistaken, sir.
Mitch: I forbade him from entering and left the matter in the hands of your mother.
Butchie: That was a poor move on your part, since she is likely to go behind your back. But perhaps that is what you intended all along.
Mitch: Shut up, you drug-using absentee father.
Butchie: No, you shut up.
Mitch: You shut up!
Butchie: You shut up first!
And so on. The bottom line is that Mitch threatens to come down to Butchie's fleabag residence and give him the thrashing of his life, and that Butchie invites him to do so. Realizing that his father will probably take him up on this offer, Butchie tosses John into his van so that he can go home and get high in anticipation of Battle of the Yosts: The Pummeling In The Parking Lot. "You want to meet a happy family, John, watch a Saturday morning cartoon," Butchie snarls. "Meet the Fucking Jetsons." Ooh -- is that series coming to HBO, too? I wonder who they're going to get to play Astro.
Over at the big-box retailer, we see Cissy shopping for that camera Mitch requested -- good to see that wielding a shopping cart is another one of those things that she does with menace. She stops to ask a clerk who is busy stacking individual rolls of toilet paper, which may be the most unbelievable thing I've seen in John From Cincinnati, levitation scenes included. At my local big-box retailer, you are required to buy toilet paper by the metric ton, bound together in palettes so large and unwieldy that you need an 18-wheeler to transport your toilet paper home. Cissy asks this clerk where she can find an instamatic. "Would you consider a diabetic, if he's hard-working and handsome?" the clerk replies. Stunningly, Cissy fails to be charmed by that -- instead, she repeats her request for the instamatic camera with withering directness. The clerk's face falls as he realizes he's not going to be able to complete that letter to Penthouse Forum that he had been drafting in his head. FantasyLand Big-Box Retailer does not stock instamatics, he pissily informs Cissy -- just digitals and disposables and individually wrapped rolls of toilet paper. Cissy responds to this unpleasant social interaction by knocking down the clerk's toilet paper pyramid. Now he'll have no place to bury the Pharaoh.
Out on the road to Huntington, we learn that in addition to suffering from fibromylagia and not really being too mentally acute, Bill also doesn't notice when traffic lights change from red to green; the drivers behind him sure notice, though. "Up your ass!" he screams at the motorists as they whiz by him, honking. "Up your nose with a rubber hose!" Arnold Horshack would be proud. Bill apologizes to Shaun for losing his temper. I'm just glad he didn't break out a "Sit on it, Potsie." There's no call for language like that.
We're back at the Bulk Retail Warehouse, where you can buy individual rolls of toilet paper but not instamatic cameras. Cissy is waiting in the checkout line, when the clerk points her out to a security guard. It seems that she's being cited for creating some sort of disturbance. "This guy made a half-assed pass at me," Cissy protests. Wait, wait -- you can get people arrested for that? Wish I would have known that back in the mid-'90s; my dating life would might have been a lot more interesting if I could have wielded the threat of legal reprisal.
Things are much happier -- though no less weird -- at the crappy motel, where Ramon and Dickstein have plastered big, fake smiles on their faces to greet the motel's new owner. Maybe they've noticed the handgun he's packing on his right hip. The new owner is Mr. Cunningham, who somehow makes his shorts and open-collared shirt seem extremely formal. He greets Ramon in Spanish and then launches into this florid bit of exposition: "If attorney Dickstein has been discreet, it will not surprise you to learn, Ramon, that I am a winner of the Mega-Millions Lottery...I disclose this to explain that I am armed in accordance with the State Lottery Commission's pamphlet, The Challenge of Sudden Wealth, which urges that winners be cautious in the conduct of their business affairs." I do not know how to react to that, other than to say that if you've used your lottery winnings to buy a fleabag motel on the outskirts of San Diego, then perhaps you are reading the wrong advisory pamphlet. Cunningham is returning to Imperial Beach after a twenty-year hiatus in Azusa, and he plans to level the motel. Again, I'm wondering if this is the best investment for ill-gotten gains. At this particular moment in time, Butchie's van rolls up. Dickstein clues Cunningham in on Butchie's backstory -- great surfer, down on his luck, flopping at the motel in exchange for $200 -- but he needn't bother. It appears from the way Cunningham repeats Butchie's name that he's quite familiar with the Yost scion.
And now a rapid series of events goes down. Bill's truck blows out a tire. Cissy is led out of the big-box retail store in handcuffs. Mitch's car comes squealing into the motel parking lot. John observes once again that "the end is near." Bill sits in his truck, fretting about changing a tire in traffic, and the squad car carrying Cissy speeds by. "The pigs got Grandma," Shaun observes. Bill pulls over into the motel parking lot, which conveniently is right near where his tire blew out. And so, the gang's all here, more or less. What should we do to celebrate?
Whip out the handgun and fire it into the air, if you're Cunningham, because that's precisely what he does. "Even as I try to close the libros of this sordid edifice, to write finis to the story of my deflowering at 10 in room 24," Cunningham begins -- "Room 24 will give up its dead and the dead shall be forgiven," John mumbles simultaneously -- "I find the characters from another chapter of my life intruding." Dickstein speaks for all of us when he says, "Not completing following, Mr. Cunningham." Yes, let's try to add some clarity, shall we? It turns out Butchie and Cunningham -- "Barry the Fairy," Butchie calls him, which is perhaps not a good nickname to use around the guy with the firearm -- were in the sixth grade together. And it seems that Butchie was hazing Cunningham with a broom and -- "I meant to hit you with the broom part, Barry," Butchie says. "No one meant to hit you with the handle." And I think we can figure out now why Cunningham is so troubled by this memory without further detail. Cunningham goes to put the gun in his mouth; fortunately -- or un-, depending on how attached you've gotten to Cunningham in the last few minutes -- Bill sneaks up behind him and wrestles the gun out of his mouth. And so, as Bill admonishes Cunningham for trying to commit suicide and Butchie and Mitch for carrying on while Cissy is hauled off to jail, we get our first face-to-face between Shaun and John. It involves John showing off some footwork and Shaun emulating it. Either this is a dance step that really knocked them dead on the last Smiths tour or the two of them are showing surfing moves. Probably the latter, though I wouldn't rule out the former. Not the way this show is shaping up.
All right, everyone -- let's pay a visit to our local police station. That's where the rest of the cast seems to be, with Bill jawboning the watch commander to cite Cissy and release her. It appears that Bill used to work here; it further appears that he isn't held in high regard by his former colleagues, as the watch commander mutters something to an underling about expediting a warrant search so that they can "get this senile bastard out of here." While Bill's unpleasant workplace reunion is going down, Dickstein is seizing the opportunity to engage in a little Yost Worship up close with Mitch: Remember that time you shot that curl? That was so awesome. While that's going on, Butchie's trying to engage his son in conversation, noting that Shaun missed his competition. Shaun asks if that makes his dad proud. "I said I didn't want to go Shaunie," Butchie replies. "Because it's so lame?" Shaun asks. "Which isn't saying you should be missing shit," Butchie concludes. "Anyways," Shaun concludes, strolling off to participate in more fancy footwork with John. As far as father-son confabs go in the Yost family, that may have been the least toxic interaction we've seen thus far.
Dickstein's ongoing nostalgia trip -- "Trestles, 1979. To see you surf was all I wanted for my bar mitzvah" -- finally drives Mitch to seek the dubious comfort of some other less talkative person and causes Bill to intervene. "You're a fifth fucking wheel around here, Dickstein," he says, dispatching him to make sure Bill's truck isn't disassembled by "marauding lowlifes" in the motel parking lot and to "make sure that that fruit gets home." Dickstein points out that Cunningham has his own car. "Hybrid," Bill spits out with disgust. "Which the marauders won't bother. And if the fruit's allowed at the wheel, I'm liable to drive off a bridge." Dickstein asks Bill to make his goodbyes for him; Bill will be doing no such thing. Observing this exchange, Mitch wonders out loud to Butchie if Shaun will confirm that Bill was driving him up to Huntington. "He's not much of a liar," Butchie says in response. Mitch sighs and braces himself for the marital tête-à-tête that's sure to go down once his wife gets sprung from the pen.
Speaking of the incarcerated half of the Mitch-Cissy union, Cissy is telling her cellie -- a middle-aged Spanish-speaking lady -- that she went a little crazy in a retail outlet. The cellie responds in a peal of Spanish that my closed captioning helpfully translates as "(speaks Spanish)." Thanks, closed captioning; that's very helpful. All I can make out is "son" and "assassination," so if there's a particularly salient plot point that just got uttered in Spanish, I'm afraid I can't help y'all decode it. A deputy arrives to release Cissy from her cell.
"He must read some old fucking magazines," Butchie says to Mitch about John, still laboring under the assumption that John has come to him for surfing lessons. Butchie observes that John told him that Mitch should get back in the game; funny thing, Mitch realizes, John said the exact same thing to him that morning. "He's harmless," Butchie concludes. "And fucking rich." Nevertheless, Mitch would like a word with Butchie in private. They go into another room where Mitch tells his son that he just found out he's pretty sick, hence his short fuse. Butchie blames his own bad temper on being "dope sick," since he hasn't had the means or opportunity to shoot up in a good, long while. If I didn't know any better, I'd say these two are apologizing to one another. Anyhow, Mitch explains his symptoms -- primarily the whole levitation thing -- which is when he starts floating again. "You're up," Butchie says, not without a hint of measured panic. "It feels like I am," Mitch says calmly. Bill is watching all this take place in silhouette against the shade, and his appalled facial reaction may be the funniest moment of this particular episode. "Well if that's a tumor, where do I sign up?" Butchie wonders. Meanwhile, Bill -- doubtlessly angered that someone would break the law of physics on his watch -- decides to take his aggression out on John. "I got my eye on you," Bill snaps at John. "I got my eye on you," John repeats. "No, I got my eye on you," Bill counters. And so on -- was there a word count Milch felt he had to reach for this episode?
At the luxuriously barren beachfront apartment of Barry Cunningham, Dickstein is making sure that the Mega-Millions Lottery champ does not have a second firearm he's been keeping under wraps. He does not, "against the advice of Pete's Pistol Hut." Dickstein asks whether Cunningham thinks he will be a danger to himself; Cunningham insists he does not. Dickstein wonders if Cunningham surfs; Cunningham scoffs -- he does not. He does, however, drink his wine out of flowery paper cups while sitting cross-legged on the carpet of his unfurnished apartment. And with that, Dickstein bids Cunningham adieu.
Family beach trip! It's all the Yosts plus John plus Bill -- looks like John's going to get that surfing lesson, after all. Butchie wants to know if maybe John exaggerated his skill with the surfboard a little bit and may have never been on a board; John admits that he did, though it's impossible to tell whether this is a genuine admission or just that "I'll repeat what you just said in a sing-songy cadence" thing of his. Rather than abandon what he sees as his cash-rich, sense-poor meal ticket, Butchie cooks up a scheme -- they'll paddle out to surf, but then John will fake like he has a leg cramp. Then they'll paddle back in and nobody will be any wiser. "How does that sound to you, John?" Butchie asks. "That sounds, Butchie," John says. It certainly does, weirdo. It certainly does.
As Butchie, John, and Shaun head into the water -- John is trying to walk in backwards, incidentally -- Cissy observes, "Just when you think he's run out of doofuses..." But Mitch has other things on his mind -- specifically, why Bill and Shaun happened to be out for a drive. They wouldn't have been on their way to Huntington for a surfing competition when that flat tire hit 'em, huh, wifey? "He was," Cissy says, without a trace of hesitation or regret. "I asked him to." Mitch notes that he specifically forbade any competition-related trips up to Huntington. Cissy sighs: "Maybe this is the time we admit we don't have a perfect marriage." Oh, you think so? Really? Anyhow, Mitch tells Cissy he doesn't have a brain tumor after all -- it's just a case of surfer's ear, he says. You can tell from his face that he doesn't exactly believe that, but it probably sounds a whole lot better than "a bad case of the freaky supernatural powers."
Hey, speaking of freaky things, let's pay one last visit to our good friend, Barry Cunningham. He's currently engaged in a very serious heart-to-heart talk with his teddy bear. "Do you surf, Teddy?" he asks the bear sadly. It turns out the bear does, but only after Cunningham picks it up and moves around its limbs to approximate surfing moves before flinging it to the floor. "Teddy," Cunningham says, "you wiped out." And you know, in an hour of what-the-hell television, that little segment there may have been the what-the-helliest.
Out in the water, John has started grabbing his leg and howling about a cramp per Butchie's instructions. Butchie tells his son to catch the wave; he and John will wait a bit before paddling in. So Shaun does. And whatever else we might say about the weirdness of John From Cincinnati -- and by God, this is a weird-ass show -- they sure do film the surfing all pretty. I guess it helps to have Greyson Fletcher, who is an actual real-life surfer from a long line of such, in your cast. John is so moved by Shaun's surfing that he abandons the "Ow! Me leg!" routine and catches a wave of his own. And what do you know -- turns out the freaky weirdo can surf after all. Perhaps that's another one his powers, like the magic pockets and the ability to only speak in repetitive dialogue. Mitch, meanwhile, has decided he won't be joining his son, grandson, and otherworldly visitor in the briny foam. "Before us fallen earthlings?" Cissy says sarcastically. Mitch chuckles as if to say, "My wife...she makes my life a joyless slog."
And so, as we enjoy a scene of what for the Yosts is probably the ultimate in bliss -- folks are surfing happily, you see -- we get a shot of Bill walking on the beach and muttering about how tomorrow, he's going to check up on that smart-alecky John Monad. That not-unpleasant-looking woman in her late twenties, early thirties we saw at the very beginning of this episode sends a text message that "Shaun Yost is still in Imperial Beach." The recipient of that message is Dylan McKay, presumably up in Huntington, who all but twirls his sinister mustache and screams, "Curses, foiled again!" And thus ends John Monad's first day in the warm embrace of the Yosts.
Now... what to make of all that?
Well, it's a first episode. It's always hard to introduce a slew of new characters in a conventional hour-long show, let alone one with its own ideas about pacing and narrative structure. And just because something's a little bit weird -- OK, a lot bit -- doesn't necessarily mean it's not a compelling hour of television. That said, just because you'd prefer that your shows eventually have some sort of discernable point doesn't make you a thick-headed lummox who should resign himself to a lifetime of According to Jim reruns. A show should make you crave answers because it's engaging and approachable, not because the creators couldn't be bothered to come up with any. The former is the result of compelling storytelling; the latter is just laziness. We'll find out soon enough which side of the fence John From Cincinnati falls under.
week on Morrissey Goes Surfing: Luke Perry continues his relentless pursuit of Shaun. Butchie's drug dealer shows up and brings a vicious right cross with him. That not-unpleasant-looking woman looks to be in cahoots with Luke Perry. And Bill tries to find out more about the ever-mysterious... John from Cincinnati. As will we all, hopefully.