In a hurry? Read the recaplet for a nutshell description! Finished? Click here to close.
This week on John From Cincinnati, nothing happened. Well, nothing that couldn’t have been wrapped up in five minutes instead of padded out to the usual fifty.
So John lets Cass know that they made a video the night before. A sex tape? Cass asks. If only. No, it was a video of John in front of a circle-and-stick logo saying, "Sean will soon be gone" over and over again. This video message from John magically appears on the computer of Dwayne the Hare-Lipped Webmaster. He is understandably concerned and shares those concerns with -- in order -- Jerri, Cissy, Dickstein, Butchie, Bill, and finally, John himself when the well-coiffed weird one shows up at the Snug Harbor motel to...well...repeat back everything everyone says to him.
Butchie is fairly certain John means no harm, but he’s just about the only one. Particularly vehement that John is up to no good is Freddy, who has a vision of Shaun’s impending disappearance. He and Bill team up to try and get some info out of John in a little...well, not Good-Cop-Bad-Cop exactly. More like Bad-Cop-Worse-Drug-Dealer. Anyhow, Bill has just handed John over to Freddy to do his worst, when word comes that Shaun hasn’t disappeared at all, but has merely gone to Sea World for the day with Tina. "Shaun will soon be gone to an overpriced theme park" apparently does not have the same mystic weight, I guess.
So what else? Cissy kicks Mitch out in absentia, dropping off a suitcase of her MIA husband's belongings at the Snug Harbor. Cunningham has a vision about turning the on-premises bar at the Snug Harbor into some sort of performing-arts center and then a less pleasant vision about Sean's impending departure intertwined with his own past trauma. The lawyer from the hospital tries to coerce Dickstein into entering into some illicit you-scratch-my-back arrangement that bodes ill for Dr. Smith. Ramon stencils the shuffleboard court wrong. Cass finally figures out hat John is kind of a weirdo and slaps him upside the head. And Linc signs Shaun to a contract...guess he hasn’t heard that Shaun will soon be gone. It's all the talk around Imperial Beach these days. Want more? The full recap starts right below!
Previously on John From Cheviot: the hospital's evil attorney came gunning for Dr. Smith; Palaka got sick; Linc and Tina joined forces to trick that smart-ass kid from Saved By The Bell; and some guy we've hardly seen up until now wanted to set up a website for Shaun, triggering an argument and eventual reconciliation between Butchie and Shaun. And that well-coiffed fellow who thrilled us all with those pretty words a few episodes back? He didn't have much to say this week, except to tell Cass that "Shaun will soon be gone." Perhaps he was speaking metaphorically.
Credits. C'mon and slow it down, stretch it out, pad it up, JFC.
Hey, Butchie's out in the water. That's two weeks in a row now where we've begun with extensive, beautifully-shot scenes of someone doing things with a surfboard that most of us can only dream of. Keep this up, Milch, and we're likely to get spoiled. Only this time, Butchie's not alone -- there's another guy out there about his age and definitely about his skill level. Mysterious Stranger will do something as Butchie watches, and then Butchie will try to do something equally spectacular as Mysterious Stranger watches. It's like an aquatic version of Annie Get Your Gun: Any curl you can shoot, I can shoot better/I can surf any wave better than you/No, you can't/Yes, I can/No, you can't/Yes, I can/No, you can't/Yes, I can, Yes I caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan!
But the surf duet between Annie Oakley and Frank Butler Butchie and Mysterious Stranger is interrupted by Kai and Shaun, who drive up in Kai's Jeep. They notice Butchie's crappy old van, as well as the much slicker-looking truck parked to it. Kai observes that the truck belongs to Sonny Mac. Sonny Mac, the fictional surfer we've never heard of before? Apparently. Anyhow, Kai decides that she and Shaun will go surf elsewhere, just in case Butchie would prefer his son and his special lady not witness his throwdown with the Sonny Mac. "In case he gets dusted?" Shaun asks. "Shoot-out in I.B. Like in Fiji twelve years ago." "What the fuck do you know about Fiji twelve years ago?" Kai rightly asks. "I know more than I let on," says Shaun cryptically. Careful, kid -- there's only room for one riddle-spewing idiot savant in this town, and that job has been filled.
And the guy who filled it is back at the Naval Radio Receiving Facility where he spent most of the last episode talking -- or not talking, as the case may be -- to His Old Man. And this time, John's brought a friend: he and Cass are sitting there in her vintage car, staring off at the Elephant Cage. "We made a tape last night," John says. Cass wonders why she doesn't remember -- "Why don't I remember?" John repeats -- and immediately leaps to the most logical conclusion: "Are you saying we made a sex tape?" Funny your mind would go there first, Cass. For all you know, John moved you to harness all your skill as a filmmaker to compile a moving, penetrating look into the human condition that will surely move people to te-- oh, who am I kidding? You're right -- it was probably a sex tape. "I am saying we made a sex tape," John repeats. Cass concludes, correctly, that John doesn't know what the hell he's talking about: "You see, John, the head-scratcher for me, is that you'll know to say something, but won't know what it means." I'm glad I'm not the only one having this problem. "Today will be a three-ring circus," John declares. Great, can't wait. "I will be murdered twice," John adds. Now, I really can't wait. "I will stare me down. Shaun will soon be gone." How about "I will blather on incoherently"? Is that on the to-do list? Because if it is, you can mark it off. Cass recalls that John said that very thing -- the bit about Shaun soon being gone -- last night; "Why didn't I remember?" she asked. Because you fast-forwarded through the "Previously"s like most viewers? "We don't remember my Father's words," John says. That's another reason. "Work here, Cass," says John, gesturing to the Naval Radio Receiving Facility. And by "work," John means "participate in this goofy montage with me." In said montage, we watch as John walks through a watery trench -- boy, I hope that's not raw sewage -- gesture angrily at a tiki-like carving, climb a wooden tower while Cass watches from a picnic bench, and gesture at an incoming helicopter and the sunrise. It is the kind of a sequence you would expect from a terrible '70s sitcom that features a sappy little pop tune: Let me tell 'bout my buddy and me/He's as a weird as a buddy can be/His magical pockets are a really great find/But when he repeats what I say, it drives me out of my mind/Oh, my buddy! That's John From Cincinnati, starring Austin Nichols, Bill Bixby, and Miyoshi Umeki as Mrs. Livingston. In color!
Back at the beach -- Any 10 you can hang/I can hang better! -- Butchie and Sonny Mac are walking back to their respective cars and silently removing their respective wetsuits. "So how'd you do?" Sonny Mac finally asks. "I was going to ask you that," Butchie replies, a tad sheepishly. "You know how you did," Sonny Mac replies. Looks like Butchie Yost is on his way back into the game.
John and Cass have completed their little adventure as well. "You will find our tape in your room," says John. "I will see you at Barry's motel, Cass. We do not remember my Father's words." Judging by the zombified expression on Cass's face, I doubt she'd have much luck remember her Social Security Number right about now. When she turns to face him, John is gone. So: was he really there, or just a figment of Cass's addled imagination? Is he live or is this Memorex? Will I stop with the questions any time soon? Possibly?
Cissy walks into the room where Mitch goes to hide when he hasn't gone to hide somewhere else for three episodes now -- please do not take that observation as a complaint. Anyhow, the only person irritated by Mitch's continued absence is Cissy, who, after taking a drag of her morning cigarette and a sip of her morning beverage, starts trashing the place like she's a drummer for The Who. Down come the mystic knick-knacks! Crash go the wind chimes! Thump go Mitch's doubtlessly patchouli-scented garments! Then, to add cancer-causing insult to injury, Cissy walks up and blows smoke into a tiki-looking wood carving. Similarities between this and the "My Weird Buddy" montage where John trash-talks the tiki-looking carving are purely unintentional, I'm sure. Meanwhile, Cissy takes time out of her busy schedule of smashing her husband's prized possessions into pieces to call up Dickstein and announce that she wants a divorce. And then it's back to smashing -- that dog-eared copy of Levitation For The Illuminated gets an especially fierce going-over, I'm afraid.
You know who else isn't having a really good morning? Freddy, whom we find muttering in his sleep, and then tossing and turning, before finally bolting awake with a start. The clamor brings in a BVD-clad Palaka, which is not the first thing anyone should have to clap eyes on when they wake up, ever. Palaka wants to know if Freddy had a bad dream. "Breakfast," Freddy snarls, amid gasps for breath. "I'm all over that," says Palaka. "I'll convey that much right now." A simple "Good idea" will suffice, my man.
We may not remember our Father's words, but Cass certainly seems to remember that bit John told her about finding the tape back at the hotel room, because she rushes in, flips on her camera, wakens her MacBook, and finds footage of a smiling John sitting in front of a black background with that circle/stick figure symbol that's been popping up lately. (Attentive viewers will recognize it most recently as the stick figure Dickstein drew in the cement at the end of the last episode.) Cass gasps, puts on her headphones, and watches the video with mounting horror and dismay -- emotions I'm sure we'd all share if we were shown the video too. Excuse me, Mr. Milch? Over here, please! We were wondering, sir, if you might clue as in as to what's got Cass so upset. No dice? Okay, we'll just sit here quietly then until you get around with it. I'm sure it will keep until later.
Back at that café where we are spending far too much time lately, Dwayne sits at his ever-present computer. Through no fault of the actor playing Dwayne, I have come to despise this character because I view him as taking valuable screen time away from characters I'm actually interested in and who've had the good fortune to be on this show from the beginning. Characters like Linc, who's having coffee with Tina, who has not been here since the beginning and yet is more interesting and more critical to the storyline than Dwayne is. Sorry, Dwayne, buddy. In another show, perhaps we could be friends. Anyhow, Linc and Tina are having themselves a heart-to-heart. Linc starts: "I realize...um...that bullshit yesterday with Stinkweed...I was making them take me out. Which is connected to the greater mystery of why in the hell I'd be hanging around without trying to close Shaun's deal." Tina speaks for all us when she asks what the solution to the mystery is. After some self-conscious stammering, Linc fesses up -- he couldn't close the deal because he was trying to protect Shaun. "From myself. And then this morning, I wake up...you're just laying there beside me. Like an angel." Tina appears suitably flattered, so Linc continues: "If someone is watching, and they're letting me keep operating, even with the inkling that I'm not the...greatest...guy in the world, maybe they want me to sign him." As far as theories go, the well-I-haven't-been-struck-dead-by-a-vengeful-God-or-gods-yet thesis that Linc seems to be formulating isn't the worst I've heard; it certainly beats the hell out of any ones-and-zeroes-based philosophies I've heard espoused lately. And Tina seems intrigued by it, too: "Would that go for me? I mean...that they'd let me be operating too. Seeing Shaun. Sticking around." "In my opinion," Linc says, "definitely." "You win one free fuck," Tina purrs. Dwayne, who has been sort of eavesdropping on all this, looks vaguely stricken, but it's not because the suddenly intimate turn of the conversation has embarrassed him or because he's worried about what these two have planned for Shaun; rather, it appears to be a message that arrived mid-conversation. "I'm afraid," he says to Jerri the waitress. Well, by all means, do not show us what it is that has Dwayne so afraid. That might be too much excitement for me to bear.
Back at the hotel room, Cass is giving the place a thorough going-over, pulling back bedsheets, turning up mattresses, opening up dressers, going through closets, opening up plastic bags...ah, there it is! A black cloth with a white circle-and-stick figure. That's the background we saw in that video of John on Cass's computer. We haven't seen the video itself, mind you. But not seeing what has everyone so freaked out and antsy is much more dramatically satisfying, I tell you what.
We're in a bar -- good, I think I could use a drink. "License got revoked," says Ramon as he shows off the place to a teddy bear-toting Cunningham. Well...drat. Near as I can tell, this watering hole appears to attached to the Snug Harbor, and it's on the Great Renovation Plan of Aught-Seven. "I've had another vision, Ramon," Cunningham announces. You remember how Cunningham came into his vast fortune by having a vision about the winning lottery numbers -- Ramon certainly remembers, as he eagerly awaits the string of winning numbers to pour out of Cunningham's skull. Sorry, Ramon -- not that kind of vision. Instead, Barry's vision was of rapt faces, taking in some sort of performance. "We used to do karaoke here," Ramon offers helpfully. Either Cunningham hates karaoke -- and after one two many versions of "Wind Beneath My Wings," who can blame him -- or he's having another vision-bringing seizure. It's apparently the latter. Ramon rushes to attend to him and lead him and the teddy bear over to a badly worn pool table: "Do you have any medicine in your man-purse? A spoon?" But there will be no need for medicines or spoons -- Cunningham seems to be moving on to the vision portion of his epileptic fit, which again triggers notions of ill-gotten lotto gains in Ramon's head. "Go Barry," he says softly, breaking into an enthusiastic dance. "Go Barry. Go Barry! Get your vision! Get your number!" Cunningham sees columns. Columns of numbers? No...theatrical columns. Ramon's interest in this exercise has begun to wane. "Here, from the ruins of a venue of tawdry assignation will arise a temple of art," Cunningham says. Ramon has lost all interest in this exercise -- he leaves a rapt-looking Barry to go attend to the far more riveting world of shuffleboard-court stenciling.
Shaun rides his skateboard down the streets of Imperial Beach, carrying his surfboard in one hand while juggling with the other. Okay, forget bringing the parrot back from the dead with the touch of his hand -- this is the true sign that he's some sort of Golden Child. Tina pulls up in her sports car; they exchange awkward greetings. "You want to give me a ride?" Shaun asks. Uh...sure, says Tina, just happy to be asked.
The passage of time has done nothing to quell Freddy's anxiety over his dream, though Palaka's constant yammering about how it's too nice a day to sit inside probably isn't helping matters. "Wanna play shuffleboard?" Palaka asks, innocently enough; Freddy belts him in the stomach. So that'd be a no, then. "Don't you know, something bad is going to happen?" Freddy exclaims. Like Palaka suffering his third debilitating injury in about six days? No, that's not it. "I halfway think that pain-in-the-balls retired ex-cop oughta stick his donkey nose in," Freddy mutters, as Palaka continues to writhe on the carpet. Okay, that's the solution to what's troubling Freddy. Now if he would just share us the source of the trouble, we'd be getting somewhere. Palaka offers to go get Bill; Freddy makes a motion like he's about to give Palaka's stomach seconds. Palaka wisely decides to go to the beach where the only thing belting him in the stomach will be the warm California sun.
So to sum up what's happened in the first eighteen minutes of the program: Cass sees a video that's terribly upsetting, although we're not sure what's on; Dwayne gets an email that's terribly upsetting, although we're not sure what it says. Freddy has a dream that's terribly upsetting, although we don't know it is about. Clearly David Milch is pioneering the new don't show/don't tell school of storytelling.
Jerri and Dwayne are pulling into the Snug Harbor parking lot, with Dwayne protesting that he'd just as soon not be involved at a "nuts-and-bolts" level with what he and Jerri are doing. And what would that be? As Jerri explains it, they're going to talk to Butchie "about this fucking guy" -- presumably John, though for all we know at this point it could be Linc -- before Jerri "goes and scares the bejesus out of Cissy." It was a nice plan, and it all would have worked out beautifully were Cissy not already in the Snug Harbor parking lot, delivering Mitch's possessions to his new home. "I guess Mick's right again," says Dwayne. Mick? Which Mick? Mars? Mantle? Mouse? "Jagger," Dwayne mumbles, after Jerri gets out of the car to talk to Cissy. Ah -- "You Can't Always Get What You Want," I'm guessing. Although at the pace the exposition is going this week, I would also accept "19th Nervous Breakdown."
Speaking of breakdowns, Cissy appears to be in the midst of one. "I'm moving my husband in here," she bellows at Ramon -- "So I see," he says calmly, and with a noticeable look of relief that Cissy isn't moving in herself -- before tossing the suitcase and kicking it a couple of times. That's when Cissy spots Jerri: "What are you doing here?" she says, not altogether warmly. "Surfing," says Ramon -- he's speaking to Dwayne, who's about to knock on the door to Butchie's room. "We need to talk," a very concerned Jerri tells Cissy. Well, by all means, let's cut away before we can find out what about.
Back in the run-down bar, Cunningham is involved in a spirited exchange of views with his Teddy Bear. "You are insatiable today," Cunningham scolds his stuffed animal. "One final illuminating tidbit" -- it'd be the first -- "and then we must leave." So Cunningham launches into the story about how theatrical impresario Daniel Frohman built an apartment above the stage in the Lyceum Theatre, so that he'd have the best seat into the house. Cunningham has his bear feign falling asleep -- I know how you feel, Mr. Bear, I honestly do. Cunningham scolds his bear's rudeness and then goes back to his reverie: "To think...that this place could be the setting for some building up of the spirit." Say, maybe a troupe of roving players could establish themselves there -- it was so interesting the last time that happened. And with that, the jukebox starts playing "The Tennessee Waltz," and we hear a disembodied voice that sounds like it's coming over the radio: "Mr. Cunningham, Mr. Cunningham, good evening to you, sir. Mr. Cunningham, thank you so much for letting me run a tab. That's so kind. That's so gracious of you." Cunningham looks pleased. The voice continues: "You faggot cocksucker." Cunningham looks unpleased. "Look at him. Look at him walk over there like he's a normal fucking person. Yeah, don't go out and suck a fast prick in the alley, pal, before you can." By this point, Cunningham's jaw has set, as the voice continues: "Mr. Cunningham, good evening...You look very well. You almost look like a human being. Congratulations on imitating a human being, you fucking faggot." Whether this is a vision or the self-loathing dialog that goes on in Cunningham's head all the time, it's very sad and affecting. Fun fact: that voice your heard was apparently David Milch's, so I feel I have special insight now as to why Cunningham looks so upset -- I know what it's like to have David Milch shower me with abuse...usually around 9 PM Eastern on Sundays.
And then Barry speaks, not in his normal voice but in a huskier tone -- if I were a betting man, I'd say that he's imitating Mr. Rollins before their spot of unpleasant history in Room 24. "Oh, and Frank," Cunningham says. "A Roy Rogers for my young friend." His lip trembles and he sobs. Here's where we move into full-fledged hallucination territory -- Cunningham turns to the bar and Shaun Yost is sitting there. "How's it going?" Shaun says flatly, without blinking. Cunningham sits down at the bar: "Roy Rogers, short and tall," he says, but he needn't have bothered -- the drinks are already on the bar waiting for them. Both Shaun and Cunningham pick up their drinks, make a toasting motion, and set the drinks back on the bar again. "It's okay," says Shaun, without looking toward Barry. "I'll be gone pretty soon." So that freak from Cincinnati keeps telling us.
Outside on that seemingly important shuffleboard court, Ramon is spray-painting the court, and muttering to himself. "Go Barry. Go Barry," he says. Ah, he might still be bitter about that no-visions-of-lotto-numbers-for-Ramon thing. "Chief of all angels," he continues. "Got one mission. Orbit alert for Latino trying to catch a break. Alert! Alert!" Now Ramon's is crouching on the shuffleboard court. "Alert! Alert! Diving in! Latino verging on luck!" Yeah, he's bitter. At this point, Cunningham walks by, still upset by the disembodied voice of David Milch that may or may not be in his head; Cunningham looks at Ramon sadly and makes his teddy bear wave goodbye. Ramon goes back to his self-pitying, as the slimy hospital lawyer pulls up. "He's waiting for you," says Ramon, apparently meaning Dickstein. The hospital lawyer heads to the meeting. "Lawyers together," Ramon mutters. "Can't be good." Interestingly, I believe that was the theme for this year's ABA convention.
Here's why lawyers together can't be good: because the hospital lawyer is doing what is quite possibly the world's worst Carnac the Magnificent impersonation. "What is in the envelope, oh great seer of the East?" the hospital lawyer says, holding up said envelope to Dickstein's forehead. For our younger viewers out there, Carnac the Magnificent was a bit Johnny Carson used to do on the tonight show, where he'd hold up an envelope to his head, state the contents ("Dinner for eight"), open the envelope, and then read the question ("What does Orson Welles sometimes have for a bedtime snack?" "Hey-yo!"). Yes, children: once upon a time late-night talk show hosts were expected to play characters in sketches -- a practice that ended in 1998 when one of Jay Leno's Iron Jay sketches caused hysterical blindness in seventeen major U.S. cities. But I digress. What's in the envelope is Dr. Smith's resignation letter, the one where he admits to incompetence and the destruction of records and all that stuff he pretended to do just to save everyone the trouble of saying that Shaun was healed by a bird. "I would say this is a slam-dunk out-of-court settlement," the hospital lawyer tells Dickstein. Awfully sporting of the lawyer to hand this over to Dickstein, then, on account of him representing the hospital. "The physician is being insured by another carrier," the hospital lawyer says sadly. And hey -- if this bit of intelligence convinces Dickstein to hand over some sort of financial reward to the hospital lawyer, well, all the better. Before we can gauge Dickstein's reaction to this clearly unethical proposal, we get an aerial view of both lawyers' bald pates. It's like staring down at a rack of pink basketballs. By the way, this little confab took place in Room 24 -- that's a little detail I thought I'd note for your edification and delight.
Elsewhere at the Snug Harbor, Dwayne is filling Cissy in on the details of the message so chilling we can't actually learn what its contents it all. Instead, we're getting the convoluted backstory of how it didn't come to Butchie's website -- Dwayne would know if it did, because he's the webmaster -- but rather to his personal account. Dwayne points out he's very secretive about his personal account. Also, he's terrifically unpopular. "And Butchie's surf student signed it?" asks Cissy, cutting to the chase. Dwayne reminds her that it was a video message. "Like that fuck Bin Laden?" Cissy asks. Well, probably without his production values -- Cass did film it, after all. "'Shaun will soon be gone,'" Dwayne says; presumably, he's repeating the contents of the video and not, you know, making a prediction.
There's a knock at the door, and it's Dickstein, fresh off his Which One of Us Wants To Get Disbarred? conference with the hospital attorney. Jerri fills him on the day's troubling events: "She got a message about her grandson. It's got her upset." "About Shaun?" Dickstein asks. No, about the grandson we haven't met yet -- do try to follow along, counselor. Dwayne weighs in with his opinion -- that maybe the police should be involved. Because it's Dwayne, nobody pays attention. Just then, Butchie walks around to find his motel room stuffed with five people waiting for him. "If this is an intervention, I'm clean," says Butchie, with only a trace of defensiveness. That is comedy, friends.
Shaun's ride home with Tina reaches its logical conclusion -- home -- with Shaun noting, probably for Tina's benefit as much as anything, that Cissy is not home. "Do you have to have someone home with you?" asks Tina, her motherly instinct kicking into overdrive. "I'm fourteen," Shaun says dryly. My God, young man -- another two decades and you can run for president. Shaun notes that his mother's car is almost out of gas; Tina says that she was just about to get some. Here's a wild idea from Shaun: maybe she could get gas now, with him still in the car! It's sweet that he wants to spend time with his birth mother, really it is; on the other hand -- move forward more rapidly, Plot! Anyhow, Tina will take Shaun to get gas, and then afterward, maybe they could go some place cool like...um...struggling to come up with something on the fly here...SeaWorld? Not my first choice, but Shaun agrees, calling up the surf shop to leave a message for his grandmother.
Just down the street, Palaka is paying a visit to that pain-in-the-balls retired ex-cop, much to Bill's general displeasure. "My boss, the shit he sees," Palaka says. "Don't get me started." "You're about to get eighty-sixed," Bill threatens. Palaka tries to get to the point, as best as he is able, warning of an "incident" that's coming up before launching into a sneezing fit. "Your birds," Palaka says. "Greasy feathers." "There's no grease on these birds," Bill replies, rather forcefully. After several more sneezes, each one making Bill visibly more uncomfortable until you expect him to leap out of his own skin and run away, Palaka reports that Freddy has had a vision: "It scares his pants off." Bill wants to know of what. "Don't make me imagine that beating, him giving me chapter and verse," Palaka says, a little too brightly, before becoming as deadly serious as he can: "I can only tell you he does not mess with that shit. Even refusing to admit it, he would appreciate it if you came to consult." Bill orders Palaka outside, and Palaka's happy to leave, but first, he'd just like to remind Bill that they should keep this little conversation between themselves: "If you confide to him I told you he asked me to come get you, this is the last I would speak off a ventilator." Bill's done talking now, and just points in the direction of outside; Palaka takes the hint and leaves. Before Bill follows, he turns to Zippy and raises his hands up in the air, in the universal symbol for "My bird keeps telling me to consort with morons and half-wits."
Back at his non-intervention, Butchie's leaving a message for his son to give Cissy a call because "[his] cell phone's fucked." He then turns to the other assembled worrywarts: "This is bullshit," he says. "John's a good guy." Cissy clucks her tongue in disgust: "Only you would think he isn't strange." Butchie reminds Cissy to consider the quality of their normal hangers-on; he's right -- apart from a doubtlessly low SAT Verbal score, John fits right in with the crowd.
Freddy is pacing in front of the sliding glass door of his motel room, almost as if he's expecting someone. The other tip-off is when he hustles back to the bed and sits down, affecting an air of casual indifference, just as Bill opens the sliding glass door and walks in. Smooooooooth, Freddy -- I'm sure Bill, who's having trouble negotiating his way through the vertical blinds, doesn't suspect a thing. "Whadda you want?" Freddy demands. It's so cute when he plays hard to get. Bill plays along with this charade, pretending he's looking for Butchie so that he can collect a fictional debt. "Anyway, he wasn't in," says Bill, waiting for Freddy to jump in with a request for help. "Then I guess your work here on Earth is through," Freddy snots. "I guess your mission's complete." Out of nowhere, Bill asks how Freddy's sleeping; Freddy is puzzled by the question. "Slee-ping," Bill repeats, slowly and stupidly. "If I spoke Monkey, I'd put it in your language." Freddy does the ol' Why-I-Oughta routine, and Bill asks the question again, this time punctuated with a lot more profanity. "Are you having visions?" Bill spits out. "When you are sleeping? You half-a-fucking ape. See, I could give less of a flying fuck, but I'm here, see? So I ask the questions. And believe me, I give less of a fuck." Well, when you put it that way...Freddy "dreamt of that kid...gone. Butchie's son, Shaun. That kid." Bill is suitably worried. He covers his mouth with one hand and sits down on the bed. See? Good scene. Two great actors exchanging great dialog that eventually, after a modest amount of dramatic tension, reveals information that the audience finds useful. If every scene unfolded this way, we'd be getting along much more famously, me and John From Cincinnati.
In the parking lot, Dwayne is retrieving something from Jerri's car. Rather than open the door and remove his item, he is leaning through the open window -- sort of a reverse Luke-and-Bo-Duke entry into the General Lee. This awkward stance leaves him in prime hijinks-ensue position when Palaka strolls up behind him and tries to ask him what's going on in Butchie's room. To stress the importance of his query, Palaka also pokes his head through the open window -- imagine them Duke Boys trying to enter the car from the same window head-first, and you've pretty much got the visual. It's understandable, then, why Dwayne is not in the most giving of moods, information-wise. He grabs his MacBook Pro and heads on back to Butchie's room...
...where everyone is waiting to see the much-talked about video. "This will bring matters into focus," Dickstein says. Lord knows something needs to. And now prepare to watch the riveting, you'll-pay-for-the-whole-seat-but-you'll-only-need-the-edge sight of...Dwayne rebooting his computer. Seriously. There's building tension and then there's building tension and toppling it over like a five-year-old with a Tinker Toy structure, and I think we've moved into the latter. While we're waiting, Butchie starts gnawing at his fingernails; "When did you start that again?" snaps Cissy, knocking his hand out of his mouth. Geez...Don't bite your nails...let me show you how to masturbate properly...some people just are overly controlling. (The answer is, Butchie resumed biting his nails shortly after being cured of his dope habit, just in case you're interested.) All right -- we're rebooted! And now let's see the terrifying video that has everyone pissing in their pants in total and abject fear at the awesome horror contained within. It's John, sitting in front of that black curtain Cass found. "Shaun will soon be gone," he says brightly, before adding, "Shaun will soon be gone." That video was not nearly so upsetting as the build-up had led me to believe.
So...reactions. Put Butchie in the underwhelmed camp: "Look, not that we even know what the fuck he's talking about. Words mean something different for him." Dwayne's hot and bothered about how John managed to "infiltrate [his] domain." "Because he's got strange fucking powers, all right, Dwayne?" says Butchie, referencing John's magical money-producing pants pockets. "Nobody's said he hasn't got strange fucking powers and abilities." That makes John sounds like some sort of Marvel character -- Obfuscation Man, who uses metaphor and parable to cloud men's minds and does battle with his mortal enemy, Captain Obvious. Dickstein interrupts my riff to point out that the fact that John can do freaky-deaky things "should raise our index of suspicion somewhat." I love how seven days into John's arrival into their lives, people are only now saying to themselves, "There's something peculiar about this fellow who repeats everything I say and makes money appear out of thin air and who gets stabbed in the chest and yet doesn't die. I can't put my finger on it, but I'm wondering if I should maybe be concerned about his unconventional behavior."
Back in Freddy's room, Bill is still thinking his way through things, while Freddy thumbs through a magazine. Palaka slips into the room under the pretense of using the restroom, but really, he just wants to listen into the high-level pow-wow through the bathroom door. "Why should either of us pay any attention to what you think?" Bill asks. "Fine," Freddy huffs, with great irritation -- if that's what Bill thinks, he can show himself out. Palaka decides to interject himself, flushing the toilet so as not to blow his cover story -- it is a transparent charade that Palaka soon drops when Bill begins heading for the door. "Boss, as far as your vision, I just ran into a harelip," Palaka says. "Apparently, he has partial confirmation." A harelip with partial confirmation? Countries have gone to war because of less-telltale portents. Bill and Freddy decided that maybe they should pop over to Butchie's room to see what's going on.
They don't get very far. John is standing right there in the parking lot, almost as if he's waiting for them. "Where the fuck did he come from?" demands Bill in a mixture of surprise, alarm, and irritation I'm calling sularmitation (Trademark, Mr. Sobell 2007!). "Cincinnati?" Ramon answers softly." Ah, comedy. John turns and knocks on the door to Butchie's room.
Wouldn't you know it -- the folks inside aren't particularly delighted to see him. Butchie hustles over to the door, grabs John by the arm, and leads him away before Cissy can get the pot of boiling tar off the stovetop. "What the fuck, John?" Butchie whispers in sotto voce. "You got everybody shitting bricks. You're sneaking onto people's computers now?" "The internet is big," John observes. "Fuck the internet, buddy," Butchie replies -- hey, the internet lets some of us live in the manner to which we've become accustomed there, Yost -- before asking "What's this shit about Shaun?" "Shaun will soon be gone," John predictably answers. Yeah -- probably not a good thing to be repeating right about now. Butchie advises John to cool it with the disappearance prophecies; after considering that advice, John replies "We don't remember our Father's words." Whose father? John's father? Mitch? Someone else? Before we can dive into these increasingly tiresome questions, Bill begins bellowing, demanding to know what's going on. Cissy ushers him over to Dwayne, telling him to look at the video. "I don't use those," Bill says dismissively. Not even to download porn? Dwayne offers to operate the computer on behalf of Bill. "Outdoors?" Bill scoffs. Oh, Bill -- you sound just like my father, who, when I mention that you can surf the internet via high-speed wireless access, still looks at me like I've just told him that I can make the sun disappear from the sky. As Dwayne tries to introduce Bill to 2002, Butchie asks John the pertinent question: "Would you hurt Shaun? You'd never hurt Shaunie, would you John?" John's face registers a little more confusion than you'd care to see: "Hurting Shaun doesn't ring a bell," John says. So what's with all that Shaun-will-soon-be-gone jazz, Butchie wants to know. "We don't remember our Father's words," John repeats. By this point, Bill has seen the video, and he strides over to where John is standing -- the two of you are going to have yourselves a little chat, mister! "Try to tell them him what you mean," Butchie says to John. "I'll try, Butchie," John replies. They exchange "hang loose" hand gestures as Bill drags John off to a round of questioning that will doubtlessly make Gitmo look like some sort of Fox Network quiz show. While that's happening, Dickstein has taken note of Ramon's work on the shuffleboard court -- he apparently numbered the pyramid incorrectly, giving 10 points for the bottom of the triangle instead of the more traditional "10 off." "You don't reward failure, Ramon," Dickstein protests. Then what hope do any of us have? That goes double for you, Milch.
Hey, Room 24 -- we've been spending a lot of time in you lately. Bill sits John down on the bed and pulls up a chair. "Now let me just say that sending that message means you're not as stupid as you sometimes appear," Bill begins. That's it, Bill -- butter him up. "So we'll have no more of the parrot talk." Oh, if only it were that simple. Anyhow, by the time they leave this room, Good Cop explains to John, they're going to get to the bottom of what the deal was with that "Shaun will be gone soon" message -- understand? John nods that he does. Bill decides to break down John's message bit by bit, focusing on the word 'soon' -- "Some people are concerned. 'Soon,' when you made that tape, would now mean 'right now.' Is that true? Is Shaun gone now?" John looks very pained and very confused -- it's clear he wants to say something, but he doesn't quite have the words. "What does 'soon' mean?" Bill repeats, getting increasingly agitated. "Could it mean a thousand years?" John answers, though you can tell he sort of doesn't want to: "It could mean a thousand years," he repeats. "Whap!" goes Bill's hand against John's left ear -- now he really reminds me of my father. "Now, I don't want to get violent with you," Bill says, grabbing John by the scruff of his neck. "But I told you, no parrot talk." He lets John go and returns to his line of inquiry: "What does 'soon' mean? Could it mean ten minutes?" Do I have to tell you how John responds to that? Let's just say it causes Bill to yell some more, demanding to know what it means. John tries to form words, but can't; finally, he says, "There will be no more parrot talk." So does that mean you're just going to sit there in uncomfortable silence, then? Because I'm not sure you can speak in any other form.
Butchie's pacing outside, furtively biting at his nails, when he notices the suitcase lying on the ground. "Your suitcase," he observes to Cissy. "Dad's clothes." Cissy nods. Yes, Butchie, you're now a child of divorce -- hold that doesn't lead you down a path of self-destruction and abu-- Oh. Butchie instead attempts to make small talk about how the shuffleboard court has wreaked havoc with the parking lot -- something else for Dickstein to yell at Ramon about. "Shut up," Cissy seethes. Like a ray of sunshine she is -- I don't know how we'd get through a day without her, though I, for one, am willing to give it a try. Palaka and Freddy are waiting outside, too, a little too close to Jerri's car for her taste. "Fucking steal it," she yells at Freddy. "I'll split the insurance with you." A tip for you from your ol' buddy, Mr. Sobell -- if you have a digital video recorder, watch this scene and pause it at the exact moment Jerri finishes yelling at Freddy. Words have not yet been invented to describe the brilliance of Dayton Callie's facial reaction in that scene. He does remove his hand from the car now.
Back to the interrogation: "This other guy outside, this Hawaiian," Bill says, referring to Freddy. "He says you're a shape-shifter. Pothead Joe, he says you died, came back to life." What John can't express in words, he decides to demonstrate in deeds. He goes to his magic pocket and whips out a knife. "Stare me down," he screams several times in an affected Mexican accent, stabbing himself four times in the abdomen. "Christ, what's happening here?" Bill screams in that same tone of sularmitation as earlier. What's happening, Bill, is that John is demonstrating that there are things going on that your tiny Earth brain can't comprehend. Sure, his clothes are now soaked in blood, but, as Bill discovers when he lifts up John's shirt, there's not a puncture wound to be found. John continues to look at Bill as if there's something he'd like to say but can't. "Please stop making me stab myself in the belly to prove things to you idiots" would be my guess. Interrogation session over.
Bill emerges from Room 24, looking decidedly ashen. "He's yours," Bill says to Freddy. Ru-oh -- nice knowing you, John. I'd wager your shape is about to get shifted but good. Butchie notices the blood on Bill's hands and wants to know if John was hurt. "He tried to hurt himself," Bill explains. "He doesn't get hurt." One thing Bill is able to state, without fear of contradiction: "Forget about Cincinnati." I think most of us did halfway through Episode 1, Bill.
And now, a rapid-fire series of events: Cissy phone rings; Cass shows up with her camera, asking after John; "I don't know his whereabouts," Bill says, though he gestures to Room 24; Dickstein begins to freak out that he's going to be complicit in a second felony; Palaka moves to intercept Cass and seize her camera. While all this happens, Cissy concludes her phone call: "He's all right," she says, more irritated than relieved. "The porn queen had him at SeaWorld." Butchie gives a "well, there you go" gesture; Palaka's reaction is less subdued. He rushes over to Room 24 and begins a mixture of knocking and throat-clearing to call of Freddy from his planned beatdown. "Crucial information, Western Union," Palaka says. "The lost telegram has been located." Cissy decides to channel her relief into an angry phone call to Kai to demand to know why it was Tina and not Kai who informed her of Shaun's whereabouts; in the middle of yelling at Kai, she proclaims that she's going to sign Shaun up with Linc. "The lost surfing telegraph boy has been located," Palaka continues to shout through the door of Room 24. Hmmm -- are you sure Freddy's going to be able to crack that code? "He's safe," says Palaka, while trying to fake a sneeze. "He's located! Safe! Don't kill anybody." This would be the three-ring circus John spoke of earlier today, I'd wager.
Bill is trying to wrap his brain around what happened, while sitting in the Snug Harbor's abandoned bar. Thus far, there have been no visions nor any abusive voice recordings from David Milch. Freddy enters. "SeaWorld," he says. "That's where he was," says Bill, very sularmitated. Freddy confirms that Shaun was with Tina at SeaWorld. "Did you kill him?" Bill asks softly. Freddy did not -- Palaka managed to get his carefully worded message to Freddy in time. "Shape shifters," snorts Freddy distrustfully. "I've seen on many occasion." Bill counters that nobody knows exactly what John is. "No," Freddy agrees. "But whatever the fuck he is, he's gotta come through both of us." This sounds like the start of a beautiful potentially violent friendship.
Later that same day, Dickstein has returned to the café to recount the recent turn of events -- particularly the bit involving the corrupt hospital lawyer -- to Daphne the Castrating Fiancée Who Hectors. Dickstein is appalled by the other lawyer's proposed collusion; Daphne is appalled by Dickstein. While that's happening, Kai has stomped into the café, spewing particularly venomous curses in the general direction of the Yosts. "I'm out of here. I don't take this abuse from anybody," she says. Jerri wants to know what the trouble is; the trouble, Kai says, is Cissy and her ball-busting ways. "Thinks I got to eat her shit on the telephone," Kai seethes. What happened, you see, is that Kai cut her foot while surfing this morning and was off seeing the doctor -- the back-alley, probably-had-his-license-revoked-in-'95 doctor she has to see on the QT because the Yost Surf Shop doesn't offer its employees a health plan. So that's why she wasn't in the shop to get the message that Shaun didn't actually leave. "I try to keep tabs on him, and Butchie, too, and she knows that," Kai continues. "So fuck her, fuck them, I'm gone, I'm out of here." And she is, at least for the rest of this scene. Anyhow, back to the Dickstein-Daphne business, although not really since it's hideously dull. To sum up: Dickstein wants no part of this corrupt bargain; Daphne seems to be more disappointed by this ethical stand than you'd want your fiancée to be.
Elsewhere, Cass is dragging John by the hand into her hotel room. Then she slaps him. Bill already beat you to that cheek, dear. "What have you gotten me into the middle of, John?" Cass demands. "Work here, Cass," John says. That is not the response Cass was hoping for. She waves the black curtain at him: "What is it that you have me working on when we do whatever it is we do so that I don't remember afterward?" she asks, before slapping him again. "I helped you make that video, didn't I, John?" she continues. "With my zeros and my fucking ones. And I helped you scare all of those people." "You helped me," John agrees. Cass doesn't find that terribly comforting -- she orders John to beat it. "My Father had more big and huge for me," John seemingly protests. Cass wonders if John's father is some soft of Arab fanatic; that prompts John to repeat that horrible line from a few episodes ago about eradicating all the towelheads. "My God," Cass moans. "My God. What is going on?" Wait...you're only asking yourself that question now? Because I might have posed it shortly after that old geezer I bedded started levitating. Cass demands that John tell her "something big and huge." "My Father tells me, Cass," John says, somewhat apologetically. Cass would like a more specific big-and-huge, please. John does that thing where he looks frustrated because he can't say something. "Does your Father mean well?" Cass asks pointedly. John's inability to answer here is only slightly unnerving.
Tina and Butchie are meeting for drinks, downstairs in the bar -- Butchie hasn't even finished walking into the frame before Tina starts protesting her innocence in The Case Of The Boy Who Went To Seaworld And Didn't Leave Word With Anyone Like He Said He Would. Hey, baby mama, be cool -- Butchie's not upset. Yeah, but what about Cissy -- Tina asks how pissed off she was. "Not too bad," Butchie says to a disbelieving Tina. "Cissy wakes up pissed off." Anyhow, Butchie is more disturbed by John's behavior: "He's a good guy, but he acts like a pea brain -- saying shit's going to happen to Shaun." Tina wants to know if John is capable of hurting Shaun; Butchie mutters some combination of "No" and "I don't know" with a "fuck" or two thrown in. It's a less-than-convincing answer. "Hey, Jack and Coke if you're working," he bellows at the bartender; "She thinks I'm working," Tina sighs. Ever the gallant, Butchie offers, "Maybe she's checking out your moves." Anyhow, both Butchie and Tina agree that Shaunie turned out well and that much of the credit, however grudgingly, should go to Cissy. "Sorry," Butchie says to the bartender when she returns with his drink. He points to himself: "Asshole." He still better not walk out of there without tipping at least 25%, or the Jack-and-Coke might have be accompanied by a loogie chaser. Tina has two pieces of news for Butchie, the first being that Shaun wants her to stay in Imperial Beach and she wants to stay, too. How's Butchie feel about that? "I don't get a vote on that shit," he says, before adding that it'd be all right with him. And that second thing? "I'm fucking Linc," Tina says. Butchie wonders why she chose to share that information. She stammers something about if she's in town and hanging out with Linc, well, better for Butchie to find out this way. Butchie wonders if Tina's return to I.B. means he now has to "write permission slips for who [she bangs]...I wouldn't have time to eat." Tou. Ché. "Not for nothing, Tina," Butchie says, finishing up his drink, "but you don't fuck Linc; Linc fucks you." And with that Yakov Smirnoff-like bon mot, Butchie is out of here.
Speaking of Linc, he's standing in the Yosts' living room, watching Shaun sign a contract. Guess we'll find out for certain what that someone who may be watching has in store for the Linc-Shaun union, huh?
Outside the house, Bill and Freddy are crammed into Freddy's rental car, keeping vigil on the Yost house. Palaka is a few yards away, crouched behind a fence, watching them. It would absolutely slay me if we panned back and Ramon was a few yards away, hiding in a bush, watching Palaka, and Dickstein was peaking through a van's windows, watching, Ramon, and so on. But alas, there is not. There is, however, the best thing, which is Zippy's caged wedged into the rental car's back seat as Zippy squawks merrily. Freddy is very displeased with this partnership. "Yeah, mortal combat with unseen forces," Bill says. "I should deprive myself of telepathic information to spare you irritation. From cheeping." Bill notices Kai walking down the street and struggles mightily to get out of Freddy's car to go talk to her, leaving Freddy and Zippy to bond; from the look on Freddy's face, that's not really happening. Kai and Bill grab themselves some curb and go to work on Kai's hip flask. "Fifteen years," Kai sighs. "A nice round number." Bill offers to give her some space if she wants, as he is keeping "an informal watch on the boy." "I resigned that position this afternoon," Kai says. "You let Cissy piss in your ear, Kai, every day" -- it's John who says that, because he's suddenly hovering right over Kai and Bill. Apparently, this is just a voice in Kai's head, because neither of them acknowledges John's presence. "You surfed with Shaunie every day he wanted to," John continues. "You kept Butchie's boards. Every day. Shaun will be gone. Butchie will need you on the water." Kai turns to Bill, as if she's just processed what John has said: "Should I stick around?" she asks. "Staircase situation in my own home," Bill says. "Failed to alleviate it going on a year." Your point, Bill? "Probably I'm not who to ask," he concludes. Oh. From the car, Freddy observes, "All nice inside, all lit up. This ain't over, believe me." Zippy squawks. "Shut up," Freddy replies. And with a shot of Shaun juggling in his room, the episode ends.
Some great acting in this episode, and occasionally the performers get some interesting things to say. But if we were to treat John From Cincinnati like a play -- and perhaps we should since it certainly doesn't seem interested in following the narrative conventions of a TV show -- I feel like we're entering the final act with all the momentum of a tree sloth. It's like entering the last act of Hamlet, only to have Hamlet stop on his way to the duel with Laertes to tell you about all the offbeat things he saw on his way back from England. I hope you understand why that frustrates me.