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So there was this multi-part documentary series that aired about the American Musical on PBS a while back. And there was this one segment that stuck with me, about Hal Prince recalling when Andrew Lloyd Webber approached him about directing Cats. And Prince listens to his spiel and says something along the lines of "Andrew, is there something I don't get? Is this about Queen Victoria, and she's the main cat, and Disraeli and Gladstone are the other cats, and there are poor cats, and am I missing this?" And Andrew Lloyd Webber looks at him and says, "Hal, it's about cats."
I bring this up because I just spent 10 weeks watching John From Cincinnati, listening as David Milch has gone through his spiel and built his story about an other-worldly messenger delivering some divinely inspired gospel to an unlikely recipient. And after all nine weeks of buildup, I've watched the final episode, and the only thing I can conclude is: God's message is apparently suggestions for a new branding campaign for Stinkweed. I mean, I'm sure there's probably more to it then that, and I'm just not getting it, but I'm also fairly certain that that -- the "not getting" it part -- doesn't rest entirely on my shoulders.
Anyhow...Shaun and John return, surfing in on a wave. Where have they been? "Cincinnati," Shaun says, though he's pointing up to the sky when he says it, which means that either the kid either really sucks at geography or he had some celestial experience. Butchie whisks Shaun off to see Mitch and Cissy, while John and Linc have a heart-to-heart about what the hell this is all about. I'm not sure Linc understands things any better than I do after John's explanations, but he does latch onto the bright idea to adopt the stick-figure symbol for a new line of Stinkweed clothing and hold a parade, featuring the Yosts, to deliver God's message of love and community and competitively priced surfing accessories.
And what of the Yosts? Well, Mitch levitates again, this time in front of Cissy, and everyone spends most of the episode gawking at him. Finally, Butchie and Shaun help him down, and it's nice to see that family put together again. Cissy even smarts off to some mouth-breathing pervert who says something ungallant to Tina. That was unexpected.
Wrapping up other loose threads: Cunningham no longer feels ashamed of who he is. Freddy is out of the direct-to-market pharmaceutical business. Dickstein gets his hummer from a suddenly friendly Jennifer Grey. Bill finally ventures to the upper room of his house to wrestle with his own demons, whereupon Zippy returns to him. And John delivers another monologue about Dr. Smith returning from Cincinnati twenty years younger and Cissy getting pregnant, which is either an epilogue or a preview of Season Two. Or maybe it's just about cats. Want more? The full recap starts right below!
Previously on John, Apparently Not From Cincinnati: Well...hell, people. You've been watching the show for the last nine weeks. You tell me. Uh-huh. Hmmm. He disappeared, did he? Just like the guy said he would. And the bird, too? Uh-huh. Uh...I don't understand. Okay, okay, stick figures on Avon catalogs -- whatever you say. And then what? No kidding? Dr. Johnny Fever? Well, don't that beat all.
Credits. There's Dickstein and Barry/Their motel's kind of scary/And Cass with her camer-y/DeMornay's shouting's hammy/Ooo let's talk about a show on HBO/Everybody swears and the plots move slow/Will they renew this show/way down in Kokomo?
We open, with the camera sweeping rapidly through the clouds, followed immediately by a shot of a beach-sweeper combing the sands of Imperial Beach and coming a little bit closer to a sleeping Butchie's foot than he'd care to see. Butchie has a history with beach-sweeps, if you recall, though unlike last time, when he was passed out on the beach in a drug-fueled stupor, this time, he and Kai were keeping vigil for Shaun. Butchie gives the beach-sweep driver a message filled with ones and zeroes -- well, mostly, just ones, and he uses his finger to deliver it. He and Kai lie back down on the beach. The beach-sweep drives by again; up goes that finger.
And we're back to the clouds. Ladies and gentlemen, please enjoy the music of Mr. Bob Dylan.
And now it's montage time: Cissy and Mitch are lying in bed; Cissy is turned away from Mitch and apparently sleeping, while Mitch is facing the ceiling, eyes wide open. More clouds. Cass is asleep in a Porsche, which is parked down at the beach. More clouds. Bill walks through his house with a cup of coffee; he exchanges glances with the cockatoo that gave him all that grief last episode. Clouds! Dickstein awakens to a strange bobbing motion underneath the covers; he pulls the sheets back to reveal Daphne...um...starting off her morning with a nice, kosher Hebrew National, if you get my drift. Oh, sweet heavenly God, go back to those clouds double-quick! Go to the clouds! And we do, only now we descend through the cloud and onto the shimmering blue of the ocean. Which is when Butchie bolts upright on the beach, just in time to catch John Monad catching quite the wave. And there's another surfer to him -- yes, it's Shaun, who's apparently come back. (Eagle-eyed viewers will also note that a bird appeared in the initial shot of John coming into view -- we can only guess that's Zippy, although sometimes, as Freud wrote, a bird is just a bird.) On the pier, Cass is filming all of this, while Butchie and Kai drink it. It's really quite a lovely sequence.
I'd also like to note that throughout all of this, my cable system's sound kept cutting out for the first five minutes of the episode. Yes, it was my local cable provider's fault, but given the recent history of finales on HBO, for all I know, it was Milch trying to top David Chase. "Go blank for ten seconds, huh?" Milch probably cackled to himself in his subterranean lair, as Steve Hawk fed him peeled grapes. "Well, how about if I make the sound cut out intermittently...for the entire episode?!!!! BWAH HA HA HA HA HA HA!" I'm almost certain this never happened -- it probably got ditched in a production meeting.
Anyhow, Bob Dylan's still singing -- I can hear all the words now! -- and Cass speed-dials someone. It's Linc -- Tina answers the phone and hands it over to Linc, who, after listening for a bit, gives Tina the thumbs-up. Tina grabs Linc's thumb and looks heavenward. Back at the beach, everyone's piled into Butchie's ride -- John and Kai in the back seat, Shaun shotgun, and Butchie driving. John has a knowing grin on his face; Shaun looks ahead impassively.
And as the music of Bob Dylan fades from the soundtrack, Dwayne -- weary sigh from your recapper -- pulls up on his kick scooter outside Jerri's Café. He enters to find Jerri sitting at the computer vaguely annoyed. Well, more annoyed than normal. Or, actually, kind of a targeted form of annoyance. "Haven't I told you not to leave your fucking machine on to spew incomprehensibilities at passersby like a roadside fucking bomb?" she demands. Uh...in so many words? It doesn't matter anyhow, because Dwayne insists he turned off the computer last night. Well, apparently not, because it's back on -- and what's more, it's showing Butchie pulling up in his van at the Snug Harbor, and Kai, John, and Shaun disembarking. "Holy shit," Jerri says. So your computer gets HBO -- big deal. I'm watching the very same thing now on my TV and...oh. Yeah, that is pretty freaky.
Live at the Snug Harbor, Butchie suggests to John and Shaun that they had better get out of their wetsuits -- "your fucking fatigues," Butchie calls them, because they've got these blue splotches on 'em that make the boys look like they're wearing camouflage. Butchie tells John to wait outside and takes Shaun by the hand to lead him into the motel room. "Is Shaun all right?" Kai asks John, as Cass appears in the background, camera in hand. "Shaun is all right," John says, and for once, I don't think he's parroting something he just heard.
Inside the motel room, Butchie hands Shaun some clothes out of a pile to put on -- oh man, that kid is going to need a Silkwood-like shower if clothing from Butchie's room touches his bare flesh -- and puts his hand on the back of Shaun's head in a way that's reminiscent of father-son bonding moments.
Back outside, the conversation between Kai and John continues apace. "Where were you coming from off the water?" Kai asks. "Cincinnati," John replies. Oh, so that explains where they were -- they were circumnavigating the globe. Butchie appears in the door and tells John that it's his turn to change into the filthy clothes Butchie has picked up off the floor -- you may be able to heal your own stab wounds, John, but I hope you're also adept at staving off staph infections. Shaun has finished changing into a dark shirt that's a few sizes too big -- he either looks like a mini-Butchie or a member of the Khmer Rouge's surf battalion. Butchie hustles John off to the bathroom, closes the door, and then regards his son; Shaun smiles at him.
Outside, Cass continues to film the action that is not happening. Kai catches sight of her. "Hey, chick," Kai says, as she begins to walk out of the parking lot. "It's Cass, Kai," Cass corrects her. Yes, I'm sure Kai cares to learn the name of the woman who's just spent the last few days barricaded in a hotel room editing footage of drum circles. Indeed, Kai keeps walking until she spies Ramon: "They're all right," she says. "They're back." Ramon is happy to hear this, and Palaka is also eavesdropping from the Hawaiian Drug Dealer suite at the Snug Harbor. "Thanks for taking care of him all this time," Kai says simply, before walking out of the parking lot. No, Kai -- don't go! You, who are so very interesting -- do not leave us with Cass, who is so very not. Kai! Come back, Kai!
Fortunately, before we have too much time to mope about a Kai-less future, Linc and Tina pull up. Linc exchanges unpleasantries with Cass, just as Butchie and son emerge from Butchie's room. "Hi, Mom," Shaun says, pleasantly enough, as he hugs Tina. Enough mother-and-child reunion -- it's time to go to see Mitch and Cissy, Butchie says. "I want to stay with John," Shaun protests. "Yeah, well, I want a seal that barks my name," Butchie counters. That's an odd, impractical dream to have, my man. They head off, with Tina in tow; Linc offers to babysit John. "Let's sit down, John," Linc suggests, as Butchie's Mystery Mobile (the main mystery: will it start this time?) putters off. John nods, and so they do sit down -- right there in the parking lot. Literal-minded -- you have to like that in a heavenly messenger. Jerri and Dwayne continue to watch all this Snug-Harbor-based drama from the comfort of their café.
Shaun walks in the door at the Yost home, and we learn that, even when joyful, Cissy has only one volume setting, and it ain't a quiet one. Butchie gives them the rundown: Linc and Shaun came in off the water, Shaun's not sure from where, and Linc is currently interrogating John. Mitch scoffs at that last bit, though Butchie points out -- correctly, one might add -- that Freddy was unable to extract much in the way of information, so maybe Linc will have more success. "He's probably going to sign him to a deal," Mitch mutters. Well, why not? That pocket trick alone is worth a late-night talk-show booking or two. Shaun has other matters on his mind, though: "Where have you been, Gramps?" he asks. Mitch doesn't really have a good answer for that, so I'll supply one for him: Cowering like a mincing 'fraidy-cat until Dr. Johnny Fever talked some sense into him Cissy's been on screen a good minute without being unpleasant toward someone, so, time to snap that streak: "Haven't you done enough?" she sneers at Tina for no apparent reason. Butchie and Tina take that as their cue to take a powder. "Can you make a peanut butter and butter sandwich?" Shaun asks Cissy. (Shaun will be soon be gone...from congestive heart failure brought on by morbid obesity.) "Not tuna?" Cissy asks, clearly hurt. Definitely not tuna -- not the way you make it, anyway.
In the Snug Harbor parking lot, Linc and John are beginning their Socratic dialogues. Considering that Austin Nichols is sporting the kind of haircut Luke Perry might have had back in the day, it's sort of like watching an older version of Dylan McKay questioning himself. ("Bro... just take my word on this. Do not, under any circumstances, date Brenda. You'll thank me later. Oh, and Kelly Taylor chooses herself. I know, I know -- it's total fucking bullshit.") But we have matters both practical and metaphysical to get to the bottom of. "So," Linc begins. "I'm the guy that every time you see, you tell the end is near." "You're Linc Stark," says John, proving that he can identify people by sight. "You should get in the game." "Like Mitch Yost," Linc observes. "Mitch Yost should get back in the game," John counters, and no, that emphasis is not added by me. Linc picks up on that, too: "So I've never been in the game." John ponders things for a moment, and then says very slowly, so even a recapper can understand, "If my words are yours, can you hear my Father?" "Let's say I can," Linc supposes. "Let's say the zeros and ones in Cass's camera help you hear my Father's words," John continues. Uh...you had me there and then you lost me, pal. But Linc continues to play along, noting that he and Cass go way back. "Let's say you and Cass go back, Linc Stark," says John. I'm pretty sure he just did. "Let's say, in my Father's word, in Cass's camera, the internet is big. 9/11 is big. But not every towelhead is eradicated." Linc speaks for all of us when he says, "Let's say I don't follow." Yeah, let's just pretend this isn't crystal clear for a moment, for argument's sake. "Let's say, without Cass's camera, big and huge won't mean dick," John responds. "Getting dusted won't be an issue." You getting all that, Linc? No? Good.
Linc exhales and tries a different tack: "This is me grabbing my balls and jumping here, John," Linc begins. "Grab your jump balls, Linc," says John. (Coincidentally, that line can also be used in the all-male adult video knockoff of John From Cincinnati: John and Steve and Thad From Cincinnati.) "You use my words," Linc says slowly, "and you speak them, if I listen right, I can hear your Father." "Yes, Linc," John says, for once not repeating something someone has said. "If you are the end," Linc continues, "I am near you." "Yes, Linc," John says again. "Without Cass's camera -- whatever the fuck that is -- we're all toast?" Linc asks. And circle gets the square: "You're all going to be toast," John insists. "We're coming 9-11-14." "Fuck me, John," Linc says. "Fuck you, Linc," John agrees. Oh someone's getting fucked here, but I'm not sure it's Linc. Nevertheless, Linc suggests they find a more comfortable place to sit than the asphalt. ["It really sounds like the same person is writing this dialogue who writes the treemail on Survivor. -- Miss Alli]
Back in the café, Jerri and Dwayne continue to watch, transfixed, and let me tell you, if there's more compelling television than watching people watch the same thing as you, I'd like to hear all about it. Seriously, that's a request. Please tell me there's something more compelling than that. "Technically," Dwayne says, after Jerri scolds a customer who may or may not be Jimmy Buffett, Beach Detective (John might be able to recognize people on sight, but Mr. Sobell sure can't, especially if they've only be on camera once), "there's no way we can be seeing what we're seeing." Keep it down, Dwayne -- HBO might hear you and reach the same conclusion.
Back at Imperial Beach's fancy hotel, Butchie is dropping off his baby mama. "Don't leave town," he says, which is a lot less ambiguous than the last time he offered his thoughts on the subject. Tina intends to stay, without "giving Cissy a heart attack." Yeah, good luck on meeting that goal -- and I don't think any of us would judge you if you did. Butchie assures her that he'll get to the bottom of Shaun's disappearance; hey, someone should give it their best shot, since Milch is apparently taking a pass. "John's not an asshole, or he'd know how to take a dump," says Tina, repeating Butchie's words of reassurance from the other day. She goes to leave, he takes her hand before she does. Hey, they get along now! Butchie shoves a crumpled dollar bill into her hand; "Give the guy a tip," he says. Oh, Butchie, you don't have to pretend -- we know you don't dislike the woman who gave birth to your son. Your secret's safe with us.
Linc and John have taken their Q-and-A session to what passes for a lawn at the Snug Harbor. "Does your Father have a Father, John?" asks Linc. Oh, you know where this is going, don't you? John says that yes, his Father does have a Father. Linc wonders what's his name. "Father," John says. And: rim shot. "Like George Foreman and his kids," Linc jokes. "Like George Foreman?" John asks. John is not much for the topical humor -- now or in 1995. "Do you know your Father's Father?" Linc asks. "I know my Father's Father's words," John responds. Would that be Father? Or Father Jr.? I'm having a hard time keeping all these Fathers straight. "What are his words?" Linc asks. "'Listen to your Father,'" John says. And: rim shot, again. "That what your Father's Father says to you?" Linc snorts. "That's what my Father's Father says to my Father," John says. Let's throw a few more Fathers into that sentence -- I came dangerously close to deciphering it. "You don't talk," Linc gathers. "You and your Father's Father?" "We don't talk," John agrees. Ah -- they're estranged. It all makes sense to me now. Well, not really, but I'm trying to put on a good show of it for you people. "But He's alive," Linc says. "Your Father's Father?" John stares at Linc and repeats this very slowly and very deliberately: "I listen to my Father's Words." Linc decides to cut to the chase, sparing us further fruitless explorations of John's family tree: "What am I supposed to do? Tell me what to do, my brother. Just spit it right the fuck out. Five words, maximum, right now. Pow, boom!" "Maximum. Right now. Pow. Boom," John says. To his credit, those are five words. "Give me a pound," John says. "No, you give me a pound," Linc responds. Fist pounds for everyone!
Speaking of confusion, Shaun apparently said something very puzzling to Mitch and Cissy right before the camera cut there, because Cissy is repeating things incredulously: "You 'got some good ones'? They 'want to sponsor' you? What does that mean, Shaunie?" What it means is that Shaun would like to move in with his dad and John over at Snug Harbor: A Barry Cunningham Motel. Cissy plays the whole does-that-mean-you-don't-love-us-anymore-card while Shaun stares vacantly ahead. I'd say that his disappearance has turned him into some sort of flat, emotionless zombie, but he was sort of like that before, wasn't he? Anyhow, Mitch seems rather resigned to the whole little-chick-leaving-the-nest thing: "Maybe it is time," he says. You can guess how well Cissy takes that announcement: "You're sending Shaunie to live with Butchie and that asshole that just ran off with him?" Think for a moment how much more enjoyable the 1980s sitcom My Two Dads would have been with a title like that -- My Dad and the Asshole Who Just Ran Off With Me, Sundays on NBC! "How can you be that fucking thick?" Cissy demands. Yeah, this discussion is fascinating and all, but Shaun's got places to be. "I love you, Gramps," he says. "I love you, Gram. I'm going to hope over the fence." And away he goes, leaving Mitch and Cissy to cope with empty-nest syndrome in addition to their simmering hatred of one another.
So Mitch heads into the other room, while Cissy watches Shaun leave. When she turns back to Mitch, wouldn't you know it, the son of a bitch is levitating again, finally right in front of Cissy's eyes. Now gather your friends and family, it's time to play "How Will Cissy React to This?" Will she (1) fall to her knees in wonderment over the miracle in front of her; (2) wonder aloud what strange, mystical forces are at work; (3) make Mitch a tuna fish sandwich; or (4) say something angry and confrontational? Go ahead, folks, don't be shy -- place your bets. Cissy, take it away: "Get back down here," Cissy snaps. Ah, (4) -- collect your winnings! "Could you turn off the fan?" Mitch pleads, as he eyes the ceiling fan with growing unease. Okay, round two: will Cissy: (1) turn the ceiling fan up to "liquefy"; (2) chuck old fruits and vegetables at Mitch's head...
At the Snug Harbor, Butchie has returned, murmuring about how his parents are "pissing in [Shaun's] ear." Linc wonders if John has a mother; "My Mother is My Father," John says. So, a non-traditional household, then? "My mother is a cunt with earflaps," Butchie mutters. Well, that's...a visual. And that inspires John to observe, "Your mother has turned herself into the worst ball-buster known to man so no one would be around her, and she wouldn't have to be afraid she'd do something like that again. That's how ashamed of herself she was." You may recognize this dialogue from here; don't you just hate summer reruns? Anyhow, John continues: "Mitch wipes out. Mitch wipes out Cissy. Cissy shows Butchie how to do that --" cue the jerk-off gesture, as Butchie grows increasingly uncomfortable -- "Butchie hurts Barry's head. Mr. Rollins comes in Barry's face. We are all frail vessels." And having finished his Greatest Hits number, John turns with a flourish and exits into Butchie's room. "John's going all Psychic Hotline on us, huh?" Linc observes. "Going"?
Shaun rides up on his skateboard and asks if he can crash with Butchie and John. "You can crash with me," Butchie says. "He keeps running his mouth, John may be hospitalized by then." Speaking of the Mouth-Runner, he emerges from the motel room carrying his camouflaged wetsuit. "They want to sponsor us," Shaun says. And who would that be? Shaun shrugs. And Butchie does what I would have done about ten minutes ago -- he loses his temper and grabs John by the shirt, demanding to know where he and Shaun disappeared to. Linc steps in and offers to talk to John; Butchie can talk to Shaun. "Butchie hurt my tit," John pouts. Yeah, lot of that going around lately.
Are you wondering what Freddy and Palaka are up to? Good, because I'm going to tell you. A call came on Freddy's cell phone that Palaka intercepted -- Moana's in town. You remember Moana, right? He was mentioned waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay back in Episode Five, when Freddy mused about turning over his pharmaceutical concern to him. I guess that's going to happen now. Or Moana's coming to shoot Freddy. Or a little from Column A and a little from Column B.
Outside, Butchie's having a heart-to-heart with his son: "Don't you understand, Shaunie? This shit's freaking me out." From the SeaWorld disappearance to John's little warnings to John's little warnings coming true, it's all getting a bit freaky here. So 'fess up, kiddo -- where were you? Shaun doesn't know, though he does tell his dad that he "sort of" recalls that "they had some pretty fun ones." And he also agrees that he "sort of" recalls that "they" want to sponsor him. Butchie asks what he means by he "sort of" remembers this stuff, and he Shaunie says he remembers to say all of it. You can understand how Butchie -- filling in for the vast majority of the viewing public, from what we can tell -- finds these answers unsatisfying. "Jesus Christ!" Butchie exclaims. "What did they do to you, Shaunie? Where the fuck did you go?" Shaun's got an answer for that one: "Cincinnati," he says, pointing skyward. Oh, so Cincinnati is heaven now? The existence of both Jerry Springer and Pete Rose suggests otherwise.
Back at Chez Yost, Cissy continues to react to Mitch's ongoing levitation not with amazement or fear or scientific curiosity, but rather with general annoyance. Where's Dr. Johnny Fever? she demands. He's off visiting Mitch's bullshit hippie CVS, apparently. So Cissy dials up Bill to have him come over and keep an eye on Mitch; judging by Mitch's reaction, he probably would prefer the whir of the ceiling fan to Bill's company. But he doesn't get much say in the matter. Cissy runs off to do some errands, leaving her husband to fulfill Lionel Richie's chilling prophecy.
Butchie and Shaun are exchanging friendly handshakes, while Linc and John resume their verbal sparring. "Let's say you're not from around here, John," Linc begins. Everybody: "Let's say I'm not, Linc." "Chocolate, vanilla," Linc continues. "Everyone's from somewhere, so you're not from here. On the other hand, finding out you're not from here is a bit of nut-nudge for us earthlings." A nut-nudge, by the way, sounds very unpleasant. "I can't imagine your old man wouldn't know that," Linc concludes. John can't imagine such a thing either. "That's your Father's point, with the camo and stuff, scare our balls off?" Linc asks, gesturing toward the wetsuits. "You hear my Father's words," John replies. "You hear them better in Cass's camera." And with that, John pulls back the paper covering the freshly stenciled shuffleboard court to reveal that it says 9-11-14-10-OFF. Oh my -- that means...absolutely nothing to me. Sorry. I'm sure it's very significant to someone somewhere who isn't necessarily named "David" or "Milch." Linc wonders who's supposed to see this. "You hear my Father's words, Linc," says John. Which I take to mean that either Linc has finally figured out what's going on or he will soon enough. Or maybe he and John are just going to play some shuffleboard.
Before we can figure that out, Cissy pulls up into the parking lot; apparently, her errand was to retrieve Butchie regarding Mitch's new ceiling-based location. So Butchie grabs Shaun and hops into the Miata, and they speed off -- my wife notes how it's a sweet, subtle moment how both Cissy and Butchie interlock an arm around Shaun's leg to keep him from falling out of the car. John does too, apparently. "Meet the Jetsons," he says, grinning. I remember when such things were said ironically. Linc is on the phone, telling a person or persons unknown to meet him at the Snug Harbor and to bring a tailor. Aw, c'mon -- John's clothes aren't that bad.
We're back at the Yost house -- Mitch is still floating, while Bill sits there, wordlessly, with an expression that seems to say, "I regret answering my phone." Butchie and Shaun have arrived now, too, and Butchie wants to know why they can't just yank Mitch down. Because Mitch won't hear of it -- "I want as little complication as possible," he says. "I need to know what this is about." So float that man up a laptop and get to Googling. "What about the complications for us, Mitch?" Cissy mutters. "Worrying you'll piss on our heads every time we'll walk under you." If I were Mitch, this is about the time I'd be clawing an escape hole through the ceiling in hopes that I'd float far enough away to never hear Cissy's voice again -- outside the Earth's atmosphere should do the trick. "You can tell me about where you went, Gramps," Shaun says. Mitch sheepishly responds that he can do that from the ceiling. "So why aren't you, Dad?" Butchie asks pointedly. Mitch shoos them out of the room so they won't see him cry. Bill excuses himself to use the restroom -- Bill Jacks doesn't piss on anybody's head.
Back at the Snug Harbor, some people respond to life's twists and turns with prayer and contemplation, others float to the ceiling -- Ramon cooks. He's doing that now with the able assistance of Cunningham. Linc shouts to them that they're going to be a part of a parade down at the pier -- you too, drug-dealing Hawaiians. The tailor is eyeballing the camouflage wetsuits and concluding that there's no way to paint the pattern on other wetsuits -- not in two hours anyhow. But he'll slap some stick-figure logos on some other suits and call it a day. Zack Morris is there -- regnant populus, baby -- and demanding to know a few things from Linc: "As his personal manager, now with Shaun back from the dead, and outer space, too -- and assuming he's signed you, too" -- that bit is directed to John, and yes, Linc has signed him -- "your idea for this skit in a barn is, like, 'Stinkweed!' Its face on all this." John echoes something dismissive Zack Morris said about miracles way back when, and Zack is impressed not a whit: "So you tell him something I said to you, and I'm supposed to think, 'Whoa, he just came up with that.' And then I'm supposed to just wet my pants and okay the street fair." Okay, John parrots something else, then: Zack's bribe offer to Tina. When Zack still isn't convinced, John hits him with something Linc hasn't heard Zack Morris say. Better start believing, Zack, or he's going to start quoting poorly written mash notes you composed back in junior high. "Do the T-shirts," Zack Morris tells the tailor. "Stinkweed logos on the wetsuits." John declares that they need an El Camino, while the tailor asks whose logo the stick figure belongs to. "Mind Your Own Fucking Business, Incorporated," Zack says. Is that a Delaware corporation? The tailor departs in a huff, leaving Zack and Linc to sort out what's what. John is fronting for his Father, Linc says. So that means his Father has plans for the Yosts, Zack concludes. Ah, but John talked to Linc first, as Linc points out. So Linc is involved, too, Zack figures. "I'm a salesman," Linc says. "I'm guessing he wants me to sell the family." And that's how God got into the surfware business.
Across the parking lot, Cunningham asks Ramon if he can confide in him about his teddy bears, who are seated to each other in a lawn chair. They were the first thing Barry spotted when he woke up that morning, just as he had left them when he went to sleep. "Nothing untoward had transpired in the darkness," Cunningham says. "'My God,' I thought. 'They're just two bears doing what bears do.' I didn't see Freddy's teddy and wonder how hard he might have violated my teddy the night before or how many times he may have called Teddy 'faggot' or 'cocksucker' or 'sissy Mary.'" A lot, if David Milch supplies the dialogue, but Cunningham's point here is that he's not going to let his past traumas define him anymore, and he's going to come to terms with who he is. It's a very nice moment.
Freddy doesn't think so, however, watching sulkily from his motel room door. "Tell the queer, I don't like those bears sitting together," he orders Palaka. "That's your opener. Then you ask if him and the beaner if they're wearing those clothes to the parade." Freddy's command is Palaka's wish -- he sidles on up to Cunningham and Ramon, but doesn't use the suggested bear-segregation opener. "Blah blah blah blah," he says to Cunningham. "We're talking, you're listening, look at the bears for a second." It's subterfuge, you see, so that Palaka can make it appear he's following Freddy's orders without actually doing something so idiotic as to tell a grown man where he can and can't place his teddy bears. So yes, Cunningham and Ramon don't plan on changing attire pre-parade; Palaka runs off to deliver this sartorial news. "What did he say about the bears?" Freddy demands. "Uh...segregated whenever they're indoors," Palaka fibs. Good man. Meanwhile, Linc, Zack Morris, and John? Going to go buy an El Camino. Cass? Still filming. Still filming Freddy, too, who dispatches Palaka to shoo her away. "Stare me down," Cass says in a mocking (and terrible) Latino accent. "Stare me down. I'm taking a picture of the entire scene, my brother. All the zeros and ones. That's how I work." Oh Cass -- I think when all of this is said and done, I shall miss you least of all.
And so we go to the used car lot, which Deadwood fans will recognize as manned by Con Stapleton. I didn't recognize him, since he wasn't covered in eight layers of prairie filth. From what I've gathered through the extensive research and footnoting that watching an hour of this show mandates, this is a key scene to the entire JFC mythology, so if you want the unexpurgated version, free of comments and asides and with all the dialogue where God intended it to be, I suggest you go here.
"I feel you boys are ready for this Camino," the dealer who used to be Con Stapleton begins. "Between the two of us, we own more cars than you have on this lot," Linc answers, not exactly humbly. "So my guess is your feeling's probably right." That wasn't what the dealer had in mind, exactly. "What do you mean, pops?" Zack Morris asks rather snottily, as John makes an uh-oh face. "Oh, so I've got to know what I mean before I can have a feeling," the dealer says. "Do I have to know that you'll understand me? Do you have to know you'll understand before you'll listen?"
And now the dealer turns sarcastic: "Twenty-five cars between you? You should have let me sit down before you told me. I've got that many dealerships in each of that many sectors, and brands on goddamn franchises." Linc is listening to all this, as if the patter sounds very familiar. John tries to intervene: "He feels you're ready for the Camino." "You're off-line now, Country," the dealer snaps at John. I get the feeling these two know each other from somewhere. "How's he for high performance?" the dealer says, indicating John. "And he ain't who worst under-powered. Intrusions, evanescences -- I'm a shepherd without crook or understanding. Fits and stops and starts. Waves and ripples and ramifications. Busted knee, mother-son handjobs... Christ, Jesus Christ, Jesus Christ!" Either someone's been keeping up on his recaps, or someone is an otherworldly messenger not unlike our friend John. The dealer hits the hood of the car and declares, "El Camino -- $15,000, as is." That...does not seem like a good deal. But I guess when you can pull $15,000 cash out of your pocket, as John just has, you really don't need to waste much time haggling. Linc wonders if the car is gassed; "Fucking-a right, it's gassed, Linc," John says. "You and your twenty-five cars," the dealer says to Linc and Zack Morris. "Circle and line on the wall, and zeroes and goddamn ones is what to turn the both of your gifts to. And not one damn minute to waste." "Ragheads are going to get themselves eradicated," John says, apparently out of nowhere. "Country," the dealer fires back. "I took you off-line." The dealer strides off, ordering his off-camera flunky Manuel to "get a cage on this thing." John hugs the hood of the car.
From that interesting and doubtlessly revelatory scene, we go to the decidedly less crucial Freddy-Moana negotiations. Would you mind if I bottom-lined it for you, folks? Good. Freddy wonders why it's taken Moana so long to respond to his offer and speculates that perhaps Moana thinks he's up to no good; Moana allows that this is all a distinct possibility. Freddy also notes that Moana didn't "come in here blazing," which suggests that he didn't come alone and that he's found a new partner/boss. Anyhow, Freddy proposes his buyout offer -- all he wants, really, is to get out of the business -- and tells Moana that he'll deal with him and him alone. And...scene.
Linc, John, and Zack Morris pull up to the Yost house to find a trio of reporters decamped outside. Zack runs over to distract them, doubtlessly with tales of Screech's latest antics, while Linc hustles John inside. Tina pulls up at about the same time -- one of the reporters recognizes her, naturally, since he apparently splits his time between the surfing and porn beats. Zack pretends she's with him and grabs her by the hand. "This ain't the time to break. You're his mother," he says to her in sotto voce. They walk off to throw the reporters off the scent; Tina suggests they go around back and climb over the fence. Lot of people going over that fence these last couple days.
More Moana antics: He's meeting up with his new partner/boss, who, delightfully, is Keone Young. Just as I didn't recognize Con Stapleton without his layer of Dakota schmutz, I nearly don't recognize Mr. Wu without him feeding some poor unfortunate corpse to his hogs. Wu's return is about the only thing interesting going on here -- Moana relays the contents of his conversation with Freddy vis-à-vis the transfer of the drug business and suggests that Wu return to the Aloha State forthwith. Wu agrees, after some portentous warnings. It seems that Freddy will not get iced, at least not today. "Let's go to the parade," Freddy says after Palaka reports that Wu is gone.
We get a shot of Dr. Johnny Fever staring out from the Yosts' clubhouse over toward the Elephant Cage -- "I wonder what Andy Travis is up to right now," he seems to be wondering -- before returning to the interior of the Yost home. Mitch is still bumping against the ceiling of said interior, as Butchie, Shaun, Cissy, John, Linc, Zack Morris, and Tina all watch him float. It's almost like a pharmaceutical company commercial -- "Sudden levitation is a common syndrome among men ages forty-five to sixty; with Floatrex, you no longer have to be embarrassed by your sudden levitation. (Warning: Floatrex may cause dizziness, headaches, abdominal cramping, flu-like symptoms, dropsy, unexplained twitching, and unfortunate skin. Never take Floatrex after midnight and please stay away from water.)" "What do you want here?" Cissy sneers at Tina. "This," Tina replies, and I think she's referring to the communal bonds of family and not necessarily the unexplained levitation. Bill is in the other room, refusing to look in Mitch's direction: "Times Square, New Year's Eve," he mutters. "Only thing missing is the ball. Which could be him in there." Anyhow, Linc is unveiling his plan: Mitch's levitation, Shaun's resurrection from the dead and subsequent disappearance -- it's all a publicity stunt for a Stinkweed promotional campaign. And John? A surf student of Butchie's that Linc has signed. "It lays down cover, Mitch," Linc says, dropping the smarm for a moment, "for whatever's going on, as long as it's going on." Mitch points out that nobody knows about his embarrassing levitation problems, which is true, so long as he anticipates never leaving the house again. Meanwhile, Bill hears talk of a parade and leaps into action -- do you have the right permits? Have you thought through traffic control? "Form up adjacent to the surf shop, and I'll lead you in," Bill orders, leaving the house. I love how he perks up when he realizes he can be helpful. Levitating aging surfers? Very uncomfortable. Traffic control and proper event permitting? This is where Bill shines, daddio!
Mitch contemplates all this. He exchanges some glances with John (who apes Mitch's "deep in thought" face) and Linc, before finally motioning Butchie and Shaun over. They each take a hand and pull him down to the floor, resting another hand on Mitch's shoulders; John smiles. "Back in the game, Mitch Yost," he says. Mitch seems only mildly reassured by that.
And everyone's caravanning to the parade -- Shaun, John, Butchie, and Tina are riding in the caged back of the El Camino. As they motor down the streets of Imperial Beach, Aleman the Stabby Vato and his crew happen to be assembling outside a trailer. "Stare me down!" John shouts at him. "Stare me down!" Aleman does not consider that playful banter, because he and his pals run off. I guess some people are big ol' scaredy-cats when the guy who they stabbed and left for dead comes back to taunt them. Vietnam Joe is watching all this from the VFW Hall across the street. "I guess you're back," he says, probably to John. Apparently, he is.
Bill's plan to create a traffic control area is not going well. My clue is the fact that he's surrounded by a couple of Imperial Beach's finest. Also, he's in handcuffs. Apparently, construction in the area foiled his original plans, so he tried to get some citizens to move their cars -- "intimidating customers," is how Anderson is patiently trying to put it to Bill. While Bill is ranting about how skateboarders are the real criminals -- not according to the bumper stickers I see placed around town -- a older gent carrying a dog pulls up. From the way he and Bill insult one another, I'm guessing he's the chief of police. He's also Bill Clark, David Milch's frequent collaborator and the man upon whom Bill Jacks is loosely based. So it's kind of like matter meeting anti-matter here, and, quite frankly, it's freaking me the hell out. Not as much as it is Bill -- Jacks, that is, not Clark -- who sees that the parade cars are finally arriving. "The situation is deteriorating by the second," he cries. So there's talk of permits and staging areas, and finally Bill -- Clark, not Jacks -- orders a police escort to get the growing line of parade cars and news vans off the street. "Because your poodle's late for a haircut," Bill (Jacks) shouts at Bill (Clark). "The dog has a fulminating fungus on his pad," Bill (Clark) says, somewhat defensively.
Meanwhile, some guy interrupts the Bill 'n Bill show to shout out, "Hey, Tina, I'm the guy that jerks off to your tapes," helpfully grabbing his crotch just to show us that yes, he knows where the male sex organs are located. I guess this is supposed to humiliate Tina in some way, but really, doesn't it reflect poorly on the shouter? Hey Tina, because my rancid personality prohibits me from ever knowing the loving touch of another human being, I am reduced to manipulating my penis all by my lonesome until I reach climax, and your movie work is what I use for my muse in my sordid little self-liaisons. Yeah, buddy -- you really told her. Nevertheless, the rest of the Yosts rise to Tina's defense. "Shut up, you perv," Shaun shouts. "How would you like to suck her ex-husband's dick?" Butchie adds. "Yeah," Cissy shouts, somewhat unexpectedly, "see if you can tell the world what a useful life you've lived with that kind of mouthful." "You perv dick mouthful twenty-four," John concludes, somewhat mysteriously, as the sad little masturbator shuffles off. That last line, plus the masturbator's 'stache and receding hairline, has some folks speculating that it's a reincarnation of Mr. Rollins, but I really don't see the resemblance, probably because this guy's flesh isn't rotting off.
Anyhow, the parade resumes, with Bill directing traffic with his cuffed hands. Linc and Zach Morris drive by in their SUV. Then there's the El Camino, stuffed to the gills with Yosts, followed by a news van, and then Dr. Johnny Fever's sweet ride. ("Here's a drug casualty," Bill screams. "Thinks this car's normal.") Then it's Cunningham's car, with Ramon blowing his trumpet. ("Go ahead, the homosexual in the hybrid," Bill continues.) A truck of bikini-clad women rolls on by. ("Look at the breasts on these women," Bill says to no one in particular. "This country is doomed." Because of breasts? Egad.) We also catch a glimpse of Dickstein leading his Surfing Attorney group down to the pier as well. I am disappointed there are no Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade balloons like Underdog or Ronald McDonald in this parade, but I guess I'll learn to cope.
Zack Morris and Linc ascend the platform to speak to the multitude. Zack goes first: "Low-rent and half-assed," he begins. "Hardcore Stinkweed." As corporate slogans go, I can't say I'm terribly impressed. Zack gives a shout out to bikini-clad women -- "the lovely Stinkweed ladies" -- some of whom have stick-figure symbols on their bikinis. Soaking all this in live and in person instead of via Dwayne's computer, Jerri grabs Dwayne's hands and places them on her breasts -- I guess those breasts will not doom this country. And behold the new Stinkweed logo -- it'll be familiar to any of you who've been watching the show lately. "Take a good look, Ma," Mitch mutters to Cissy, who's holding Mitch down by the shirt sleeve. "We're them now."
Now, it's Linc's turn at the megaphone. He notes the Yosts standing on the pavement -- "because they do not want to be on the same stage as me" -- and introduces them one by one. ("Linc's going to sell the family," John murmurs.) John's introduced, too, as Butchie's new surfing discovery, Johnny Monad from Cincinnati. "Stinkweed, a wing and a prayer," Linc continues. "Until we signed Butchie Yost fifteen years ago. Butchie Yost put Stinkweed on the map, and we did all we could to help Butchie crash and burn. Because business is business, and in our business, we sell crash-and-burn." Anyhow, Linc starts recapping how Shaun came to be in his stable, fibbing a bit about Shaun's neck sprain -- it's all a marketing gimmick, Linc pretends. And Shaun's disappearance with John? More marketing hijinks. "Which is how and why the Leopard is here before you now," Linc continues. "The Yosts have thrown a collar on the cat. They're making him climb in a cage. They will stay with Stinkweed only if I get out." Following all that? Then let John, for once, provide some clarity: "Stinkweed provides cover for my Father." It's all an act, you see, because it's easier to put the blame on Linc than explain what actually is going on, as anyone who's seen the last ten episodes will tell you. "Linc is el camino," John says. Indeed he is.
And as "Long Tall Sally" blasts over the soundtrack, Freddy and Moana have their long-awaited closure. "Talk or get the fuck out of here," Freddy says, not looking at Moana. "Brah," Moana says, "give me the keys." They exchange fist pounds. No one pounds Palaka's fist. That means they've reached an agreement. Now let us never speak of this plotline again.
And now, here's where things get weird. Please try and contain your shock about that. A long-haired kid slides up to a lady who looks like the nurse who attended to Shaun back in the hospital. John informs us via voiceover: "Dr. Smith comes back twenty years younger from Cincinnati." O...kay. "Cissy gets knocked up." Right. "She's bigger than Leona Helmsley." Mmm-hmmm. "Earth puts Dickstein on retainer." Uh...what? "Daphne keeps his head straight." Yes, yes, go back to the other thing. "Jerri meets a slew of new harelips." Eh? "My Father four-walls Barry's bar." Four? Walls? "Dr. Smith trains Dwayne and Ramon." To do what, exactly? "My Father freelances in Cass's camera." Okay, now you're just making shit up to mess with me. You shut up, John Monad. You shut up for good.
You didn't think we would leave here without one last Bill scene, did you? He's trudging up the spiral staircase of his house, very reluctantly, and into the room we've never seen him enter before. There's a hospital bed up there that looks like it hasn't been slept in for a good long while. "Saying I'd not climb those stairs again," Bill begins. "Or come back in this room. I guess now you know I'm a fibber." He's addressing this to the empty bed; he sits down to it. A lot of pictures up on the wall, a lot of personal touches that indicate that there was a lady living up here, and Bill's line clinches it: "Why I came up here, sweetheart...that son of the Yost boy, Butchie, who helped you with your groceries? His son went missing. Long and short of it, Shaun -- Butchie's son -- safely retuned. Happy outcome." So why is Bill so unhappy? Well, Zippy's missing for starters. "I was remiss," Bill confesses. "Trotting him places outside the house. Although, I'll say, first excursion out, I took him to the hospital. it was a...worthwhile visit." Bill is struggling for words now. "This is why I don't come up here," he says. "Where do you start and stop? Every incident. 'Oh, if she could have only seen this.' 'Wouldn't she have laughed to have seen that?'" Bill eyes the empty bed and stands up. "If I took the mouth-harp to hand to come up with, I'd have never made it up the stairs," he says. "Or I'd play to you." He turns to go, but pauses. "God love you, my Lo'," he says. "And hold you tight." And now perhaps the best moment of the night -- Zippy flies through the window and comes to rest on Bill's shoulder. An amazed Bill turns to the bed with an expression of joy on his face: "Lois," he whispers. "Lo', look at this." Wonderful scene. A perfect ending to the episode.
Only it did not end there. We get a shot of Kai surfing, and boy oh boy, Keala Kennelly can surf. John weighs in once more with a voiceover: "Mother of God, Cass-Kai." Well, why not end things on an ambiguous note?
Well. Everyone gets the right to weigh in with their opinion about a show when it shuffles off stage right, so I suppose this ought to be my chance. There's a tendency, I think, to view shows in extremes -- either something is great and brilliant or terrible and unwatchable, with very little room for nuance in between. I suppose some of my more caustic comments over the life of these recaps suggest that I fall in the terrible/unwatchable camp, but I really don't. Some things about John From Cincinnati I liked, other things I did not. Oh the plus side of the ledger was the acting -- Brian Van Holt and Ed O'Neill in particular. The dialogue, as you might expect, from a Milch-helmed show, was lyrical, and certain imagery was truly breathtaking. And on the minus side? Well, there's that problem of coherent narrative and engaging storytelling. I don't doubt that John From Cincinnati probably struck a chord with some viewers; I just wasn't one of them. Part of the problem is that the themes of the show -- once you managed to wade through all the hoo-doo and mysticism -- were fairly ordinary. People feel better when they belong to part of a larger community. It is better to be part of some sort of family than not to be. We'd do a much better job understanding each other if we actually stopped and listened to what the other person was saying. True sentiments and all that, but not exactly earth-shattering stuff. The show always seemed to claim a profundity it never actually earned, at least from my point of view.
I don't much cotton to the notion that if you found the narrative approach of John From Cincinnati somewhat dense and unapproachable that the problem was somehow with you -- that you either have to appreciate every ambiguous utterance from John and company or you're a mouth-breathing simpleton who should just go back to watching the Full House reruns you deserve. Again, there's a lot of territory between those particular extremes. A significant number of creative people are able to make compelling, demanding programs that compel close viewing but nevertheless hew to some sort of discernable narrative -- The Wire, I'm thinking right off the top of my head, though if I gave it more time, I could probably come up with a few others. I wouldn't exactly say that The Wire spoon-feeds its viewers, though advancers of the "if you don't like John From Cincinnati, you obviously hate challenging television" school of thought are arguing precisely that. That's a bullshit argument, quite honestly, and I'm glad I won't have to hear it anymore.
And I'm also glad that HBO gave us a season of John From Cincinnati, believe it or not. Yeah, it wasn't my cup of tea, but you don't wind up with memorable shows by playing it safe. Whatever darts I may toss John From Cincinnati's way, it certainly took some chances. That not every one paid off is almost beside the point.